Draped in a pristine white priest’s robe, blindfolded in matching cloth, a young man knelt in quiet devotion. The scent of burning incense curled through the temple air, mingling with the hushed murmurs of worshippers. A soft mechanical hum filled the silence—hidden speakers playing a solemn hymn. Somewhere overhead, artificial light filtered through stained glass, casting ethereal patterns across polished marble floors.


    Like every day, Erasmus appeared to be praying. In reality, his mind was elsewhere.


    Should I donate to the church again?


    It was a simple investment. The church was a structure of power, and power, in this world, was a resource to be exploited. Others clung to faith as a crutch, blindly donating, believing in unseen gods. Erasmus saw the system for what it was—a machine designed to keep people in check, a method to pacify the weak with hope while funneling wealth into the hands of those who understood its workings.


    His lips moved in silent prayer, his posture flawless in its reverence. If someone were watching, they would see only the image of a devout young priest, the noble son of Bishop Castor Obscura, a boy following in his father’s righteous footsteps. In truth, he was counting down the seconds.


    One more minute. Just long enough to appear sincere.


    To him, there was no divine will. No higher purpose. Everyone was their own god, solving their own problems. Faith existed only to provide comfort to those too weak to face reality. Death was inevitable—so they created gods, stories, rituals, all to ease the terror of the unknown. He understood it. He even admired the efficiency of such a system. But he would never degrade himself by believing in it.


    He adjusted his blindfold slightly, ensuring it remained in place. Then, as if finishing his prayers, he slowly bowed his head, holding the pose for just long enough to seem devoted before rising to his feet.


    As he turned toward the temple’s exit, hushed voices followed him.


    "Ah, it''s the noble and sacred Erasmus."


    "He truly takes after his father."


    Erasmus barely acknowledged the words with a slight nod, his expression serene. Let them believe what they wanted. If they thought he was righteous, it only made things easier. The more they admired him, the easier it would be to pull the strings from behind the scenes.


    Outside, the world was alive with the quiet hum of electric trams gliding down smooth streets. Digital billboards displayed scripture, urging the faithful to donate with a simple scan. The air smelled of coffee and ozone, a mix of old tradition and modern convenience.


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    Erasmus reached for his pocket, fingers brushing the edges of his wallet. Feeling the empty interior, he frowned.


    Out of money again?


    Annoying. He had been careful with his spending, but even small donations to maintain appearances were starting to drain his funds. Faith was a commodity, and like any commodity, it had value. Just not for him—yet.


    He was not here to be revered; he was here to extract everything the system had to offer.


    The first step was securing influence within the church. He was already seen as the bishop’s son, a rising figure of faith. That perception was useful. The more power he gained, the more resources he could control. He had seen how people blindly poured their wealth into this institution, hoping for divine favor.


    It was pathetic.


    But it was also an opportunity.


    A voice interrupted his thoughts.


    "Brother Erasmus."


    A young priest approached, his expression unreadable. Brother Alden—two years his senior, but a staunch believer in the faith. A fanatic, even. Erasmus kept his expression neutral as the man stepped closer.


    "Forgive me for disturbing you, but I could not help but notice… your prayers are always silent. Do you truly hear Eporath’s voice?"


    Erasmus stilled for half a second. A test.


    He let a small, wistful smile play on his lips. "Faith is not about hearing," he said smoothly. "It is about understanding."


    Brother Alden studied him, eyes searching. Then, slowly, he nodded.


    "I see. A deeper connection, then. You are truly blessed."


    Fool.


    Erasmus gave a slow, solemn nod before continuing on his way, leaving the priest behind.


    That was close.


    Suspicion was dangerous. Rise too high, too fast, and the knives came out. But power demanded risk.


    Still, it was a reminder.


    He had to be careful.


    Had to be patient.


    Had to play the game better than anyone else.


    Because this world had nothing to offer him yet.


    But one day, it would.


    Immortality. It was uncertain, perhaps even impossible. But uncertainty was no excuse for inaction. If such a thing existed, he would seize it. If it didn’t? Then he would bend the world to his will, taking everything he could until there was nothing left to take.


    But first, he needed to ensure his position.


    If people would throw away their wealth in the name of faith, he would be the one to collect it.


    And when the time came, he would own this church.


    Not as a believer.


    But as its god.