Chapter 514: Yamila
The girl recalled the scene just now—thin, cloak, white cat mask, floor full of corpses and blood—and couldn’t help covering her mouth, her stomach churning.
She originally wanted to warn those gang members and beat them up, but she didn’t expect to see such a scene. For a moment, she couldn’t control herself and threw up. After controlling the discomfort in her stomach, the girl walked into the corpses, her sky-blue pupils constricting sharply.
“This neat wound is almost like cutting people in half with an extremely sharp weapon. This is indeed possible, but these people were in different positions. It is unlikely to slash more than a dozen times in different directions and positions in an instant. That is to say…”
Her expression gradually became shocked, and she said slowly:
‘Holy Light Blade Energy? Even I, known as a genius by everyone in town, haven’t been able to cultivate this unique skill, yet it appears here. No wonder it’s the royal city of Bernada. It seems I’m still a bit lazy; I must work harder!’
Ace didn’t know how shocked this girl named Yamila was. Whether it was Sword Energy or Blade Energy, it was an extremely profound martial art. In this world, apart from Blue Bloods and a few people who believed in Nature Spirits, the supernatural power of most people came from the Holy Light.
Ordinary people obtained power by praying to the Holy Light Church. This kind of thing was similar to divine grace—very rare.
The common method was to temper physical fitness and donate a large amount of donation in exchange for the Holy Light Seed Bestowal Ritual presided over by the local bishop. Legend has it that this ritual required Holy Oil to succeed, and there was a certain probability of failure. Even ordinary noble families could only exchange for it once or twice.
Yamila came from an ordinary farming family. She liked to wield swords and spears since she was a child, learning martial arts from the old mercenary in town while listening to various magical stories.
When she was ten years old, she went to church for service as usual. It happened that the regional bishop came here for Mass and personally presided over the service for them.
Yamila felt that the bishop was indeed extraordinary. Under these circumstances, she actually felt unusually calm. Praying to the Holy Light wholeheartedly, she felt as if a warm power was stroking her, or as if she had returned to her mother’s embrace.
When she opened her eyes again, it was already dusk, and she was the only one left in the church.
The priest said seeing her pray so seriously, he didn’t have the heart to interrupt. She seemed to understand but not fully. In the following days, she often came to the church alone early in the morning to pray.
After many attempts, Yamila experienced that unusually warm feeling again. She gradually found the trick, telling her expectations to the Holy Light, praying for the Holy Light to bless her not to be an ordinary village girl who marries and has children, but to let her adventure in various places like a mercenary.
Perhaps her simple prayer really received a response from the Holy Light. After a certain warmth, Yamila obtained a different power—the Holy Light Seed.
The priest discovered her aptitude first, taught her carefully, and recommended Yamila to study at the St. Ivan Cathedral this year. She studied at the cathedral for two months and had already nurtured the Holy Light Seed into Holy Light Aura.
After cultivating that Holy Light Aura, Yamila’s strength immediately increased greatly. Thus, her confidence burst, and she came to the famous Old Street wanting to uphold justice.
‘The Maine Gang here is really too hateful. I must implement the will of the Holy Light and sweep away the evil forces above the heads of the people here! But just me alone seems unrealistic. It would be best to find Mr. Cat Face and act together.’
Yamila clenched her fist, raised the long sword in her hand high, and held a “cremation” for these corpses according to the rituals of the Holy Light Church.
Holy Light Aura condensed on the long sword, raising sparks. Yamila thrust the long sword close to a corpse. The sparks actually turned into white fire, instantly burning the corpse to ashes.
She panted, her face pale. Sitting there to adjust her state for a long time, she continued to “cremate” the next corpse.
It wasn’t until the bright moon hung high at night that Yamila finally cremated all the corpses.
On the other side, Ace went straight to Ring-Eyed Dunn’s residence, killed the few people left behind, snatched some gold, silver, and jewelry, and gave a lot of what he couldn’t spend to nearby residents.
He didn’t give much to each resident, roughly enough for their needs for half a year to a year. Wealth moves people’s hearts; a moderate amount is help, while an excessive amount harms people.
Ace was not in a hurry. He first changed into a new outfit for himself. Still a black cloak, but made of opaque material, so the price was expensive.
A fitting tight suit, calfskin boots, and a high-quality steel sword changed Ace’s temperament completely.
Only that white cat face mask remained because he always acted at night and wore a cat face mask. For a time, rumors of the ‘white cat righteous man’ appeared in the Old Street.
…
In a dilapidated wooden house, a mother was vividly telling the story of the White Cat Righteous Man to her child.
“The White Cat Righteous Man is a Righteous Man of the Holy Light. He executes judgment on behalf of the Holy Light in the dark night, helping many poor people and those in danger. Moreover, he often appears at people’s windows under the moonlight, secretly giving some money…”
The child, who was listening to the story with great interest, suddenly interrupted the mother and said: “Is that the White Cat Righteous Man? I see him putting silver coins into our window.”
The mother was shocked and turned around to look, but there was no figure. Just as she wanted to scold the child for lying, she suddenly saw something shining on the window sill. She took a candle over to look; it was exactly a small pile of silver coins.
Just as she murmured her thanks, Ace had already leaped up from the roof, flying under the moonlight like an arrow.
“As expected. When I set the character and drafted the story, I could act as the protagonist, completing one ‘stage play’ after another openly. And these ‘stage plays’ fermented in everyone’s mouths. In just ten days, I have collected a lot of Power of Fate!”
Ace’s hand opened gently. A phantom of a spindle was looming, containing a magical rhythm as if pouring out something.
If one looked carefully, a silver thread had just been harvested on that spindle—it was exactly a Thread of Fate.
“I am a projection of the main body, and at the same time, I possess the imprints of all the main body’s Noble Phantasms. Other Noble Phantasms are unsuitable, but the projection of this Spindle of Fate is very useful. I can harvest the Power of Fate through scenes of ‘drama,’ enhancing my own existence.
“But why I had not harvested the aura of the Great Source? Is it because the episodic drama model is too monotonous? Or do I need to brew a climax?”
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