Oliver crouched in the corner of the confessional, silently wiping the vomit off the floor, completely unaware that in ten minutes, he would be consuming a Celestial Scion.

Next to the vomit was the holy pool, a symbol of purity. Its waters were clear and pristine, like a mirror, reflecting the pale, delicate face of the young Oliver.

The prolonged hunger and strain had worn him thin, and the rag he used to clean the vomit scratched at his frostbitten palms, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body.

The air in the church was perpetually damp and oppressive, the cracks in the floor tiles thick with the decay of years.

It was heavy with the stench of cheap smoke, mingled with the unmistakable odor of decay, a corpse-like reek that couldn't be hidden.

This was Oliver's 179th night shift as a trainee priest. Ever since he refused the bishop's offer to be his "personal assistant" six months ago, he'd been relegated to this "atonement shift," tasked with cleaning up the evil filth left behind after cultists were dealt.

It was said that prolonged exposure to such filth would cause irreversible damage—weight loss, tooth decay, and even putrefaction of the blood, shortening one's lifespan considerably.

"Oliver, hurry up and clean up this mess, then come down with me to clean the filth under the holy pool," Sister Marta's sharp voice echoed from afar. The expensive silver boots on her feet clacked crisply against the floor.

Bang!

She kicked a tin can across the floor toward Oliver. The communion wine inside splashed onto him, drenching his tattered clothes, the foul liquid running down his ankles.

"I'll break your bones if you have even a single cockroach leg left by dawn..." she threatened coldly, her gaze piercing.

Oliver looked up, only to see Sister Marta turning her back to him, already starting to brew coffee.

He couldn't help but stare at her for a moment longer—not out of any interest in her, but because of a peculiar silver pattern on her back.

It was a tiny design resembling a silver snake, curving in an odd manner and radiating an inexplicable divine aura.

This was the so-called the Divine Circuit.

In the "Era of the Holy Law," ruled by the Church of the Seven Gods, only those granted the divine circuit could wield transcendent powers.

Any magic not released through the divine circuit was considered illegal, and it would draw the attention of the gods. These unlawful spells would then trigger the "Thunder of Divine Punishment."

In the Holy Law Continent, those who bore the The Divine Circuit were considered naturally superior.

Take Sister Marta, for instance—she only had the most basic the divine circuit, but that was enough for her to boss Oliver around. Even if she killed him, a lowly novice priest, she wouldn't be reprimanded.

"If only I had a The Divine Circuit..."

It was nearly impossible for someone like Oliver to possess one. They could only be purchased from the Church at an exorbitant cost, trapping people in a lifetime of crushing debt.

Oliver, on the other hand, didn't even qualify to take out a loan. He was the lowest of the low, cleaning up filth in the Redemption Class for a mere seven silver coins a week. Even eating was a struggle, and he had to take on odd jobs to survive.

The idea of taking out a loan to buy a The Divine Circuit? That was an impossible dream for him.

Bang!

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the corridor, followed by the sound of a crystal chandelier shattering. The noise rattled Oliver's nerves.

But he quickly relaxed—this sort of thing happened often in the church.

The cardinals were at it again, fighting under the guise of "exorcism." Just last week, they'd burned all of Oliver's laundry to settle a dispute over the right to hear a noblewoman's confession.

Confession was the perfect excuse for the church hierarchy to violate the noblewomen they coveted.

Recently, the church in Glensorne had received a new idol from the high church. Rumor had it that all believers would have to confess to it.

Every three years, the church held a confession assembly, which was really just an excuse to loot the property of the believers and violate them.

"Get in here!" Sister Talma shouted, touching the organ. As she did, the holy water in the pool faded, revealing a dark stairway beneath the altar.

Oliver bent down and crawled inside.

A rancid stench hit his face immediately.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness beneath the altar, Oliver carefully made his way down the sloping wooden steps.

The torch in his hand startled the rats scurrying in the darkness. Their movements revealed the remains of a body—a witch executed the previous week. The rats were gnawing on her flesh.

This was the "filth" Oliver had to deal with today.

The magical powers of witches could taint ordinary people's blood, and no one wanted to clean up after them—except for the Atonement Squad.

Oliver didn't understand why the church's executioners left the bodies of the executed in the cellar for a week before cleaning them up.

But no matter what, he had no choice but to do this horrible job.

Silently, Oliver dragged the witch's corpse to a corner. As he did, maggots fell off in droves, their stench so overwhelming it nearly made him gag.

The church always preached that divine magic could purify everything, but it never explained why moss and sores, resembling human faces, grew in the holy water.

It was said that in certain forbidden books, these plants were called "human face sores"—the accumulated resentment of the dead, coalescing into plant form.

"Damn the Church..." Oliver muttered to himself as he worked.

Dragging the rotting, foul corpse to the corner was just the beginning. Before he could remove it, he had to clean up the mess it left behind.

He crouched beside the filthy ground, grabbing the moldy rag.

As he wiped the floor tiles at the bottom of the altar, a strange vibration suddenly resonated through the air, like the heartbeat of an unborn child—slow, steady, and rhythmic.

[Fitter detected...Breaking the seventh cognitive shackle in progress...]

Is this... a hallucination?

Oliver assumed it was another effect of hunger, like last month when he mistook grapes on a mural for real food.

However, a hidden compartment in the ground suddenly opened on its own, revealing a blood-soaked silver compass.

"Huh, a gray-robed rat with a special discovery?"

Sister Marta's eyes glimmered as she pressed the silver staff against the back of Oliver's neck. "Thanks for finding this treasure for me."

She only gave it a brief glance before sensing its extraordinary value. The compass was rusty and stained, but it exuded an unmistakable aura of worth.

Before Sister Marta could finish her sentence, the staff emitted a sharp click, and a hidden blade sprang out, piercing Oliver's neck.

Blood poured out in torrents, and the coldness of death settled over him.

Oliver clutched his neck in agony, his vision fading as his body grew colder.

The compass slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground.

But what Oliver didn't realize was that the ancient divine text was spiraling out of the compass, burning into his retinas.

[Truth-seeker confirmed√]

[Oppressed by authority√]

[Renounced prayer√]

[Blasphemous Codex initiated]

[Congratulations, you have become the owner of the Blasphemy Codex. From this day forward, you are a blasphemer, capable of using forbidden spells under the gods' watch. As long as you continue to perform blasphemous rituals, you will grow stronger, becoming a hero in the rebellion against the gods.]

Blasphemy Codex?

It seemed like Oliver had stumbled upon something incredibly powerful.

He could now use illegal spells without fear of divine punishment?

Excitement bubbled within him.

But, he had no idea how to use these forbidden spells—he hadn't even mastered any yet.

More importantly, he realized his current state was strange beyond measure.

He seemed to be a soul that had left his body, with something resembling a book, the Blasphemy Codex, hovering next to him.

In his soul form, he saw his body crumpled on the ground, but the wound on his neck was healing at an unnatural speed.

As he observed, Sister Marta continued to fiddle with the silver compass, completely unaware that his body was healing.

The system's prompts continued:

[Binding rewards in progress, Cognitive Shackle breakthrough 30%...50%...89%...loading ■■■■■]

Boom!

In that instant, Oliver felt as though countless mucus-covered parchments had entered his veins through the wound in his neck. Each parchment was filled with dense, incomprehensible words.

A strange power surged from these words into his mind, and before his eyes, transparent crystals began to form.

Through these crystals, the world around him shifted, revealing a new, disturbing vision.

Behind Sister Marta's slender form, a translucent umbilical cord floated.

The umbilical cord was transferring energy from Sister Marta's body to a presence in the void, as though it were a blood transfusion.

[Mark: Void Umbilical Cord. A special mark that appears on those who nourish the gods. Through these cords, the gods absorb the blood and souls of the marked, sustaining them until death.]

A series of characters appeared before Oliver's eyes.

He froze, overwhelmed.

He realized, with growing horror, that the Void Umbilical Cord described a horrifying fate.

Oliver's mind raced as the revelation hit him like a thunderclap. He knew very well that the Void Umbilical Cord mentioned in the so-called Blasphemy Codex was clearly the "Divine Circuit" that countless people had longed for—something people were willing to pay any price for, even their lives.

Priests, beggars, noblemen, all crushed under insurmountable debt, their savings and even their very souls committed to the Church's insidious scheme, all with the desperate hope of acquiring that holy power. But what they didn't know, what the Church kept hidden, was that it wasn't a gift at all.

It was a curse.

The divine circuit, was nothing more than a fertilizer mark—a tool of sacrifice. The so-called power granted by the Circuit was merely a trap, a parasite that drained them of everything—until they were reduced to mere sustenance for the gods themselves.

The realization hit him like a cold, bitter wave, and for the first time in his life, Oliver felt the flames of rage burn deep within him.

Once again, the Church had deceived everyone.