Lane sat down and rested his head on the edge of the bed. The gray surface of the rocks in front of him faintly reflected the morning light. The silence felt as if it was witnessing his thoughts.
What should I do? he wondered. How can I use these people to stop the Church?
His mind was full of tangled thoughts; each idea collided with another, each one trying to drown out the rest. Then suddenly, a spark lit up inside his head.
"Aha— I've found it," he whispered. "What's the best way to oppose a faith? You bring a different faith. If you have people who believe in you, the rest unfolds like a loose thread."
In that moment, an invisible web began to form in his mind—each thread carefully woven, each possibility measured and weighed. "I know the outline now," he murmured. "The rest is just execution."
When he finally laid his head on the pillow, his thoughts were still roaring. He slept, but it was restless—he walked through smoke in his dreams, holding a bloody sword, with hundreds kneeling silently behind him.When morning came, he opened his eyes with a tired yet determined expression.
He washed his face, strapped on his sword, put on his old jacket, and stepped outside. The air was cold, the village was quiet. Wind passed between stone houses, still carrying the scent of the destroyed church.
He searched for Edwick but couldn't find him. He approached an elderly villager nearby.
"Do you know where Edwick is?"
Without lifting his head, the man answered curtly, "He's in council. Meeting with the others."
Lane nodded. "Can you take me there?"
The villager hesitated for a moment, then gestured. "Follow me."
They walked through narrow alleys while Lane studied the surroundings. Traces of the explosion were still visible: burn marks on some stones, dried blood in certain places… every step echoed the village's recent past.
People… he thought. They trust in the Holy One, but she ignores them. Does Goddess Ariana only watch her chosen? Priests, clerics… all of them corrupted. Is this the deity they believe in?
His eyes drifted over ruined walls, broken homes, silent villagers. There was no trace of holiness left.
They arrived at the council house."This is it," the villager said.
Lane thanked him and walked inside.
The creaking door broke the silence in the room. Three people were inside: a black-haired woman with a sword on her belt, an elderly man with a face wrinkled by time, and Edwick. They were arguing intensely around a table.
Lane entered quietly."Good morning, Edwick. Morning to everyone."
Edwick looked up and his expression brightened slightly. "Welcome, Lane. Let me introduce you—this is Sara, and beside her is Gorn. They're the other members of the council."
Sara shot Lane a cold glance. The corner of her lips curled with disdain.
"Let me introduce," she said mockingly, "this is Lane—the child who blew up the church yesterday."
Her voice carried jealousy, anger, and a trace of fear."If he destroyed a church, he shouldn't be standing here."
Gorn stepped in immediately. "Calm down, Sara. He's our guest. Edwick's guest."
Edwick added sharply, "Show respect. Thanks to this boy, we're still free."
Lane remained silent. His eyes briefly met Sara's. Her gaze was arrogant; his was filled with quiet patience.
Finally, Lane spoke."You mentioned yesterday's issue, Edwick. I have a plan. A long one, but the chance of success is high."
Edwick's eyes lit up. "Really? Tell us."
Lane approached the table, placed his hands on it, and spoke with steady resolve:
"First, we establish an information network. Without information, we can't survive. Then we find someone influential in the village. Through them we'll create a new faith—false, but strong. A doctrine that opposes the Holy One yet gives people hope. Then we spread propaganda. The village will split in two. Our greatest advantage is this: they already mistrust the Holy One. We will guide that distrust. Support them, give them security, and they will choose their own leader. We take control in one night."
Gorn stared at Lane in disbelief."A ten-year-old child blows up a church and plans something like this… How old are you?"
Lane replied without emotion, "Nine. But I'll be ten soon."
Gorn froze. Lane continued,"My body may be young, but my soul is long grown."
His words weighed heavily in the room.
Edwick broke the silence. "The plan is good… but can we really make people believe in a false faith?"
Lane smiled. "People only need a spark. You start the fire, they fan it."
Edwick looked at Gorn. Gorn nodded. "But we need to discuss it with Sara."
Lane shrugged. "You talk. I have other things to do."
As he exited, he felt Sara's cold, sharp, jealous gaze behind him. He ignored it.
The village grew darker as he headed out. Holy soldiers patrolled the ruined areas. Lane slipped through back alleys and left the village, sinking into the shadows of the forest.
Today he would train the "Blood Lake" technique again.He placed his hand on his sword. Old streaks of dried blood still darkened the blade.
"How can I grow stronger?" he whispered.
The sword remained silent. Lane repeated the question several times, each time more impatient.
Finally, the sword spoke with a deep, echoing voice:
"I cannot answer directly. But know this—you must refine your aura."
Lane frowned. "If I improve my aura… will other techniques return to my memory?"
A pause.
Then the sword's voice vibrated through the metal:"I cannot say… but most likely, yes."
"That's enough."
He took his stance and controlled his breathing.Closed his eyes, remembering yesterday—the rhythm of footsteps, the warmth of breath, the weight of the blade…
Suddenly, the sword glowed crimson. Thick light like blood streamed across its surface. Lane's eyes turned the same red.
"Now I can swing."
Aura surged from his body.He slashed—one, two, ten, a hundred… each strike stronger than the last.
His muscles burned, lungs stung, but he did not stop. Even when his mana neared depletion, he continued.
Finally he dropped to his knees, sweat dripping from his forehead.
"Enough," he muttered. "I can return."
He sheathed his sword and walked back toward the village, each step sharpening the plan in his mind: false faith, information network, propaganda, a triggering event.
When he reached the underground chamber, he went toward the council room. Sara and Gorn were inside.
Lane entered."Are we going to start, or are you still undecided?"
Gorn answered, "We've decided, but we need rules to spread this false faith. How will we proceed?"
Lane crossed his arms. "First we gather information. We'll make a spy network. They won't infiltrate—just observe."
Gorn blinked in confusion."How can spies gather intel without blending in?"
Lane smirked faintly."There are many ways to learn. You don't need to enter their circles. Magic and secrecy are enough. The rest is a game to be played."
Sara bit her lip; Lane's cold logic disturbed her.
Gorn and Sara exchanged a look and nodded. "Alright."
Lane approached the table and drew a map with his finger."The place where information flows most is the market. And the tavern. Do we control either?"
Gorn answered immediately: "Not the tavern. Its owner works with the Holy Unions. But the market is under our control."
Lane nodded. "The market is enough. We will use the children outside."
Sara suddenly stood up, furious."You can't use the children! We won't drag them into this!"
Lane's eyes darkened."Use the children? Am I not a child? What's the difference? If you want my help, then things go my way. If you want victory, follow logic—not emotions."
Sara fell silent.Gorn lowered his head.The room was filled only with Lane's breathing.
Finally Edwick entered and heard the argument."Enough," he said. "Lane's plan makes sense. We begin."
After two hours of discussion, the council dispersed.
Lane went to his room, opened his bag, and pulled out an old book. On the cover were the words: What Is Happiness?
He had taken it before leaving his master Vaen. It had intrigued him.The first page held only a single question:
"What is happiness?"
Lane muttered, "What do you mean, what is happiness?"
He turned the page.
"Happiness is a feeling people fight for, a feeling they cross many hardships to gain. It is a pleasant emotion."
Lane scoffed."A pleasant emotion, huh? People fight for happiness, but they forget one thing. Happiness isn't permanent."
He turned the page and spoke softly:
"Happiness lasts a day, maybe three. Then it fades. And yet people spend years chasing those three days. They fight, suffer, die. Is that logical?"
He closed the book.
"Happiness is temporary," he said to himself. "What truly matters is peace. Peace is the reward after war. Happiness is merely its fruit."
Lane shut the book quietly, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
Only a single thought echoed in his mind:
Be yourself. Let no emotion control you.