An upscale neighborhood never runs short of places to host a charity.
As the car rolled languidly into the Lance Community, the venue up ahead had already been set.
A huge platform dominated the center, the main stage for a charity auction where some fast-talking auctioneer would soon hawk off a pile of worthless trinkets.
Below the platform stood rows of tables and chairs that looked luxurious, and the careful decorations outside made the whole place feel impressively high-end.
Residents in tailored suits and elegant dresses were chatting and laughing inside the venue.
Next to these wealthy folk, reporters were already in position, cameras ready.
It was a familiar sight, and York found it rather tiresome.
Of course he knew that, for the rich, occasions like this were perfect for networking and widening their circles.
What matters most to the wealthy? Economic exchanges—partnerships.
York's gaze shifted, searching, until it settled on another corner of the grounds. There stood Ms. Camille, who had invited him, together with her family, greeting guests in front of a donation box.
Unlike the well-heeled crowd mingling inside, they wore matching uniforms emblazoned with a logo.
A familiar image: a food truck.
That was why he had come in person.
Following the routine of previous events, they would soon drive several food trucks in convoy to hand out free meals to the poor.
And he himself would offer free counseling and proclaim the Lord's glory.
It wasn't that he wanted to act like some opportunistic holy man.
In this world, many people already believed in God; He was their psychological anchor. Whenever they felt lost, they'd cross themselves, seeking support.
"Stop here first."
York said calmly to the young man behind the wheel.
"Right here."
"Yes, Father."
At the young man's reply, the shuttle car eased to a halt beside the venue.
"Mom! Father Yorkes is here!"
Beside Ms. Camille stood a strapping young man, Saxon Benjamin. He nudged his mother and pointed toward the parked car.
York was stepping out, bag and tote in hand.
"Mm."
Camille answered, genuinely pleased; when the priest was absent, something always felt missing.
"Go help Father."
"Okay!"
Saxon, who had been itching to move, dashed straight over.
"Father! Let me help!"
His voice arrived before he did. Hearing the familiar call, York smiled and, without refusing, handed the shopping bag to Saxon as he ran up.
"Thank you, Saxon."
Saxon shook his head solemnly. "No need to thank me, Father Yorkes—just tell me a story about an exorcism."
Ignoring the boy's expression, York slung his ever-present backpack over his shoulder and headed toward Ms. Camille.
"Child, there are no demons in this world."
"Hey, Father!" Saxon hurried after him, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper.
"I saw this really cool, totally real livestream where a priest performed an exorcism."
The speaker meant nothing by it, but the listener took it to heart; York's brows drew together as he recalled a stream he'd seen that very day.
"You mean…."
The moment York began to name an account, Saxon's face lit up.
"Father! You watch that stream too? Do you think the exorcism in it is real?"
York's heart sank—so it was that broadcast. In a world without devils or evil spirits, such a stream would be mere hype, but here, where every sort of supernatural creature existed, it was extremely dangerous.
"Child, all of it is fake. Forget it—watching that won't do you any good."
With that, York quickened his pace, already resolved that after today he would have Gabriel notify the authorities to shut down that widely circulated exorcism broadcast.
"Why?"
Saxon tilted his head, but seeing the priest several paces ahead, he promptly sped up.
"Hey, Father, wait for me!"
"…Thank you for coming, Father." Camille pressed her palms together, beaming.
"No need for thanks, Ms. Camille; I am simply following the Lord's will."
York nodded, took the shopping bag from Saxon, and stuffed it into the donation box.
The bag contained $173,000 given by parishioners to Pluto Church.
Normally the money was used for several purposes: maintenance and construction of the church, salaries and benefits for clergy, community service, charitable works, and events.
But with only one priest at Pluto Church, the first two items were unnecessary; the last two were what benefited both him and the faithful most.
Because that was how virtue was accumulated.
When the mechanical voice suddenly sounded in his ear, York's expression did not change.
"Ms. Camille, this is the offering from all the faithful of Pluto Church. I hope you will use it wisely."
"Thank you—our sincere thanks." Camille bowed, utterly serious.
"I will put it where it is most needed."
York made the sign of the cross.
"The Lord be with you. Amen."
…Once Ms. Camille finished welcoming the guests, the food-truck convoy entered the fast lane for departure.
The charity auction was still in full swing as the ten-truck fleet quietly left Lance Community.
They were heading to deliver free lunches to families who had fallen into poverty after losing their jobs in an accident.
York sat in one of the trucks, allocating the points he had just gained.
As mentioned earlier, donating all the parishioners' offerings brought him a benefit—shown in these points.
Roughly $10,000 equaled one point; the system had rounded down, giving him 17 points from the $173,000.
"Six to Mana, six to Health, the remaining five to Constitution…."
Following his plan, he split the 17 points among the three most vital attributes—Mana, Health, and Constitution.
Supernatural incidents had been increasing lately; he could sense a storm brewing.
[…]
[Allocation successful]
[Mana 160 → 166]
[Health 111 → 117]
[Overall Constitution 27 → 32]
[…]