I can see experience bars after being transported to another world.

When the archbishop walked out of the dome with Alice's help, his complexion had recovered considerably.

The golden liquid worked even better than expected.

His voice still carried a hint of weariness. "The seal is only a temporary measure. I need time to study that magic circle and find a way to completely destroy it."

Old Morgan nodded, his gaze falling on the Viscount not far away.

The viscount was exhausted. He knelt on one knee, supporting himself with his longsword, and gasped for breath.

His silver armor was full of cracks and dents, his face was ashen, but his eyes were surprisingly calm.

"Bring him here," the archbishop said coldly.

Two armored soldiers stepped forward, lifted the viscount, and brought him before old Morgan and the archbishop.

"Viscount," the archbishop's voice was devoid of warmth, "what's going on with the things in the underground vault?"

The Viscount raised his head, looked at the Archbishop and old Morgan, remained silent for a moment, and then gave a bitter smile.

I want a promotion.

His voice was hoarse, but he didn't shy away.

"Tier 3... I've been stuck at Tier 3 for far too long. A few months ago, someone contacted me posing as an imperial envoy, saying that the Empire had noticed my predicament and was willing to offer assistance."

The viscount paused, then continued:

"He gave me a batch of 'promotion tools' and told me to use them in a specific way."

"So you smuggled those things into the inner city?" Old Morgan said coldly.

"Yes," the Viscount did not deny it. "I set up a magic array in the underground vault and performed the ritual according to his instructions. But I didn't expect..."

He looked at the corroded ground in the city hall square, a hint of lingering fear flashing in his eyes.

"I didn't expect it to tear open a crack."

"What about that secret letter?" the archbishop asked.

"It's in a hidden compartment in my study," the Viscount said frankly. "You can go and get it."

He took a deep breath, his expression becoming complicated.

"To be honest... that letter was fake. I knew it a long time ago, and there wasn't any useful information on it."

"What?" The archbishop narrowed his eyes.

"I've seen the imperial seal far too many times," the viscount said with a wry smile. "The seal on that letter had the wrong ink color; it was a forgery. I noticed it as soon as the package arrived."

"Since you know it's fake, you still dare to use it?" Old Morgan's voice turned cold.

"I was hoping for the best." The viscount paused for a moment, then looked up, a hint of self-mockery flashing in his eyes.

"I think even if the letter is fake, those other things aren't necessarily all problematic. After all... to be able to obtain this level of advancement medium, the other party must have their own purpose."

"If I'm careful and take precautions, maybe I can take that step."

"So you set up an isolation array in the vault?" Old Morgan asked.

"Yes." The Viscount simply nodded. "I specially hired three inscription scholars and spent two months setting up multiple layers of protection. I thought those protections were sufficient."

He lowered his head, his voice becoming weak.

"But I was wrong; the power of that thing far exceeded my expectations."

Old Morgan and the archbishop exchanged a glance.

The Viscount is not a fool.

As a third-tier transcendent being and the chosen one of the Empire, he had his own judgment and had made the necessary preparations.

However, he underestimated the methods of the Deep Sea Church and overestimated his own abilities.

His obsession with promotion blinded him.

"Regardless," the Viscount took a deep breath, straightened his body, and although he was swaying precariously, he still maintained the dignity of a nobleman, "this was my fault. Because of my stupidity and greed, I almost killed so many people."

He looked at the archbishop with a calm expression.

"I am willing to accept any punishment."

The archbishop was silent for a moment, about to speak.

Old Morgan asked first, "By the way, where is Dr. Brin?"

The Viscount paused slightly, "Brin?"

"That very famous doctor in the inner city," old Morgan stared at him. "Have you seen him recently?"

"No." The Viscount frowned. "I haven't seen him for several days. What's wrong?"

The archbishop looked at old Morgan: "What's wrong with this man?"

"There might be a problem." Old Morgan didn't explain further, turning to the armored soldiers beside him and saying, "Search Dr. Brin's clinic and residence, and bring him to me immediately if you find him."

The Holy Armored Army obeyed the order and departed.

The archbishop glanced at old Morgan, but didn't press the matter. He then turned to the viscount and said:

"You are an imperial noble, a chosen one of the empire. According to imperial regulations, I have no right to judge you. However, you will be placed under house arrest until the imperial authorities come to deal with you."

He paused, then added, "From now on, the defense of the inner city will be taken over by the church."

The viscount nodded, offering no objection.

"Take him away."

Two Holy Armor soldiers lifted the viscount and took him away.

Old Morgan watched the Viscount's figure disappear into the night, then pulled a pipe from his pocket.

"What about the outer city?" the archbishop asked.

"The priests of the Deep Sea Church have been killed." Old Morgan lit his pipe. "My men are cleaning up the rest. There have been casualties, but it's still under control."

The archbishop remained silent for a moment.

"This time...we've won?"

Old Morgan took a deep drag on his cigarette, his gaze fixed on the distant sea.

The sky had darkened, thick clouds obscured the moonlight, and the waves crashed against the rocks with a low roar.

"On the surface, yes."

He exhaled a puff of smoke, a barely perceptible worry flashing in his cloudy eyes.

"But I always felt something was off."

The archbishop glanced at him: "What do you mean?"

"Think about it," old Morgan flicked his cigarette ash, "The Deep Sea Church has been operating in Grim Harbor for so many years, and tonight they've come out in full force, and what's the result?"

His gaze deepened.

"We killed the priests in the outer city, you sealed the anchor point in the inner city, and the viscount was captured. All their plans have failed."

The archbishop frowned. "You think it's going too smoothly?"

"It wasn't going too smoothly," old Morgan shook his head. "I just didn't understand what they were trying to do."

He took a deep drag on his cigarette, his gaze becoming profound.

"Look at what they've done: pollution, spreading alienation, tearing open the cracks... They shout 'Mother' while their hands are filled with the pollution of the people, destroying Grimm's order."

"But what is the purpose of all this destruction?"

Old Morgan looked at the archbishop, his eyes filled with confusion.

"If their goal was simply to kill, they could have used much more covert methods."

"If it's for a sacrifice, tonight's scale is far from enough. If it's for summoning something, that spine can only open a crack at most, it can't summon a real being at all."

He paused, lowering his voice.

"So I've been wondering, what was the real purpose of tonight's commotion, or... a cover-up?"

The archbishop's expression changed, clearly indicating that he also had a bad feeling.

"You mean, tonight might just be a smokescreen?"

"I'm not sure," old Morgan sighed, "but your church should have information about the Deep Sea Church."

"They've been operating in Grimport for so many years, they can't possibly only have these methods. Will they really accept being wiped out tonight?"

The archbishop did not answer.

He had read the church's materials countless times. The Deep Sea Church had existed for an exceptionally long time and was classified as a typical cult, but the danger they were currently posing was clearly far greater than described in the materials.

Hopefully, old Morgan is just overthinking things.

Neither of them spoke; only the sea breeze howled past, bringing with it a salty, fishy smell.

In the square, the Holy Armor Army began clearing the battlefield.

The soldiers carried away the bodies of the mutated individuals, preparing to burn them in one go.

Several wounded soldiers were taken to a nearby medical area for treatment, their low groans echoing in the night wind.

Just then, the soldiers who had been sent out earlier returned.

"Report!" the armored soldier returned and said, "Dr. Brin's clinic is closed, and no one is at his residence. The neighbors said he disappeared three days ago."