Boundless Cultivation-Chapter 67 - Sanctum of Radiance

“Administer a healing potion and call for a healer,” Alaric commanded. Although he was pretty pissed at Jack, he hadn’t expected Rennard to escalate things this far.

Now he understood why his father had chosen Rennard as his escort—he appeared sluggish and harmless. But in reality, he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The sergeant didn’t possess a shred of mercy.

With Alaric’s approval, Kellan sprang into action, instructing other employees to retrieve first aid supplies and summon healers. Rennard casually stepped aside. Although he had threatened to take Jack’s life, Alaric ultimately held the authority to decide his fate.

Watching Jack writhe and scream while clutching his severed hand, Alaric felt a pang of sadness. Sure, the receptionist was a fraud, but he was no cultivator. Judging by his agonized expression, he had certainly learned his lesson today.

A healer arrived and administered a potent healing potion. Although it dulled the pain, it was nowhere near enough to regenerate his wrist. Only surgery could reattach it—if Jack had the funds and was fortunate enough to find a skilled surgeon.

Noticing the commotion, a few city guards entered the store, but they all seemed to recognize Rennard. Together, they ushered the onlookers out and dispersed the crowd.

Once the situation calmed, Alaric spoke. “It’s amusing how a small mistake can nearly cost one their life.” Jack’s face turned pale. Alaric silenced him with a look before continuing, “I’ll let you off the hook this time, but I need what I came for.” He extended his palm.

Jack instantly understood and hurried to his counter, retrieving the monster core he had hidden. Alaric inspected it carefully before accepting it with a smile.

Then, as if recalling something crucial, he added, “Ah, I also want you to compile a list of every customer you’ve scammed, along with details of the fraudulent transactions.”

Jack’s eyes widened, filling with tears.

“Surely you didn’t think you’d get off that easily,” Alaric scoffed, clicking his tongue. “You will compensate them—down to the last coin.”

There was nothing more to say. Jack didn’t even attempt to protest and simply accepted his fate.

Turning to the store manager, Alaric continued, “Now, will you assist me in trading this elite Lava Fiend’s core,” he held up the shimmering mana core, “or should I summon the owner?”

Sweat beaded on Kellan’s forehead as he hastily replied, “O-Of course, Sir.” He gestured for Alaric to follow him into a private room reserved for esteemed guests. Alaric and Rennard followed.

Inside, Alaric sank into a cushioned chair while Rennard positioned himself in a corner. The manager was quite efficient. Within a minute, employees entered with food and refreshments — fruit salads, grilled fish, toasted bread, roasted chicken legs, and chilled fruit juices.

After conversing with Kellan for a while, Alaric had a clear understanding of what he wanted. Simply selling the monster core would earn him 28 gold coins. However, he opted to trade it for a peak-grade Skin Reforging Pill, which held the same value.

To show gratitude for sparing Jack’s life, the store manager decided to offer a little extra at his own expense. It turned out Jack was, indeed, Kellan’s nephew. Alaric gladly accepted a few additional gold coins and a lifetime membership discount card granting 30% off all future purchases.

Lifting the brownish pill, Alaric examined the peak-grade Skin Reforging Pill. It was marble-shaped and identical in size to the peak-grade Bone Reforging Pill. After confirming its authenticity, he indulged in the offered food.

It was never a good idea to deny a good meal. With Alaric’s approval, Rennard tore into his portion with equal enthusiasm.

Once they had eaten, Alaric set off for his next destination — the local branch of the Church Treasury. That went well. He grinned. Now comes the real challenge. It was time to make use of his level one access card and get the reward or compensation he was owed.

***

Alaric halted as he arrived at the local branch of the Church Treasury — aptly named The Sanctum of Radiance. The imposing, fortified structure stood near the city’s heart, adjacent to the local branch of the Imperial Court.

The towering stone walls bore faint, intricate inscriptions, barely discernible from a distance. At the entrance, a grand pair of gilded doors displayed the sigil of a blazing sun, its radiant beams symbolizing the Church’s divine guidance.

Two City Watch of the Flame soldiers kept guard near the door, monitoring every individual who entered the building. Alaric strode inside, the sergeant shadowing behind him. Inside, the high-vaulted ceilings of the reception hall were adorned with murals of celestial flames.

The walls were draped with banners and posters proclaiming the Church’s doctrines. As Alaric surveyed the room, his gaze locked onto the reception desk.

A young man clad in a simple robe with gold accents and the subtle emblem of a blazing sun greeted him. Judging by his simple attire, Alaric concluded that the man was a deacon tasked with the job of greeting guests.

“Welcome, child.” The man radiated warmth, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as if greeting a long-lost friend. “Are you here to devote yourself to the service of the Church?” He launched into a rehearsed speech, which Alaric promptly tuned out.

Hah…the man thinks I’m here to join the Church.

Shaking his head, Alaric slid the Level One access card onto the counter. The deacon picked it up, his eyes scanning the text — then his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I was promised a reward for my service to the Church,” Alaric stated.

“What… how, but…” The man faltered, at a loss for words. He repeatedly examined the card, his gaze darting between it and Alaric. “You’re not a member of the Church, are you?”

Alaric nodded, confirming his suspicion.

It was likely the first time a non-church member had presented him with a Level One access card, and the deacon clearly had no idea how to proceed. Judging by the nervous glances he shot toward an older man speaking with a group nearby, Alaric deduced that he was seeking guidance.

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However, the older man — likely a priest, judging by his attire — took notice of the deacon’s hesitation and approached on his own, cutting into their exchange.

“Simon, why are you wasting time entertaining children while others wait in line?” the priest muttered under his breath, a frown creasing his forehead. But his voice was loud enough for Alaric to catch.

“But… he—” Simon attempted to protest, but the priest silenced him with a dismissive wave. Spreading his arms wide in mock warmth, the priest turned to Alaric. “Blessed child, are you lost? Where are your parents?”

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His feigned smile was painfully obvious, but Alaric remained unbothered. After all, not many people would take a twelve-year-old child seriously. Fortunately, he had ways to change that.

On Alaric’s signal, Rennard stepped forward and positioned himself at his side. “Young Master Alaric here is under my charge,” he stated with a pleasant yet firm smile. “Please see to it that his request is fulfilled.”

For some reason, Rennard’s demeanor aggravated the priest. Though he struggled to maintain his forced smile, the irritation flickered across his face. Simon, sensing the tension, hastily handed the priest the Level One access card.

Alaric reiterated his request, his tone unwavering.

The priest barely glanced at the card before his expression hardened. He didn’t even bother to flip it over to check where Bishop Drevon had signed it.

“Child, blessed be, where did you acquire this access card?” He narrowed his eyes. “I certainly hope you didn’t steal it.”

Simon anxiously nudged the priest’s hand, desperately trying to prevent him from making a grave mistake. He had already seen the bishop’s signature on the back.

Alaric remained silent, an amused smile tugging at his lips. The priest was blatantly abusing his authority to block him from accessing the treasury room. You should have examined the card before running your mouth.

Rennard, on the other hand, tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword. It was a clear indication that the sergeant wasn’t pleased with how the priest had just insulted Alaric.

Misinterpreting the silence as victory, the priest’s grin widened. No doubt, he believed he had the upper hand. Within the Sanctum, he had power, and no one would dare act recklessly in this sacred place.

Still, he chose caution. “You appear to be from a noble family,” he said, scrutinizing Alaric from head to toe. “If someone sold this to you,” he waved the access card, “then you are not at fault.

However, the fact remains—you cannot access the treasury room.”

“Indeed, as you said, someone did give me this card,” Alaric admitted.

“As a priest who walks the path of the Radiant Flame, it is my sacred duty to punish such scoundrels,” the priest declared triumphantly. “You must reveal their name if you know it.”

Simon facepalmed, visibly exasperated with the priest—who, by the way, had yet to introduce himself to Alaric.

“Are you sure you want to know and punish them?” Alaric asked, his voice laced with amusement.

The priest hesitated before nodding. Alaric subtly noted the presence of several Church guards closing in on their location. Rennard, ever perceptive, shifted his stance, positioning himself protectively between Alaric and the approaching guards.

Before tensions could escalate further, a new figure strode toward them, exuding an air of authority and calm. His flowing, opulent robes, adorned with an ornate gold-and-red sash, shimmered under the Sanctum’s light.

Exquisite accessories and sacred ornaments set him apart from the other priests, marking his distinguished rank.

The moment Simon and the priest spotted the newcomer, they inhaled sharply, pressed their palms together in a reverent prayer gesture, and snapped to attention.

“I am the Sanctum Keeper — Prelate Marcion,” the man announced, addressing both Rennard and Alaric before turning to the priest. “What seems to be the issue here, Saberan?”

Saberan hastily recounted his version of events — how Alaric had attempted to use a Level One access card, allegedly obtained through illicit means, despite not being a member of the Church.

Marcion wordlessly plucked the card from Saberan’s grasp and examined it with practiced scrutiny. When he flipped it over and caught sight of the bishop’s signature, his composed facade faltered for a brief moment before he schooled his expression into neutrality.

“And so,” Saberan pressed, emboldened by Marcion’s presence, “are you ready to reveal the scoundrel’s name?”

“Of course,” Alaric said with a casual shrug. “You’ll find their name written on the back of the card.” He gestured toward it.

Saberan eagerly reached for the card, but Marcion, unimpressed, relinquished it with deliberate reluctance. When the priest’s eyes landed on the bishop’s signature, his ears burned red, and the color drained from his face.

“Im… impossible,” he stammered. “This cannot be real… we cannot honor this access card.” Panic flashed in his eyes as he glanced at Alaric, who met his gaze with a broad, knowing grin.

Saberan had realized his blunder but refused to acknowledge it. You’ve dug yourself too deep to back out now.

Feigning surprise, Alaric tilted his head. “Oh? I suppose Bishop Drevon’s signature holds no weight here.” He tapped his chin in mock contemplation. “Though I do wonder… what would my father say when he hears of this?”

“Lies,” Saberan spat, his composure unraveling. “If you don’t leave willingly, I will—”

“Since when do you have the authority to reject an esteemed guest acknowledged by our bishop?” Marcion interjected, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His sharp glare bore into Saberan, who visibly withered under the scrutiny.

Alaric smirked inwardly. He saw through the performance — Saberan wouldn’t face any real consequences. At most, he’d suffer a slap on the wrist once Alaric was gone.

Marcion turned to Alaric and said, “It seems there has been a slight misunderstanding. We will, of course, honor the request.” His lips curled into a serpentine smile as he continued, “But before that, may I know whom I have the pleasure of assisting?”

Of course, you have to honor it. You recognize the bishop’s signature, and you know it’s real.

Outwardly, Alaric maintained a calm facade. “I’m Alaric de Vermond, youngest son of Count Eustace de Vermond.”

Both Saberan and Simon stiffened in shock. Simon exhaled in relief, silently grateful he had exercised caution, while Saberan’s face turned to the shade of a ripe tomato.

A flicker of shadow crossed Marcion’s face, but he smothered it just as quickly. “Ah… of course.” He eased into a grin. “Come, I’ll personally escort you to the treasury room.”

Alaric and Rennard followed Marcion through the grand halls toward one of the treasury chambers designated for Level One access. The Sanctum housed numerous vaults, each stocked with treasures corresponding to different clearance levels.

So far, Marcion had maintained an air of cordiality. However, Alaric’s instincts screamed that something was amiss. The moment Marcion heard his name, the Prelate hadn’t looked the least bit surprised. If anything, he seemed expectant, as though he had anticipated Alaric’s arrival.

Yet instead of irritation, Marcion’s demeanor exuded something eerily close to satisfaction.

Pushing aside his suspicions, Alaric strode into the treasury room and surveyed its contents. I’ll deal with any trouble that arises later. Right now, I need to make my choice.

The chamber was smaller than anticipated but densely packed with shelves laden with an array of valuables — enchanted weapons, alchemical potions, rare pills, unique cultivation manuals, divine artifacts, and ancient tomes.

Despite the overwhelming selection, Alaric already knew exactly what he wanted — a reforging pill or elixir. When he voiced his request, Marcion casually strolled to a particular shelf, plucked a small vial from its perch, and presented it to him.

“Perhaps this will serve your needs?” he suggested, handing over the vial of sky-blue liquid.

Alaric accepted it and scrutinized the substance inside.

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Alaric grinned. “This is exactly what I was looking for.” He nodded in gratitude.

Marcion’s smile never faltered. “Be careful with that on your way home,” he remarked, shooting a pointed glance at Rennard. “These days, even a full contingent of guards isn’t enough to guarantee safe travel, what with bandits prowling the streets.”

The subtle jab was not lost on Alaric nor Renard. The sergeant simply chose to ignore it, lazily eyeing all the treasures.

Alaric, on the other hand, smirked. “I sure hope I don’t run into any thugs.” He pocketed the vial. “It’d be a very bad day for them.”