The plot of "Quick Transmigration: The Charismatic One Always Collapses" is incomplete.

Erebus fell to the ground.

The black robe spread out, revealing a shockingly empty hole in the chest, its edges impossibly clean, revealing the vanished flesh, bones, and internal organs.

A soft green light emanated from Erebus's body, gradually enveloping the lifeless form before fading away.

It lasted about fifteen minutes from beginning to end.

When the green light dissipated, Erebus was still lying there, breathing steadily, with a calm expression, looking as if he were sleeping.

If it weren't for the large hole in his shirt.

In the darkness of the alley, a soft laugh came from an unknown direction.

"It really was you."

-

I don't know how much time passed.

Erebus opened his eyes.

The sky above the alley was a deep blue night sky dotted with a few stars.

Erebus sat up and looked around somewhat blankly.

This is where?

Has his narcolepsy flared up again?

I guess I've been using my brain a lot lately, and I'm really tired.

As Erebus thought this, he pushed himself up and stood up. When he looked down, he noticed something was wrong.

His robe had a large hole torn in the chest, the edges neatly cut as if it had been cleanly sliced ​​open by something.

Erebus: ...

He stared at the hole for a few seconds, completely baffled as to why anyone would cut their own clothes.

-

Ever since receiving the money from Mayor Walter, the high priest has been indulging in the pleasure of counting money every day.

The clinking and tinkling sounds were simply the most beautiful music in the world.

The one who was worried was now Bishop Dickens, who sighed and groaned every day in a corner of the construction site.

He was worried. The Holy Son trusted him so much and entrusted him with all the matters. This trust moved him, but it also put him under immense pressure.

He watched helplessly as fewer and fewer wealthy people came to work each day, but he couldn't think of any way to help them.

Priest Xiaochuan was sent by him to collect books, and the other bishops also had their own affairs to attend to. As for the Holy Knight Commander, he was too simple-minded.

For a moment, Bishop Dickens couldn't find anyone to consult with.

Just when he was at his wit's end, Little Mustache appeared.

Little Mustache had always wanted to cultivate a good relationship with the Temple, since he was an external hire and hoped to take on more projects for the Temple in the future to showcase his talents.

Since the Holy Son went into seclusion, he had been secretly observing Bishop Dickens, who had been entrusted with an important task by the Holy Son, and noticed that he had been looking worried for several days.

Finally, that afternoon, Little Mustache mustered up his courage and asked a question.

"Your Excellency, why are you sitting here sighing all alone? Is something troubling you?"

Dickens looked up and sized him up. This bearded man was said to be a talent personally selected by the Son of God and the chief designer of the altar.

As someone also valued by the Holy Son, Little Mustache must also possess some extraordinary qualities.

Bishop Dickens then laid out his entire predicament, and then, with a glimmer of hope, added, "Do you have any ideas?"

After listening, Little Mustache stroked his mustache and fell into deep thought.

After a while, his eyes suddenly lit up.

"Your Excellency, I'm wondering, since the Holy Son specifically mentioned nominal incentives, does that mean we could set up medals and titles to encourage everyone?"

"A medal?" Bishop Dickens was taken aback.

The man with the mustache nodded. "Yeah, it's like when we played games as kids, you could get medals or badges for completing certain tasks."

"Yes, how come I didn't think of that?" Dickens' eyes lit up, but then he hesitated.

"But wouldn't that be too superficial? Would people even care?"

The man with the mustache quickly added after a moment's thought:

"Then we can award medals of different levels based on the length of time worked and performance."

"We can also hold a small award ceremony at the beginning of each month and announce it throughout the city. Think about it, what do those rich people care about most? Respect."

"If others receive medals but you don't, does that mean you gave up halfway, weren't as devout to the light as others, and didn't have as strong a will? Then you're not good enough."

"Do you think these people can tolerate this? We can also set different titles for the medals, which can further motivate them. For example, 'Indomitable Glory' and 'Glorious Glory' – it's obvious which one has more prestige."

After listening, Dickens remained silent for a moment, then suddenly gave a thumbs up.

"You're a genius!"

The little mustache was so impressed by the praise that he almost burst into tears.

Finally, someone has seen his talent!

His voice was filled with excitement, and he immediately puffed out his chest, patting it as if to volunteer:

"Your Excellency, leave the design of this medal to me! I know a little about design, I guarantee it will be beautiful!"

Dickens nodded repeatedly, his gaze towards the mustache changing as if he were looking at a piece of gold.

The more he thought about it, the more feasible his idea seemed. It wasn't just about the rich; ordinary people could also be included in the medal system. The rich could be called "Glorious Laborers," and the ordinary people could be called "Diligent Learners."

It can even be extended further; obtaining these badges grants priority seating at the prayer altar.

In the past, during temple ceremonies, the seating arrangement outside the temple was based on social status and the amount of money donated, which was somewhat unfair to ordinary people.

According to the words of the Son of God, are the faiths of the rich necessarily more devout than those of the poor who are penniless? Not necessarily.

Now that we have this screening mechanism, we can rank people by badges. The higher the badge level, the more devout their faith in the light, and the closer they are to the light—that's only natural.

-

Before Bishop Dickens could finalize a concrete plan, something happened that brought an unexpected turning point to the rich workers' labor field.

There was a noblewoman named Dyer who participated in the labor, and she came for more than twenty days in a row. She was one of the few people who were not asked to leave.

It was said that someone saw a shooting star in the countryside, so that night, Miss Dale and her two sisters made a pact to go see it.

The three of them sneaked out of their house and climbed a small hill on the outskirts of the city. Instead of seeing the meteor, they encountered four hooligans.

These four guys, who clearly weren't good people, blocked them up, intending to rob them of their money and their virtue, spewing vulgarities that were utterly offensive.

The noble ladies were terrified.

They had been pampered and well protected since childhood, and had never seen anything like this before.

My first reaction was to scream, back away, and frantically swing my bag at them, trying to drive them away.

The bag had brass buckles and was quite heavy; if it hit your face, it would really hurt.

Then, as they fought, they discovered something.

These people are a bit weak.

One of the thugs was punched in the face by Dale and fell to the ground.

The noble ladies exchanged glances, then saw the same thought in each other's eyes.

It seems like we can beat them!

Upon discovering this fact, the fear subsided, and anger surged up, which quickly fermented into a kind of exhilarating pleasure.

The situation reversed instantly.

Forget about being reserved, elegant, or ladylike.

Miss Dale and her friends didn't see the shooting stars that night.

But they mistook the three thugs for shooting stars and threw them off the hillside.