OBS Chapter 1 Physical Redemption
Chapter 1 Physical Redemption
"I am guilty, I repent!"
The Church and Temple of the Lord of Dawn - Losanda.
A short dwarf knelt on the cold floor, confessing his sins.
Beneath the sacred and majestic statue, Pastor Richard, holding a Bible and bathed in the morning light, represents God in listening to the prayers of believers.
"I shouldn't have had such malicious thoughts about my neighbor's sow..."
Richard's voice was steady, yet it conveyed an undeniable authority.
"Anything else?"
"The Lord of Dawn dislikes deceiving his children!"
The dwarf villager trembled, stammering and unable to open his mouth.
The other person's deep pupils seemed to pierce the soul, gleaming with a hazy light, exposing all evil and making him afraid to meet their gaze.
Richard's eyes flickered slightly, and a panel of information appeared above the villagers' heads.
[Villager: Ron Weir]
Race: Halfling
[Resume: Lured little boys to play house with candy, then took the opportunity to call them "Mommy"; repeatedly broke into pigsties late at night with the intention of committing indecent acts...]
[Sin Value: 5]
It's not a crime, just immoral.
Richard held the Bible in his hands, looking sacred and solemn, radiating a dazzling light.
"Sincere repentance is the beginning of redemption. Praying at sunrise every morning and providing convenient services to villages and communities."
"The Lord of Dawn will forgive every devout believer equally."
The halfling villagers felt as if they had been granted a pardon, their hands clasped tightly to their chests, their gratitude and reverence almost overflowing.
"Blessed Losanda! Thank you for your grace!"
The old wooden doors of the monastery opened and closed repeatedly, and dappled morning light peeked through the cracks into the empty church.
A message flashed before Richard's eyes.
[Guide the lost sheep, Redemption Points +5]
[Current Redemption Value: (98/100)] (Random terms can be drawn)
This is Richard's fourth month traveling through Faerûn.
He was originally a boxer, specializing in kickboxing in Southeast Asia.
On Christmas Eve, someone wished for a pure-hearted boy, and as a result, he was stuffed into a stocking by the fat old man.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the continent of Faerûn, as a minor priest in the Blackrock Monastery.
The resident priest, while fighting alongside a group of adventurers against goblins, was stabbed seven times in the back. The Adventurers' Guild determined that he died by suicide...
Richard naturally succeeded him as the new pastor.
Through his loving guidance and a touch of martial arts, this area, once known for its chaos, was transformed into a model town in the Sword Bay region.
A few days ago, the church sent word that it intended to summon him to Deepwater City.
Did you lose your job because you performed too well?
Richard lay on the old wicker chair, gently rubbing his temples.
On the long oak table, most of the white wax had burned away, and the portrait of the former pastor was dimly lit in the flickering candlelight.
When that group of adventurers, all at level 5, came to the church, their real goal was to find Richard.
Fortunately, the former pastor was envious of the cushy job and impersonated him; otherwise, he would be the one standing here.
Although he didn't know who was targeting him, Richard knew that the crisis was not over yet, and that group of adventurers would definitely come back after learning the truth.
Moreover, Lord Daggart of Waterdeep has recently taken action, sending people to investigate outsiders in the surrounding towns, which is clearly targeted.
Is the world of Faerûn so unfriendly to outsiders?
Back when I was in Shanghai, even drinking Mixue (a popular Chinese beverage brand) and using an Android phone didn't get me this kind of treatment.
Without a second thought, the old church door was suddenly pushed open.
"Something terrible has happened, Pastor Richard."
"The watchtower prison has been bombed again!"
A young guard, dressed in worn leather armor, almost stumbled in, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
The Watchtower Jail, a stone tower standing on the edge of the cliffs of Blackrock Town, was specifically used to detain serious offenders awaiting trial, or other troublesome individuals whose cases could not be handled publicly.
The young villagers in front of them were the guards of Blackstone Town.
When Richard learned what had happened, a long-lost gleam returned to his pupils.
"Wait a moment, I'll be right there."
His voice was calm and steady, yet it was like a reassuring balm, allowing the young guard to breathe a sigh of relief.
In Blackrock, Reverend Richard's words carried far more weight than those of any so-called lord.
Richard turned and stepped onto the old wooden spiral staircase, his footsteps echoing in the empty church.
The second floor is the church's copying room, used specifically for copying and storing scriptures.
Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, and the air was filled with the scents of parchment and old wood.
In front of the bookshelf in the corner, a girl dressed in a white nun's habit is dusting with a feather duster.
Her long, golden hair reached her waist, shimmering with a wavy sheen. Beneath her loose robe, her curves were exquisitely defined. Her deep blue eyes were devout and focused, enveloped in a sacred and chaste glow.
The books on the bookshelf were all treasures from the former priest's collection.
Postpartum care for sows, how peas are crossbred, a manual for training young boys...
Richard picked up a thick Bible with its four corners wrapped in fine iron and bound with chains, and weighed it in his hand to feel its texture.
The nun named Sharon understood immediately. She stopped what she was doing, took a white linen shawl from the oak wardrobe, and skillfully put it on him.
The emblem of the sun on his chest, symbolizing Los Santos, radiates light.
"Pastor Richard".
Sister Sharon stepped back half a step, gracefully folded her hands in front of her, and whispered a prayer.
"May the Lord of Dawn be with you."
Watchtower prison.
Inside the dark, damp, and cold cellar, an oil lamp was embedded in the stone wall, emitting a dim, yellowish light.
The earthy smell was accompanied by a foul stench, making every breath nauseating.
Rough, excited shouts erupted from deeper within the cellar.
"Yes! That's it, smash his teeth out of his mouth!"
A nearly two-meter-tall, burly orc, riding on the guard's back, was swinging his massive fist at the guard's face.
Inside the rusty iron bars on both sides, there were crammed faces contorted with excitement.
The prisoners pounded on the bars, howling, shrieking, and hurling all sorts of vulgarities at each other, like a pack of hyenas that had caught the scent of blood. The entire cellar had become a mad cage of beasts.
The orc had just been captured from the neighboring town and was being held in the watchtower dungeon.
Taking advantage of the moment when the guards were untying the ropes on their wrists, he used the savage strength of his race to easily break one guard's arm as if snapping a dry branch, and then smashed another guard's jaw with his head.
The few remaining guards stood in front of the cellar's iron door, gripping their iron bars tightly, trembling and afraid to go forward, hoping for reinforcements.
creak-
A screeching sound rang out, and the heavy, rusty iron door slowly opened.
The intense, almost dazzling sunlight pierced the dark cellar.
Beneath the dazzling beam of light, a figure draped in a pure white sacrificial robe descended the stone steps one by one.
The once bustling cellar prison fell silent.
The prisoners behind the iron bars seemed to have their throats choked; all the commotion and cursing abruptly ceased.
Looking at the familiar figure, his originally fierce and ruthless eyes suddenly became clear and devout, vaguely revealing a hint of fear.
"Pastor Richard...that's him."
The young guard leading the way lowered his voice and pointed to the source of the chaos.
The orc stopped what he was doing, raised his rugged face, and revealed a hideous scar that stretched from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth.
His gaze swept over the clean ceremonial robes and landed on Richard's calm face.
Suddenly he grinned, revealing uneven, yellow teeth, with a mocking and contemptuous look.
"I assumed he was calling someone."
"After all that trouble, they only got a pastor!"
He shouted arrogantly, spitting everywhere.
He was completely unaware that the surrounding prisoners' expressions changed drastically, their eyes filled with a mixture of expectation and pity, as if they could foresee his fate.
Silence is a silent mourning...
Richard's eyes flickered.
Information about the orcs' past unfolds like a flowing stream.
Dawn Yorick
Race: Orc
[His resume includes: a penchant for shoving villagers' heads into cows' rear ends; repeated acts of deliberately causing trouble; and conspiring with thieves to blow up the trade bridge leading to Sham Water Town.]
[Sin Value: 75]
Looking at the bright red numbers, Richard finally smiled.
99% complete, a rare find, haven't seen one in a long time.
"Hey, you priest."
"Are you planning to lecture me with the Bible, or just tickle me with your pathetic magic of light?"
When Yorick heard that there were professionals in Blackrock Town, he was initially worried that they might be paladins or something similar.
But standing before him was a low-level priest with almost no means of attack, which made him even more unscrupulous.
Richard did not respond, but simply held up the heavy Bible, which was wrapped in fine iron.
The path to salvation lies within it.
"Great Lord of Dawn, please forgive his sins!"
Before the orc's mocking smile had faded, the heavy Bible was suddenly swung up, like a meteor hammer, and smashed solidly into that ugly and fierce face.
A heavy thud was followed by a clear cracking sound.
Dizziness and severe pain followed one after another.
The orc's massive, mountain-like body staggered and fell like a drunkard, clutching his nose tightly, blood gushing from between his fingers, soaking the front of his leather armor.
The power of faith still brings such peace of mind!
Richard flicked the blood off the Bible, his smile remaining kind.
"Unfortunately, the Lord of Dawn seems not to have heard my prayers. It seems that only your wailing can awaken him."
Driven by pain, the orc, ignoring the gushing blood from his nose, roared and struggled to his feet.
"Damn it, I'm going to shove your head up my ass!"
He spread his muscular arms and charged forward in a bear hug, trying to strangle the pretentious fellow with brute force.
Richard's keen combat awareness allowed him to easily anticipate the orc's movements, and he deftly slid half a step to the side, brushing past the orc's clothes.
He casually took the iron rod from the guard and pointed at it.
"Watch closely, this is how the discipline stick is used."
Hit his leg with a stick to prevent him from escaping.
A slap in the face prevents someone from begging for mercy.
Enforcement is forceful, but the baton is also compassionate!
With each relentless pounding of the iron rod, the sound was dull and rhythmic.
The vicious prisoners behind the iron bars couldn't help but turn their heads away, no longer wanting to look at this bloody scene.
In no time.
Yorick, the orc, collapsed like a rag doll on the cold, filthy stone ground, a pool of dark red blood spreading beneath him. His amber pupils flickered like candles in the wind, as if they might be extinguished at any moment.
"The shadow is coming; no one can escape the cursed fate. You and your villagers will be consumed by the endless night..."
Feeling his life slipping away, Yorick moved his lips with difficulty, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows, and with his last bit of strength, he cursed Richard with venom.
Richard was not annoyed by this; on the contrary, he was intrigued.
Under Yorick's questioning gaze, he slowly squatted down beside him and raised his palm.
A sacred and pure light emerged in the palm of my hand.
Healing Technique!
Warm energy flowed through his battered body, the bruises and wounds receded like a tide, and the bridge of his nose, shattered by the Bible, slowly healed.
Yorick felt the vitality of life again, like a newborn deer, panting greedily.
But before he could enjoy it for even a moment, the cold iron rod was brought close again, gleaming with a chilling light.
"You've forgotten, I'm a pastor."
"You have no right to die without my permission!"
Yorick looked up, his face still bearing that kind smile, but now, in Yorick's eyes, it was more terrifying than any demon from the abyss.
A chill ran down my spine, my lips trembled, and my eyes were filled with nothing but pure fear.
"No, you devil, you are the devil...!"