Chapter 110: I Still Have to Do It Myself

Under the naturally arising aura of dignity, the convoy entered the heavily secured Saints’ New York estate, where both overt guards and covert sentinels were undoubtedly stationed throughout the grounds.

During this critical period leading up to the assembly, accommodation within the Saints’ estate was reserved exclusively for the highest-ranking leaders: the five bishops in charge of administration, the six judges overseeing the tribunal, and key representatives from the congregation committee.

As the second-in-command to Stell, Le Kang naturally qualified for lodging and was assigned a fully equipped room. Stell had even intended to offer his own quarters to him.

However, Le Kang was no spoiled noble and politely declined the gesture. He was here to conduct serious business, not to indulge in leisure—there were plenty of other places for that.

“Come, tell me how things stand now,” Stell said hurriedly when he found him, abandoning his usual expressionless mask.

“There’s bad news. The Messiah ate something wrong and is suffering from acute gastroenteritis. He’s still on intravenous fluids,” he added.

Le Kang had only been gone a few days, and the main protagonist was already faltering?

Despite his extraordinary confidence, he furrowed his brow. “Is this an accident caused by the opponent?”

“Uncertain. It could be someone targeting him, or maybe he sneaked food late at night,” Stell said, already out of time to investigate. Even if they found out now, it wouldn’t help. You can’t tell everyone the Messiah is bedridden because he got a stomach bug—that would be utterly disgraceful!

Le Kang leaned toward human interference: “It seems many want to block your ascent.”

“So I must secure support. Without progress, there is only regression,” Stell revealed the essence of the power struggle.

Faith was always a beautiful ideal for the masses, but the leaders were busy battling openly and covertly. Now, with the Messiah incapacitated, what could be done?

“Looks like Plan B is needed.”

Le Kang would not allow this magical spectacle to be ruined.

“You mean?”

“I’ll take the stage myself!”

As he spoke, his features began to shift, gradually transforming into the Messiah’s visage—long face, thick beard, and shoulder-length wavy hair.

The resemblance was nothing short of perfect.

Yet, capturing the Messiah’s somewhat vacant aura was a challenge for Le Kang. It’s never easy to convincingly play the fool.

He hurriedly adopted a just-awakened, weary expression—eyelids heavy, movements slow and vacant.

Stell’s hope rekindled instantly. “It’s very convincing! You’re practically the same person! I guarantee no one will dare to question you!”

Whether flattering or sincere, Le Kang had no choice. “I can only maintain this form for an hour. We must act swiftly!”

Stell was confident. “That’s enough. If we get through today, the real Messiah can seamlessly take over afterward.”

“That’s good.”

If not for the urgent situation, Le Kang wouldn’t have bothered to play the fool. Moreover, the larger the area affected by his transformation magic, the shorter its duration. Casting multiple spells would drain his energy exponentially, and even with a frenzy of mana potions, an hour was the maximum.

Improving this required raising his magic level, but that was a long-term solution—no help for an immediate crisis. He had to grit his teeth and push forward.

Still, it wasn’t all bad news.

Unlike his usual magic shows, this performance was unrestricted.

In his previous acts, Le Kang had to rely on logical setups—he wouldn’t conjure objects out of thin air but used props to maintain coherence.

Now, no logic or reason was necessary. He only needed to subvert reality itself.

In that sense, an hour was plenty.

***

After the risky impersonation succeeded, Le Kang and Stell discussed who might be the mastermind behind the sabotage.

Although there was a chance the Messiah had simply been careless and denied it, it was more likely someone wished Stell to be overshadowed.

Stell analyzed the situation: “Only four bishops are direct rivals. Bishop Mendes of New York is on good terms with me; he generously sponsored this event, so he’s least likely.”

“The Canadian and Latin American bishops are neutral, with little stake in my interests—second-tier suspects.”

“Bishop Gardner from the Central Diocese has always held reservations about me. If anyone least wants me to shine, it’s probably him.”

Le Kang adopted a guilty-until-proven-innocent stance: “Whether it’s him or not, we must make arrangements.”

Stell said, “It’s best to deal with him in a way that leaves no doubt—something impactful enough to convince him.”

“That’s easy—just the usual showdown on stage!”

Le Kang regarded their adversarial bishops like Daniel Cooper—those who opposed his magic were often publicly humiliated and forced to retreat in disgrace.

Stell, who had been closely watching Le Kang, understood and smiled confidently. “So, how to handle him is up to you.”

***

With the crisis averted, Le Kang’s transformation magic proved invaluable.

The afternoon ceremony was set to proceed on schedule.

Devotees had gathered from all directions. The three thousand Saints far exceeded the usual indoor capacity, so the event was moved to the grassy lawn outside the church, facing the lake.

Rows of benches lined the lawn, with a long aisle between. Congregants dressed in their finest stood orderly and solemn on either side.

For the century’s grand event of the Saints, three thousand spectators were not enough. Numerous cameras were set up to broadcast the spectacle from multiple angles in real time.

Saints’ churches and homes across the region displayed the live feed on split screens, some with 4K high-definition screens and surround sound, making viewers feel as if they were present.

Time ticked by.

The afternoon sky was overcast, threatening rain, and temperatures dropped sharply. A biting wind swept in from the bay, chilling the outdoor crowd.

Ordinary believers endured through devotion, teeth clenched against the cold. But Bishop Gardner, aware of Stell’s ambitions, muttered resentfully, “Wasting so many resources on a ridiculous stunt. If you can’t provide a convincing explanation, I wonder how you’ll finish this.”

Gardner’s disdain for Stell needed no justification; their rivalry was inevitable as Stell sought to climb higher.

Driven by self-interest, Gardner even arranged for high-speed cameras to capture the farce, intending to report it thoroughly to the committee afterward.

Advancing to power was never easy—especially if one sought to stand atop others. Such ambitions invited relentless attacks.

The choir was ready. Gentle hymns rose from their lips, gradually dispelling the chill of the gloomy day. Many of the faithful began to silently chant along.

The Saints’ traditional ceremony commenced, but only the opening was conventional.

With the sacred chants stirring the atmosphere, as “Hallelujah” echoed, a sudden glow appeared upon the lake’s surface.

A beam of light pierced through the clouds overhead, illuminating the water, and a figure emerged within the radiant column. The chanting reached its crescendo as all eyes fixed on the opposite shore, filled with wonder and doubt.

There stood a mysterious man in a linen robe, seemingly emitting light, walking slowly across the unfrozen water. The light followed his every step.

At that moment, warmth swept over the scene. The biting sea wind was banished, and three thousand Saints basked in this newfound warmth, staring in awe at the Son of God treading upon the water toward them.

P.S.: This will be released this Friday, so I’m back to writing. It should create quite a stir.