"[One point of magic used]"
"[One point of magic used]"
"[One point of magic used]"
"[...]"
With the notification sounds in his ear and the real-time changes in the data window before him, York generally had a good grasp of his magic consumption.
He placed the consecrated and enchanted bullets, one by one, into a small bag beside him, where they clinked together with a crisp sound.
Enchanting one bullet typically consumed one point of magic. According to his estimate, the effect should be permanent, similar to the two points of magic he had given away.
At the same time, based on his guess, if his magic wasn't converted through the system and was forcibly used by others, it would likely only be usable by himself.
Just like the enchanted bullets now: they were effective when he used them, but once in someone else's hands, the enchantment on the bullets vanished without a trace.
This was quite peculiar, almost as if a weapon was recognizing its master.
Therefore, there was a difference between his own consumption and giving it to others. When he consumed it himself, it could be restored over time—more precisely, one point of magic value could be restored every minute.
York' eyes narrowed slightly; this mode gave him a very familiar feeling.
It was like the mana bar in games; casting certain skills in games would consume a certain amount of mana.
Upon thinking of this, York looked at his extremely simple personal panel, feeling a bit regretful.
So far, the system hadn't given him any skills. Even when random quests appeared, the rewards were basically points, so all his uses of magic were self-discovered.
For instance, in the dead of night, when he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, spreading magic into his eyes was like wearing night vision goggles.
For instance, spreading it onto bullets would increase the bullets' penetration, damage, and other effects. Combined with consecrated bullets, it was particularly effective against ghouls, demons, and similar entities.
The most abnormal part was that this magic could also be combined with Holy water, and even with the Bible and other effects.
The rest were just so-so; things like telekinesis were convenient but lacked lethality.
To York, the magic within him felt like a versatile treasure chest.
Of course, that was the extent of it. York felt he hadn't fully understood the magic within him. After all, in his previous life, magic was usually synonymous with mages.
It was a pity that he was a priest and didn't know how to learn magic. For the sake of magic, he had even searched for information in the secret vault of the church headquarters, but unfortunately, there wasn't a single magic book in the vast vault, and information about mages was only recorded in fragments.
"What a pity. Otherwise, blasting those demons with a big fireball spell would be so satisfying to imagine." York' eyes showed longing. For him, yield equals justice! The greater the yield, the greater the justice!
"Magic..."
York put away his deep-seated yearning and picked up a bullet from the small bag in front of him, gently drawing a cross on it with his small knife. Magic automatically spread onto it.
"[One point of magic used]"
"[One point of magic used]"
"[...]"
It was exactly 9 PM.
After enchanting 134 bullets, York quickly left his priest mode, closed the church doors, and officially clocked out.
Today, only a few familiar believers had come to pray, and he had fulfilled his priestly duty of listening to their confessions.
Under these circumstances, his days passed uneventfully, and time flew by without him noticing. York unconsciously touched the envelope in his pocket. Although he respected Old Brown's choice, he was still somewhat uneasy.
This was a kind old man who had supported him greatly.
"With Old Brown's ability, taking down those few scumbags alone shouldn't be difficult."
York had thought about what Old Brown might do. Firearms had evolved significantly, with many low-recoil options suitable for elderly people and women.
"Of course, it wouldn't be easy for Old Brown to deal with those people. He would probably use a handgun that's not easily exposed.
Although handguns are strictly controlled compared to rifles, for a retired officer like Old Brown, obtaining a concealed carry permit shouldn't be difficult.
With a handgun, and Old Brown's experience in war, he would likely pick them off one by one, taking them by surprise in his guise as an old man..."
York thought as he got into the driver's seat of the Ford Raptor, sighing inwardly. Then he shifted gears, pressed the accelerator, and slowly drove away from the church, heading towards Old Brown's location.
He wanted to confirm Old Brown's safety.
Old Brown was a retired military officer, and his pension was quite generous, but in fact, most of it was spent on Ms. Judith.
People who haven't stayed in a hospital for long probably don't understand how high daily hospital expenses are.
So, Old Brown could only choose to live in Tem Community because it was cheaper and saved money.
And lower expenses also meant fewer police patrols, which in turn meant that the public safety wasn't very good.
This was a vicious cycle. Over time, some gangs began to move in, and their presence would also affect the community's atmosphere... The Ford Raptor drove through the streets of Tem Community at a speed of twenty to thirty miles per hour.
At this slow speed, York occasionally saw factors and sources contributing to the poor public safety.
On every street, there was a group of young men gathered together, their gazes cold, constantly staring at passersby. These people clearly weren't out for a normal stroll.
Besides these individuals, York also saw some young men exchanging something. He sharply noticed that the small bag contained white powder, which was clearly some kind of drug.
This blatant display was a scene he would never have witnessed in his previous life.
"The public safety in Tem Community is getting worse and worse..." York pursed his lips, stepped on the accelerator, and sped directly to Old Brown's house.
At seventy-plus miles per hour, it wasn't long before York arrived at the place where he had met Old Brown yesterday morning, and also the place where he had been ridiculed by those young men.
Of course, this wasn't where Old Brown lived, but the scene unfolding there made his brows furrow slightly.
It was late at night, and the area where Old Brown had emerged that day was now cordoned off with a conspicuous barrier. Several police cars and ambulances were crowded inside, and red lights flashed continuously in the narrow alleyways. Besides these, a crowd of onlookers gathered on the opposite side, watching the commotion.
"What happened?"
York suddenly thought of Old Brown, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter. He simply drove directly to the barrier.
In front of the barrier were a group of police officers standing behind their police cars.
"Officer Baker, what happened?"
Looking at these pot-bellied, wary America police officers, York asked one he recognized. He remembered this officer's name because his wife had brought him to the church.
Hearing the voice, Officer Dean Baker, among the several officers, looked at the pickup truck that had suddenly stopped slowly in front of him. He was about to tell it to leave, but when he saw the person inside, he looked at his colleagues, and finally pushed open the barrier and came over, resting one hand on the car window.
"Father York, what are you doing here?"
York calmly said, "Looking for an old friend. He lives in this community."
Upon hearing this, Officer Baker glanced again at his colleagues who were talking behind him, and said in a low voice.
"Father, be careful when you pass through here in the future. No, it's best not to come at all."