Watching Little Red Riding Hood Hailey leave, York thought carefully, estimating the time the trip would take and the moment the short-haired girl might erupt.
'With my Cross delaying things, I should make it back before she blows.'
Recalling the faint demonic aura clinging to the short-haired girl, York shook his head, found Robert, gave him a few instructions, and told him to keep the church running.
He was glad he'd hired Robert on the spot; otherwise the offerings would have been lost for days—money that could be converted into attribute points.
'...'
'Robert, while I'm away, Pluto Church is in your hands.'
'Father, please rest assured.' Robert was dead serious.
'If you're not here, I'll keep everything in order.'
York smiled in satisfaction, patted Robert's shoulder, and strode off.
Back home, he headed straight for the basement storeroom.
Moments later, clanging and banging echoed from below.
The noise continued until nightfall, when a phone rang and was cut off.
After a long stretch, York surveyed the floor strewn with ammo, grenades, and C4, then glanced at his phone.
20:23
Less than half a day, and the detailed files he needed had finally arrived.
'Father Yorkes, His Eminence asked me to deliver this. He said: once you've read it, destroy it on the spot.'
'I will. Thank you.'
Watching the cleric walk away, York looked down at the parcel, turned, and went inside.
Living room.
Sitting on the sofa, York slowly unwrapped the parcel, revealing documents covered in diagrams, photos, and symbols.
'The Gates of Hell and the sealing array beneath Saint Kata Monastery?'
He murmured and began to study.
The information here would decide what methods he used on this mission.
An array, as the name implied, was a formation made from specific materials—something he'd heard of in his past life.
In this parallel world, arrays had become precise: special symbols, patterns, and lines that produced exact effects.
Summoning, sealing, sacred protection—those were some of them.
Arrays worked because they were the bridge between humans and gods—or whatever else lay beyond.
They were the medium connecting man to mysterious power.
By drawing the symbols correctly and performing the proper rites, the Church could obtain divine guidance, revelation, or strength.
Like the great sacred ward back at headquarters—powerful exorcism, protection, and a bulwark against evil.
He knew those arrays well, and most had positive effects; where there was light, there was also darkness.
Just as the well-behaved demons he'd seen at Old Mike's were usually things careless—or deliberate—humans had summoned through arrays.
Even the Duke Saint Cata the old man spoke of had probably used artifacts and patterned arrays to punch a tunnel linking Hell to the mortal world.
---
Time crept on until nearly ten o'clock, when York finally surfaced from the tangle of information.
'The Gates of Hell can be destroyed, but it has to be annihilated in an instant—anything less triggers a chain reaction.'
He exhaled, mind still racing, eyes fixed on the final page.
'No wonder the Church only sealed it; the conditions for destruction are brutal: ① power enough to shatter the Gates, ② sufficient holy light.'
He grinned to himself.
'And I happen to have both.'
---
[68 Spirit spent]
[68 Spirit spent]
[...]
Not long after, in the basement at 3 a.m., York's uncertain voice echoed.
'Four hundred seventy-six points of Holy Imbuement stacked—should be enough, right?'
Looking at the sacred C4 that was almost a holy relic, he checked the time, rubbed his tired eyes, and clenched his teeth.
'One stroke and it's done—keep going!'
The night passed in silence, only heavy breathing drifting through the storeroom.
After who knew how long, another ringtone sounded.
'Father Yorkes,' came the respectful, familiar voice of Ward Martin through the phone.
'Your order has arrived at your front door.'
York paused the rhythm of Holy Imbuement, pinched the bridge of his nose, and checked the time.
[8:36]
Before he knew it, he had pulled another all-nighter.
The constant drain on his Spirit made him feel the same exhaustion he had known in his past life after two straight days without sleep.
"Good."
After answering, he glanced at the holy C4 bomb now shimmering with an exquisitely sacred light, then headed toward the stairs with his phone in hand.
Just as he was about to hang up, Ward Martin suddenly brought up something else.
"Father Yorkes, have you been keeping track of John lately?"
York froze mid-hang-up.
"John? What now?"
"John broke the rules of the assassin world," Ward Martin said evenly.
He's become a thorn in the side—and a prize—many are chasing.
"Hmm?"
York recalled the second and third films about John Wick; the man's life was as tough as nails.
"Ward, that's none of my business. I won't get involved in your assassin affairs, but thanks for the heads-up. Don't update me again."
Without waiting for a reply, York ended the call.
He knew Ward Martin's aim, but the ordinary world was too distant. Until this god of death became his subordinate, he would focus only on what lay before him.
Most importantly, the six-hundred-thousand-dollar arms shipment he had ordered had finally arrived.
...
Soon, the already well-stocked underground warehouse welcomed a new batch.
Looking at the fresh arrivals, York's eyes gleamed as if beholding treasure.
In his past life he'd been a closet military buff; while working as a doctor he'd fantasized about collecting arms—pure fantasy, of course.
This shipment satisfied that craving completely.
Unlike the earlier order of small arms and light weapons, most of these were heavy: rocket launchers of various calibers, revolving grenade launchers, large-bore sniper grenade rifles, time bombs, and more.
Best of all, the rocket launchers came with single-man thermobaric warheads—so-called fuel-air explosives—alongside bunker-busters that could punch through a meter of concrete before detonating, armor-piercing rounds, and assorted other shells... "Perfect."
York felt utterly secure and invincible; with this arsenal, he would dare accept even a random quest offering hundreds of points.
In his excitement, he layered a double buff onto every weapon.
"M202 66 mm four-tube rocket launcher, lightweight shoulder-fired, loaded with thermite warheads."
"RPG-7, single-operator shoulder-launched, fitted with HEAT and thermobaric rounds."
"MK14 rotary grenade launcher, six-round cylinder, 40×51 mm grenades."
...
The next day arrived in a blink.
[12:14]
A floor panel slid open in the silent room, and York's muscular frame emerged from the underground warehouse, phone in one hand while he scratched his greasy hair with the other.
Listening to the old man at headquarters, he assigned the single stat point earned from yesterday's and today's daily fixed quests to Spirit once again.
[Spirit 89.5 → 90.5]
Though he hadn't slept in three days, no ordinary weariness showed on his face; he simply sighed into the phone.
"Old man, honestly, I don't need anyone's help."
Across the line, the elderly man at a lavish dining table smiled gently at the documents just delivered.
"Saint Kata Monastery is a convent; it is the Lord's arrangement, York."
At those words, York couldn't help recalling all the preparations he'd made these past two days.
Yet he could hardly say he intended to blow Saint Kata Monastery sky-high.
Sensing the old man's resolve, York fell silent for a moment.
"I want her to obey every order I give."
Unmoved, the old man replied calmly.
"Naturally. She is but a Novice Nun; your will is supreme, York."
Then he added,
"So when do you leave, my child? The people in Romania have been waiting two days."
"This afternoon."
With that, York rubbed his greasy hair, ended the call, and headed straight for the shower.
The old man took no offense; he simply studied the file on the nun and sank into thought.
...