Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

With the dagger pressed against his neck, Kong Jiu reluctantly passed through the door and returned to reality.

But the moment his feet touched solid ground, his pupils contracted slightly at the sight before him.

"What, Kong, is this your first time at the Purple Light Church?" Samael asked with a sneer, pressing a dagger against his back.

Before them stood a huge church.

Despite being called a church, it lacks any of the sacred and serene atmosphere that a typical church should have: there are no stained glass windows, no magnificent, round, white dome, and no cross of any kind—nothing at all.

There are only countless sharp spires that seem to pierce the gloomy sky, angular and oppressive Gothic flying buttresses, and grotesque gargoyles crouching in the shadows of the eaves.

Combined with the dark red murals and eight-pointed stars on the exterior walls, which were most likely painted with human blood, the entire church exudes a dark, twisted, and blasphemous atmosphere.

It doesn't resemble a building constructed by human hands; rather, it's more like a blasphemous beast lying prostrate on the earth, facing the dark iron curtain, emitting a silent roar.

Looking at the church, Kong Jiu's heart skipped a beat for no reason.

"What's wrong? Can't breathe?"

Samael's tone carried a hint of sneer. "This church is enchanted with a spell that slightly suppresses psychics. It's said that the High Priest deliberately designed it to train himself. But, well, I'm not a psychic, so I can't feel it."

"Really?" Kong Jiu replied with a wry smile, "Then your leader is quite self-disciplined."

"Of course!" Samael said proudly, as if Kong Jiu's words were praising him.

"As a master of warp time, High Priest Farah carved out a sacred land flowing with milk and honey in that chaotic sea of ​​warp!"

His voice rose slightly with excitement, his eyes gleaming with fanatical worship, "Even a villain like me, long since tainted by the enhancer and utterly depraved, as long as the purple light remains in my heart, one day I too will gain the qualification to step into that holy land!"

Samael spoke with a look of pure delight, his eyes revealing a childlike innocence.

Kong Jiu found it hard to imagine seeing such a gaze in the eyes of a rugged adult who had taken enhancement drugs.

Is Farah really that powerful? Does he have brainwashing methods even more ruthless than enhancers?

Kong Jiu was thinking to himself as he was led into the church.

Strength 1 (+14), Agility 1 (+14), Intelligence 28, Rank D Psionicist.

Upon entering the church, the system immediately detected a unit with an extremely high value and highlighted it in a glaring manner.

The system's reconnaissance spotted Fara even before the naked eye could see it.

According to the panel detection, Farah is exactly level 30, which is within the observable range.

But for some reason, his strength and agility were boosted by half of his intelligence, giving him an extra 28 attribute points, which brought his actual level to an astonishing 58.

Level 58!

Kongjiu's breath hitched; this was the highest-level being he had ever observed in his life.

He had thought that Su Fu, who was in the 21st grade, was already quite unassuming.

I never expected there would be such a master in the lower city!

Kong Jiu froze, standing still, hesitant to move forward.

"Hey, don't just stand there, Kong. Are you intimidated by the cult leader's aura?"

Samael impatiently poked Kongjiu with the hilt of his knife.

"Enough, Samael, now that the person has been brought, you may leave..."

But just then, a loud and deep voice came from the deepest part of the church, echoing through the dark church.

Samael was startled by the sound, his impatience instantly vanishing as he looked toward the source of the sound—the deep, seemingly endless church corridor.

"Lord Farah...?" he asked tentatively.

"Should I repeat myself, Samael Hart?"

His voice was noticeably more displeased.

Samael's expression changed, and his previous ferocity and smugness vanished.

He hurriedly put away the dagger, knelt down with a thud, and respectfully kowtowed several times.

Then, without looking back, he quickly retreated outside.

"Remember, Samael, when you get back to the gang, pass on the message 'King Squich is losing patience' to that bastard Wintert."

As the voice came again, Samael's figure completely disappeared from the church, leaving only Kong Jiu standing at the boundary between the shadows inside the door.

He stood frozen in place, staring into the deep, unfathomable passage before him. He didn't know whether to move forward or flee like Samael.

Time passed by, and he just sat there idly.

Finally, the voice spoke again:

"Kong, you should at least give me a response! You're neither running away nor coming to see me; you're ignoring both procedures, aren't you?"

This time, the voice carried a hint of helplessness.

"Then... can I escape?" Kong Jiu asked weakly.

"cannot."

"You can't just say 'you're a jerk,' can you?"

Kong Jiu cursed inwardly.

"By the way, I can read minds."

Kong Jiu: "...?"

"Sigh...why don't you come in first? Let's talk?"

Kong Jiu sighed resignedly, took a step, and walked into the depths of the church's corridor, which resembled the esophagus of a giant beast.

"I've heard of your deeds, Kong. As an Easterner, you've sown seeds of goodwill in the land of Amerigo Vespucci..."

You know, I used to be a lot like you, and so was Oscar. We used to quietly do good deeds in downtown for a long time…

I am a magician from Britain, and he is a psionic veteran who once shed his blood for Amerigo Veterans. We share the same noble ideal: to use these extraordinary mystical powers to redeem more souls struggling in suffering…

But he was too stubborn, clinging tightly to those so-called principles. He didn't understand that to achieve a greater, more ultimate redemption, sometimes sacrifices must be made… necessary sacrifices…

So, you see, I created the Purple Light Cult, and in my own way, I've saved many more people…

And what about him? He refused to compromise, was framed by the gang, imprisoned, and wasted several years of his life…

You should remember Oscar, right? Yes, he had just escaped from prison on Christmas Day. What, now you remember?

As they walked through the secluded corridor, Farah's voice, unhurried and gentle, echoed in Kongjiu's ears, recounting the past.

For some reason, despite his legs trembling with nervousness, Kong Jiu still listened to what was said. He walked step by step to the foot of the main hall in the heart of the church.

At the end of the main hall are dozens of wide, cold white marble steps, forming a tall altar.

On the high platform, in the only seat, sat a middle-aged man with a slightly overweight figure.

His features were undeniably handsome, and he wore a magnificent robe that was almost black and deep purple. His dark pupils exuded an indescribable gentleness.

He sat calmly on that high platform, which resembled a throne, looking down at Kong Jiu below.

Strength 1 (+14), Agility 1 (+14), Intelligence 28, Rank D Psionicist.

"Nice to meet you, Bishop Farah."

Kong Jiu forced a wry smile, maintained basic etiquette, and gave an awkward bow.

Farah Jokos, the founder and leader of the Purple Light Cult, a D-level psionicist, is the most powerful person in the Lower City today. Kong Jiu saw this person in person.

Farah smiled gently and raised his hand in return.

"Don't be too nervous, Kong. Our values ​​are different. If you think it's reasonable to bring redemption to the dismembered child, then I won't be too critical."

Kong Jiu smiled bitterly.

He even started criticizing me.

It seems that Farah has learned quite a bit through mind reading.

"Then I'll get straight to the point: will I be able to leave this church alive?"

Kong Jiu asked through gritted teeth, a smile that looked more like a grimace on his face.

Farah shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Kong Jiu, but personally, I don't want to put a kind person like you to death."

His voice remained calm, then he changed the subject:

"But you carry the magical imprint of my dearest friend, Oscar, along with the Magic Eye and subspace technology he dedicated his life to researching. You must leave these behind before you can depart."

"And the only way to remove that mark is through death."