Show Me Your Stats!-Chapter 88

“High Priest, it’s time to wake up.”

A gentle voice stirred Aterra from his sleep. He opened his eyes with a deep furrow of his brows, the lines at their corners betraying his sensitive temperament. Without a callus on his delicate fingers, he rubbed the space between his brows and slowly sat up. A waiting priest offered him a steaming warm towel, while two others stood by—one with fresh clothes, the other with a light breakfast.

The High Priest of Solar began his day with a cold, expressionless face as he received the priests’ meticulous care. He ate only a few spoonfuls of breakfast before waving it away and then donned his pristine white robes. He pinned three red flowers onto the collar.

The white temple in which he resided was lavishly adorned with red blossoms. Some were artificial—hand-carved and painted by worshippers in reverence of Morunka—while others were real flowers, uprooted and transplanted despite the snow. Yet curiously, none of the real flowers had any scent.

Once fully dressed, Aterra made his way toward the largest structure within the temple complex. As he passed, the priests offered their greetings with lowered heads, which he acknowledged with an arrogant tilt of his chin—barely enough to be considered a response. He opened the door and passed through a long corridor until another door revealed a grand bedroom.

The faint aroma of medicinal herbs, a massive statue of Morunka, platters of rare fruits—impossible to obtain in this season—and deep crimson drapery dyed with expensive pigments all spoke of excessive luxury. Upon the lavish bed lay an old man. Aterra bowed his head expressionlessly.

“Uncle. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, I slept soundly for the first time in a while.”

The old man forced strength into his voice, but the frailty in his tone could not be hidden. He raised a trembling hand, and two priests who had been tidying the chamber quickly approached and helped him sit up. This was Aterra’s maternal uncle, the former High Priest of Solar—Aterra la Theon. His stooped frame hunched forward as he leaned toward Aterra, eyes gleaming.

“I went to bed early yesterday, so I didn’t get to hear the latest. Everything proceeding smoothly?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Aterra recounted how the believers had resonated deeply with his sermon against the current lord, how dissatisfaction over quarry disputes and street thugs was rising, and how the young lord had foolishly made enemies of wealthy landowners. Though it was a story repeated ad nauseam over the past few days, Theon still responded with exaggerated satisfaction.

“Yes, yes, excellent.”

Each time he heard it, Theon clapped his knee in admiration and chuckled with a hoarse laugh.

“How dare a mere human think to rule this sacred land? Everything about this was wrong from the beginning, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Soon, very soon, the Lord shall gather this land back into His embrace—guided by His voice, His hand... yes, by us...”

The old man’s wrinkled hand suddenly grasped Aterra’s tightly. His cloudy eyes glazed over, lost in what seemed to be a blissful delusion. Aterra had to stand there and endure his drunken-like rambling for quite some time before he could finally exit the decadent chamber.

The moment the door closed behind him, his face twisted with pure disgust and loathing. He bit down on his lip and stood frozen for a moment, then violently brushed off his sleeves as if some filth had clung to them.

Still unsatisfied, he stalked to the garden fountain, plunged his hands into the icy water, and scrubbed them raw until they turned crimson. The young High Priest’s thoughts were ablaze as he imagined killing his uncle, the new young lord who had come to this land not long ago, and several others.

“Morunka...”

He traced the sign of the cross with a bitter voice. With red, stinging fingers, he carefully took a sacred object from his robes and held it tight. Again and again, he whispered short prayers—begging that only the worthy be shown mercy, watched over, and forgiven.

Outwardly, he appeared composed again, but inwardly he seethed with hatred so intense it boiled like hellfire.

Today was the day of a fairly large ceremony. He cleansed his body thoroughly and changed into more formal robes. The theme of his sermon had already been chosen—the sins and final downfall of past lords who had failed in their duties.

As he walked across the high corridor, he glanced down to see a long line of devoted citizens already waiting outside the worship hall, even though the service had yet to begin. It was a familiar sight. His cold gaze swept over the heads of the congregation.

The worship hall was filled with rows of hard stone pews. Nobles and wealthy believers—those with surnames—had already entered through the back door and were seated comfortably in the front rows. Before the sermon began, Aterra exchanged polite words with them. These were not people he could afford to ignore; each carried influence within Solar.

Only after this brief exchange did the doors open. The rest of the faithful, who had been eagerly waiting, surged in and quickly filled the seats from the front. The hall was massive, yet so many people had come that they not only filled every chair, but also lined the walls, standing shoulder to shoulder.

The doors remained wide open for the sake of those who couldn’t enter. Even outside, people craned their necks to peer in. Every one of them held three flowers—real, artificial, or carved.

Descending from the upper corridor, Aterra walked down the central aisle of the worship hall, the white hem of his robe fluttering behind him. Countless eyes, shining with reverence, followed the young High Priest.

They were eyes alight with burning faith—willing to do anything in the name of their god. Standing atop the platform, Aterra surveyed the sea of worshippers stretching far beyond the open doors.

‘Their numbers have increased again.’

The more followers, the stronger the temple’s power. It should have pleased him.

Yet something tugged at him.

Among the crowd, Aterra noticed a few unfamiliar hair colors—neither the silver nor dark gray typical of Solar’s natives. This was likely due to the newly opened direct tunnel to Bolni, which had brought in believers from outside.

Having met foreign worshippers before, Aterra knew that those from outside Solar—long isolated—sometimes held slightly different doctrinal beliefs. He would need to be cautious going forward. For now, it might be wise to refrain from sermons directly attacking mages.

When Aterra raised his hand, the murmuring crowd immediately fell silent. The High Priest opened his lips.

“Brothers and sisters in faith, it brings me great joy to see your faces again today. Before we begin the service, let us first take a moment for morning prayer—for all those who came here from early dawn.”

At his words, the worshippers rustled slightly and clasped their three flowers between their hands, then closed their eyes.

“O Morunka, your children have come once again to your embrace today. Please look upon them with pride and grant them your care, so that they may endure trials and tribulations. Enlighten them, that even in the harshest blizzards, they may walk the righteous path. Amen.”

He traced the sign of the cross again, and the worshippers followed in unison. Every time he witnessed this, Aterra felt a shiver rise from his gut—a sense of divine glory.

Once the faithful had enough time for personal prayer, Aterra spoke again.

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“Beloved followers, snow began falling in Solar in earnest yesterday. Even the temple grounds were blanketed this morning. As I swept the snow from the front steps, I suddenly thought—what would happen if I didn’t clear it away?”

The gazes aimed at him were full of respect, like a sky of stars. Most of the territory’s residents were illiterate, so his sermons were crafted like parables even children could follow.

“As you all know, Solar’s winters are brutal. Leave the snow alone too long, and it turns into hard ice. That’s why it must be cleared as soon as it falls. Otherwise, the road becomes a slippery hazard—and someone might fall and get hurt.”

The territory’s residents nodded instinctively. Through these small, relatable truths, he built up trust, then consensus.

“Today, I’ll share a story from long ago, about a lord who lived lazily and paid a heavy price.”

Just as Aterra was about to begin the main part of his sermon, a sudden disturbance broke out outside the hall. The worshippers stirred in confusion. The sacred stillness of the room was shattered, and Aterra scowled in irritation.

With a gesture of his eyes, a junior priest ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ quickly slipped out a side door to check. Aterra rapped on the pulpit a few times to redirect attention.

“This lord was the only son of a noble family that had ruled their land for generations. He inherited the title without much effort and lived each day in comfort. One day, watching his people work hard under the sun, he thought to himself...”

But the story never continued. The crowd grew more restless. Despite Aterra’s attempts to regain control, their attention was consumed by the commotion. Everyone kept turning around to see what was happening.

In all his years preaching in Solar, never had a service been disrupted like this.

At that moment, the priest who had gone to investigate came rushing back—his face flushed with alarm.