Chapter 50: Many Paths

The matter of the Apostles, no matter how much it stirred Mulan’s imagination, would inevitably fade over time. Days slipped by like fleeting horses, and Mulan’s life in Digo seemed to have returned to the days of high school—most of his time and energy now devoted to study, his physical training never neglected, all the while keeping up with cases at the York District Police Station.

In a modest district station, genuine encounters with the arcane were rare. In fact, apart from the very first incident, any subsequent cases that brushed against the mysterious were all misunderstandings or simply people exploiting the notion for their own schemes.

Yet Mulan handled cases with an efficiency far surpassing that of the station’s original detectives. This owed partly to his mental acuity, partly to his social standing. When a problem involved the nobility, Mulan could intervene directly, and progress was inevitably swifter than that of ordinary officers, who often found themselves shut out.

Still, Mulan’s days grew ever more frugal—almost visibly so. Hendel wished dearly that Mulan would stop paying him. He didn’t lack for money, after all. But in two months, Mulan hadn’t once failed to pay him in full.

Hendel was a capable young noble—at least, after a brief period of Mulan’s guidance, it became clear he had exceptional talent. He took on more than half of Mulan’s work, often ran errands for him, and paid every carriage fare for the two of them.

Mulan already paid Hendel the lowest possible wage, less than any other officer at the station—if it were any lower, it wouldn’t even cover Hendel’s travel costs, and Mulan was too embarrassed to reduce it further.

Yet, in truth, Mulan’s salary was not low. Including the “gray” income from the nobility, it was enough to match that of two district detectives. So where did his money go? The answer was in the letters he sent.

Two months earlier, Mulan had written to the families of his fallen subordinates—not only on the first day, but for some time after. Many letters went unanswered, but replies began to trickle in.

The soldiers who had once served directly under Mulan, who had trusted him and ultimately lost their lives on the battlefield, left behind families who rarely received any compensation. Even when they did, their circumstances were little better than that mother and son’s. With their breadwinners gone, many of these families struggled bitterly.

Mulan was no fool. He knew there was a vast network of vested interests behind this, one he could not yet hope to disrupt; charging in blindly would be reckless. Nor was he a saint—he could not aid every fallen soldier’s family. But at least for the widows and orphans of his former brothers-in-arms, he could not turn away.

The moment he received his first paycheck, Mulan began to calculate and allocate these funds, sending them in batches to the families. He even sent another letter, with money enclosed, to those who had not replied the first time.

As a result, some addresses that had been silent began to write back.

A Dierga battalion numbered about a thousand men at full strength. Mulan’s direct command was about two hundred; after the higher officers died or fled, the remnants of the battalion fell under his charge. Numbers were never at full strength—never above four hundred—and in the end, only seventy-seven survived.

Through notes, letters, and even attempts to access military records, Mulan managed to contact only one hundred sixty families. The rest remained out of reach for now, but the seventy-seven survivors’ families were also in poor condition, so Mulan included them in his aid, totaling two hundred thirty-seven households.

These families lived with utmost frugality—their needs were not high, yet they nearly drained Mulan dry.

On the third floor of the York District Police Station, Mulan was preparing envelopes, both filled and unfilled stacking up in tall piles. Hendel helped him, and even Erwin had been called over to assist.

“The last envelope!” Mulan stuffed a few banknotes into an oiled-paper envelope, sealed it, and let out a long breath.

“We’ve checked them all, right?”

“Yes, sir. Every envelope contains four silver Dies; none were missed.”

“Good. Hendel, would you mind sending these letters?”

Mulan slumped in his chair, his words weary. Hendel straightened up.

“Yes, I’ll take care of it right away.”

With that, Hendel swept all the letters into a burlap sack, double-checked that none remained on or under the table, and left the room.

Erwin stood with arms crossed, silently praying.

“Mulan, everything you’re doing—the True God sees it.”

Mulan had his feet propped on the edge of the desk, a magic book in hand, still looking somewhat drained.

“My efforts are only a drop in the bucket. Erwin, do you think Queen Nishehelier knows about all this?”

“Politics isn’t for a man of the Sanctuary like me to ponder.”

Mulan curled his lip.

“Don’t be naïve. If those high prelates who deal with the great figures of the world aren’t involved in politics, I don’t believe it. They probably use their influence to punish heresy too.”

Erwin said nothing—he knew Mulan spoke the truth, though such cases were not the norm.

“In truth, these families are both unfortunate and lucky—unfortunate for their loss, lucky that you’re helping them. But how many more are out there, struggling with no one to rely on?”

“The fact that you reflect on these things makes me believe you’ll make a fine bishop—perhaps even an archbishop, or the Holy Pontiff himself!”

At this, Erwin could not help but raise his voice.

“The Sanctuary has no pontiff—only the Grand Archbishop of the Light and the Holy Grand Knight!”

“My mistake, I must have mixed up the titles,” Mulan said with a laugh. Erwin was an earnest man, especially at times like this.

Erwin sighed and glanced at the stack of magic books on Mulan’s desk.

“So, have you made your choice? Decided which path you’ll take?”

Mulan’s physical prowess was well known. A month and a half earlier, he had taken the Enlightenment Elixir crafted by the Black Castle, pushing his body to the peak of human potential—a prerequisite for ascending to the next rank. Now, he faced a choice.

The Black Castle, after its research, granted Mulan access to three tomes of secret arts—detailed guides on the paths known as the Reviver, the Astrologer, and the Magician. These were only the starting points, but each could be developed into a higher transcendent existence with relatively low risk.

The Reviver path, according to the records, could ultimately evolve into a Dawn Apostle. There was a catch, however: one had to die and come back to life to begin the journey. Of every ten who tried, six or seven perished for good. The Black Castle’s assessment was that Mulan’s talents gave him a high chance of success.

The Astrologer gained prophetic abilities—the highest known evolution was the Fate Illuminator, though the path branched and could lead to the Occultist as well.

The Magician’s path was the wild card, with the greatest potential for interchange. With a slight deviation, one could become a Dark Alchemist; with a more straightforward approach, a high-level Sorcerer; or, with a different focus, a Trickster. Its versatility, however, meant more transitions to understand, and the dangers of resonance increased.

Among these dangers, the greatest were the threats from the Inner World and one’s own soul’s transformation. The perils of the Inner World were obvious; walk by the riverbank long enough and your feet will get wet. It was an invitation to chaos.

As for personal mutation, it involved the Forming World among the three great worlds—a direct measure of resonance, the very source of one’s power, and something to be treated with utmost care, for minor details could be magnified in the Forming World.

The Black Castle’s tomes described every step: from beginning to end, from intricate processes to difficulties, the compatible elixirs for each stage, and the best times and places for advancement.

Beyond the Black Castle’s options, the Dierga royal family had not forgotten Mulan either.

Mulan had not enjoyed an idle position at the York District Police Station; he had done substantial work, which greatly pleased Queen Nishehelier. She, too, sent him choices.

The Dierga royal family possessed unique paths—the Radiant Knight and the Inquisitor. Their flaw was their relatively short history, lacking comprehensive detail and advanced evolution. Yet their potential was immense, for the might of the Dierga Empire could act as a vessel, greatly enhancing the perfection of one’s Forming World.

For instance, when advancing to Victory Knight, the Queen herself could, through her authority, appoint Mulan as the commander of a decisive battle, and, riding the momentum of victory, officially confer him as a Victory Knight. This would greatly enhance the perfection of his Forming World and trigger an intense resonance.

Thus, Mulan was torn—a happy dilemma. Fortunately, there was no deadline; he need not rush his decision.

In the office, Mulan and Erwin discussed for a long while and agreed it best to immerse themselves in knowledge for now.

When it came to paths, Erwin was much more resolute than Mulan. His devotion to God and firm personal faith propelled his swift progress; the Light itself seemed to draw him in, and his future was enviable. He was qualified to undergo the Sacred Benediction and might soon become a bishop overseeing a diocese.

When Erwin calmly told Mulan this, even his lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile.

“Well, well! Then let me congratulate you in advance, Bishop Erwin! Tell me, which diocese will you oversee? In these days of mystical awakening, the Sanctuary needs extraordinary men everywhere—can you choose your own post?”

Erwin smiled.

“If all goes as expected, it should be Valentine.”

“Oh-ho! Not bad!”

Mulan’s gloom and indecision vanished, his expression brightened, and he swung his feet off the desk. He walked over to Erwin’s chair and began massaging his shoulders.

“Bishop Erwin, that pressure all right? If I get dispatched from the Black Castle, and I get to choose, I’d pick Valentine too. We could look out for each other, don’t you think? Maybe wholesale some holy water…”

A mischievous grin played across Mulan’s face, but before he could finish, a knock sounded at the door.

Knock, knock, knock…

“Sir Jonst, there’s a tricky case that needs your attention.”

Mulan immediately composed himself.

“Come in.”