Chapter 50 The Moon Beside Us

The figure in the rain gradually drew closer. The old priest intentionally controlled his breathing, terrified that a single hurried puff of air might blow out the brightly dazzling whale-oil lamp.

His exhale sprayed against the glass, turning into a pale mist of water. He hurriedly raised his hand to wipe it clean with his sleeve, by which time the three-eyed skull had already arrived close by.

Through the pane of glass, the old priest’s weather-beaten, furrowed face was imbued with a profound sense of satisfaction, and his smile was incomparably bright and serene.

He quickly opened the door, stepped out into the rain, slowly waded through the accumulated water, and approached the Miracle Walker step by step. Under the gaze of the three-eyed skull, he knelt, bathed in the freezing, fierce wind, crossed his hands against his chin, bowed his head, and chanted prayers of reverence.

A faint sound of electric current blew out from beneath the mask, dissolving into the desolate weeping of the rain. More distant than a sigh, the mage raised a hand to press upon the old priest’s shoulder, and then activated the words of power.

"(True Word) Bones."

The old priest could feel a surging, overwhelming power coursing through his entire body. It felt as though what wrapped his flesh and blood were no longer bones, but cold iron and stone, as a faint numbness swept across every nerve ending.

Subsequently, his bones stood up at the mage’s command. His entire body’s muscles hung limply against his bones, without the slightest exertion of effort to resist this force.

Now, like a marionette on strings, he stepped backward while the Miracle Walker stepped forward, moving from the rain-drenched earth back into the bright, fragrant interior.

Clank.

The heavy door closed, shutting out the wild clamor of the outside world.

Beneath the three-eyed skull mask, the hoarse sound of electric current rang out once more. Waves of ripples rose across the drenched garments of the two figures, as moisture converged at their cuffs and hems, transforming into tiny waterfalls that trickled down to the floor. Their clothing grew dry once more, leaving only a faint dampness; the chill no longer gnawed at their skin.

The old man regained control of his body, glanced sideways at the hand resting on his shoulder, and then looked up to gaze at the Miracle Walker. His grayish, lake-green eyes reflected the candlelight and lamp glow, melting into a gaze of supreme bliss amidst the slightly leaking tears.

"You have come. I knew you would come again, but you... you truly have come."

The old priest blinked hard, gradually restoring a calm and composed expression, steadying himself from the spiritual upheaval of personally experiencing the descent of a miracle.

The Miracle Walker raised a hand to touch his mask.

The old man repeatedly said, "No, there is no need. You do not need to take it off. This is fine. Whether you wear the mask or reveal your true face, our reverence and love for you will not differ in the least."

Lin Bo deactivated the vocalprint suppressor and asked, "Do you know who I am now?"

"Yes. After all, Stone Tower Town has only one member from a foreign land. Before his descent upon the lighthouse, this was merely a barren, boring small town. Mortals are born here, grow up, age amidst injuries and illness, and die in accidents. There are no miracles, no divine grace."

"The people in the town seem to be looking forward to seeing me," Lin Bo mentioned the anomaly.

"Yes, borrowing the name of the Elder, I presented your current image to the people, recognizing you as the Walker designated by the Five Gods to manifest miracles upon the earth in Their stead. I made that decision arbitrarily, and to this day I am still plagued by guilt, hoping you will forgive me."

"I am likewise a member of the Elder's Cult. You are not wrong to say so." Lin Bo waved his hand. He had originally intended to act under the guise of religion, and the old priest’s rhetoric happened to coincide with his own plans.

As they began to converse, the solemn and secretive atmosphere within the room gradually relaxed, resembling an unexpected reunion of old friends who had not met for years, filled with joy and a quiet wonder at fate's marvelous arrangement for them both.

The old priest rubbed his hands, wiped a stool with his sleeve, and invited the Miracle Walker to sit by the table adorned with an incense burner and candlesticks.

Lin Bo glanced at the rain outside the window. Tonight would most likely pass peacefully, so he calmly sat down to steal a moment of leisure, conversing with this local religious representative under a shared yet unspoken identity.

The old priest insisted on standing by the table, refusing to sit with him, and earnestly recounted how he had covertly swapped the tapestry of the Five Gods that very morning, further describing all the remarks he had made to the people of Stone Tower Town.

Lin Bo merely listened, nodding in agreement from time to time.

When the old man finished speaking, the room returned to tranquility. For the next several minutes, neither of them spoke. The candlelight flickered, and the incense burner drifted wisps of smoke. Amidst the pattering and chaotic sounds of the falling rain, the surging of their thoughts felt like a little boat tossing upon the waves.

The old priest finally could not help asking, "What demands do you have of the world?"

If one were to treat an organizational community as a giant, then its ideology is born even earlier than its flesh and blood. That ideology is the organization’s goals, platform, and faith, while its flesh and blood are the shells of its individual followers.

A gathering without a goal is merely a carnival celebration. A gathering with a purpose is the beginning of a tidal wave.

Now, the followers of the Miracle Walker had already gathered within the storm-swept Stone Tower Town, and they were only a single step away from the birth of a secret cult. When Lin Bo voiced his grand ambitions, that giant, floating and sinking in the chaos of human thought, would awaken, break its shell, and reshape the world.

A person might utter a hundred million words in a lifetime, but often only one or two carry a weight greater than a thousand jun. Because once spoken, certain things are permanently altered.

Just like the birth of a sect or the establishment of a country, all begin with a single sentence from a leader.

The beginning of that sentence is often astonishingly similar.

"I want..." Lin Bo suddenly recalled his thoughts from not long ago—to control all the armed forces under heaven. He smiled; that remark was merely for the sake of possessing violence, but as a political program, it fell far short.

He needed to offer a promise, to paint a blueprint for the future world—even if it were a lie, much like the navigation chart used to lure people out to sea. As long as people were willing to believe and follow, even a lie would acquire realistic power.

"I want all the people of this world to enjoy an abundance of medical care and food, to possess secure dwellings, to never die of hunger or illness, and to never wander as the homeless. All of this shall manifest upon the mortal earth, rather than in the distant heavens where gods reside.

"I want every single one of them to create wealth through labor, to reap the joy of transforming the world, and to become self-loving, healthy, and upright beings. All of this without distinction of gender, age, or seniority.

"I want those who follow me to attain knowledge and power, dignity and wealth. And one day, I shall lead you all to touch the miracles."

Though Lin Bo had deliberated and hesitated, when he finally spoke, these words flowed in one breath without the slightest pause or hesitation.

The old priest listened intently, chanting under his breath, carving every single word into his aged mind.

A moment later, the priest looked up and asked, "Do you intend to seize the power of the Aewen royal family? I will do everything in my power to convey your will within the Church, so that the priests may win support for you among the common folk."

"There is no need to rush." Lin Bo smiled gently. "Let us begin right here, starting with the followers of the Elder, and ask them if they are willing to follow."

"So we are establishing a faction within the Church, something rather covert?"

"Yes. There is no need to widely broadcast my power." Lin Bo hoped the old priest could keep the townspeople bound to this shared secret. The time had not yet come to expand their influence; the newly founded cult was like a fledgling leaving its nest or a seed sprouting from the earth, and it still needed time to grow.

"No one here will ever betray the miracle, unless they wish to suffer the fate of being abandoned by Stone Tower Town." The old priest’s tone was resolute, carrying a grim and absolute seriousness.

Lin Bo suddenly asked, "Why do you exert yourself to this extent? Is it merely out of gratitude?"

The old priest was startled, then said, "You saved my life. Even though my youth has turned to embers, I will burn the final flame for you.

"This is the mortal destiny—we are all born as aimless flying insects, and only the moonlight of faith allows us to walk through the dark night.

"I have believed in the Five Gods my entire life, painstakingly studying the scriptures, and several times I thought I had found a home for my soul, only to be cast back into confusion upon witnessing good people die tragic deaths, spending thousands of perplexed and mediocre days and nights.

"Now, fate has finally allowed my insignificant life to meet you before its twilight. The power capable of redeeming everything is right by my side, and I no longer fear the darkness after death.

"You are the moon I shall pursue for the remainder of my days."

Hearing this, the mage asked no further. He stood up, preparing to leave. The night was still long, the hurricane had not yet ceased, and there was no telling how many households were suffering disaster.

"Miracle Walker, your cult should have a name," the old priest hurriedly reminded him.

"Since it was founded in Stone Tower Town, let us call it the Tower Guard Order." He chuckled softly, perhaps feeling that the name was too ordinary and lacked any miraculous flavor. "Let us call it that; there is nothing wrong with it. See you at the Thursday gathering."

"Are you not coming to patrol tomorrow night?"

"There is no need, for the hurricane is about to leave." The three-eyed skull gently stroked his mask, filtering the tail-end of his voice into a faint electrical noise. He pushed the door open and stepped out into the roaring rainy night, while the whale-oil lamp lifted into the air, transforming into a solitary blue-green star.