Chapter 114: The Irresistible Allure of Power

Returning to the church after Li Lekang’s departure.

Though the scene was brief—the Almighty Holy Spirit ascending back to Heaven—the bloodline remained. As for the bloodline being somewhat dim-witted? No one dared to speculate recklessly on the will of the heavens anymore.

Among all, the clearest-headed and most knowledgeable about the truth was Stal—he had known from the beginning exactly what to do.

Li Lekang had paved the path to power for him quite well.

Relying on his status as the first apostle of the Messiah, after the collective mourning of the Holy Spirit’s departure, he stepped forward to take charge.

“We cannot turn a blind eye to what has already happened.”

“For what has yet to occur, we must be vigilant and prevent it at its inception.”

“You ask how I intend to act? I shall honor the will of our ancestors: a life for a life, a tooth for a tooth!”

Stal’s words won unanimous approval.

This also sealed the fate of Bishop Mendes. The man had been brazen enough to poison the Son of God, nearly orchestrating a twisted “Last Supper” two thousand years later — a crime beyond forgiveness.

The six judges of the tribunal immediately stood forth. Stal’s “request” was, in fact, an order:

“According to the law of the saints, we demand a just and rigorous verdict!”

“Mendes betrayed the Lord and blasphemed openly. He abandoned the faith upheld by the saints. Forgiveness is the Lord’s prerogative, but we must ensure he faces the rightful punishment here on Earth!”

As his words fell, the crowd erupted in curses and accusations.

Under such pressure, the Saintly Tribunal declared on the spot:

Mendes was stripped of his clerical status, all saintly privileges revoked. His crimes were to be compiled and handed over to the police and prosecutors for formal charges.

Stal did not advocate for immolating Mendes—this was, after all, a modern society governed by law, and Mendes’ worldly connections were strong. Many powerful figures in New York counted him as an ally.

He was no nobody; to rashly burn him would have doomed the saints themselves, instilling fear in both capital and authority toward this once-fervent organization.

Yet, the pain of having his power stripped away would likely be harsher than death.

For a man of such stature—once revered as a bishop, a titan of a large group, a philanthropist, and a political player flattered by many—to be reduced to a penniless prisoner?

Mendes appeared decades older upon hearing the verdict, his eyes dimmed, drained of life. He could never have imagined that the faith he had clung to all his life was, in truth, real.

The cruelest irony was that, in his final years, he began to doubt his own convictions—and all tragedy converged in that moment.

Shortly after his confession, he chose to end his own life at home.

He felt he had no dignity left to endure.

Martyrdom was his last plea for forgiveness.

In some respects, he truly was the most devout among the bishops.

News of his suicide sent shockwaves through New York’s high society. The fall of a man so well-connected sent ripples through the tranquil circles of the wealthy.

Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire: some said the Saint Group had plunged into a vortex of power struggles; others claimed the saints’ internal conflicts had spiraled out of control; still others saw it as a curse signaling their inevitable decline.

As for the tale that Mendes was poisoned and publicly denounced by the Holy Spirit—the New York elite scoffed at such stories. Even with videos circulating, they dismissed it as mere publicity stunts.

After all, America harbors thousands of sects, each claiming its own leader as the true incarnation of the divine, branding all others as false gods.

Even Catholics and Orthodox Christians, who worship the same God, have been mortal enemies for centuries. Proof or video meant little—especially given today’s sophisticated special effects. Look at Li Lekang himself, for example.

The outside world sneered at this so-called truth. They preferred to believe it was just another power play, with the saints’ leadership exploiting faith as a pretext for persecution.

Poor Mendes’s death had upset many established balances.

Including Stal himself, who had never intended to topple Mendes; he still needed that ally to support him against others, like the threat posed by Gardner.

But fate had other plans. Gardner was alive and well, loudly chanting slogans as he joined the internal movement to denounce Mendes, vowing to defend the Father and the Son with his life, allowing no one to infringe upon them.

The irony: Gardner had been the most skeptical before, yet now he led the charge, ravenously seizing and devouring the empire Mendes had left behind.

Other bishops saw the scramble and wasted no time. After the shock of the divine manifestation, life on Earth must go on. Devout faith belonged to the grassroots; the game of power was their daily affair.

Yet none moved faster than Stal.

While lamenting the swift fall of his ally, he swiftly began absorbing Mendes’s industries, installing loyalists, and even recommending his own men to the council as acting bishops.

The phrase “crying while eating three large bowls” could hardly be more apt.

No one could resist the intoxicating allure of power.

Other bishops wanted to spit and curse at Stal’s shamelessness—he was the ultimate backstabber, stabbing bosses before and now friends, a disgrace to the organization.

Yet none dared voice this openly; even harboring such thoughts demanded caution. After witnessing the astonishing divine manifestation, who could say if “heaven sees all” was not true?

Perhaps the Father would not bother to judge such petty matters—but to rashly confront Stal meant going against the vast body of believers. They could easily initiate a vote to impeach and oust you at any moment.

...

The leaders reveled in their power games.

At the grassroots, worship flourished fiercely after the divine revelation.

And our shaman?

He cared little for power struggles and felt nothing toward the miracles he had wrought. Instead, he busied himself smoothing over the scandal of embezzling two hundred million in funds.

Li Lekang released previously filmed promotional videos as the saints’ annual tribute—and, of course, to justify the extravagant spending.

The videos were well-made; the nuns appeared heroic and spirited, but they did not draw the acclaim Li Lekang had hoped for—everyone was too preoccupied with power struggles and worship.

Naturally, no one had time to scrutinize the budget.

Curiously, Li Lekang felt a pang of disappointment. He had expected his works to be widely praised.

He didn’t know whether to be happy or disheartened.

Was he upset for stealing his own thunder?

What nonsense was that?

He forcefully tossed the magical slipper he held. The dog, Mike, bounding across the lawn, was immediately in hot pursuit, followed by the simple and joyful Messiah, shouting incessantly.

“Indeed, innocence is the true path to happiness!”

Li Lekang watched the scene quietly and soon felt at peace. Everyone had their own way of living; what others admired was not necessarily what he desired. He would focus on his own path, and that was enough.