Desires & Heresy

The system notification flashed in his mind.

[Do you wish to proceed?]

Zane smirked. The answer was obvious.

Then—darkness.

When he opened his eyes, the world tilted. A rush of dizziness struck him, but it passed too quickly, as if reality itself had simply shifted.

No pain. No struggle. Just… a new existence.

A voice echoed in his mind.

"Welcome, Host, to the Cathedral."

And then—

The flood of memories came.

He wasn't Elias Verdan anymore. Here, he was Zion Aldrich, a High Priest of Lunaria Cathedral.

But names didn't matter. He was still himself—his body, his mind, his ambitions.

And now, he had power.

[Main Corruption Target Identified: High Priestess Eleanor Sanctis.]

Zane's lips curled. A woman of faith. Righteous. Dutiful. A little famous for her so-called purity.

The kind of woman—

I would absolutely love to break.

His fingers flexed as he sat up, feeling the fine fabric of his robes. He glanced down at himself, half-expecting something different—an unfamiliar body, a new face.

But no.

His dark brown hair still fell messily over his forehead. His frame was the same—lean, strong, built beneath the holy cloth. His deep amber eyes still carried that sharp, knowing glint.

Only his identity had changed. His soul, his body—they were still his own.

Zane scoffed, amused. "Tch. So even with a new name, I'm still me?"

He pushed himself to his feet, the golden embroidery on his robe catching the candlelight. The markings of a High Priest.

More power meant more influence.

And he would use every bit of it.

The courtyard was alive with morning prayers. The scent of burning incense filled the air, mixing with the murmurs of priests and believers. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting dancing patterns over the polished stone pavement.

Zane stepped into the open, his robes flowing behind him.

Near the cathedral steps, a sharp cry broke the morning's calm.

His gaze flicked toward the source. A woman knelt beside an old man, her hands trembling as she clutched his arm.

"Please! Someone, help him!" she begged.

A cluster of priests lingered nearby, hesitant.

Zane moved.

His steps were measured, his presence commanding as he approached. The gathered priests turned, startled. The woman's tear-filled eyes snapped toward him.

"He—he collapsed," she stammered. "They said it's too late, but—"

A lost cause—

[Divine Authority – Holy Blessings]

—But not for him.

Zane knelt beside the frail body, pressing two fingers to the old man's wrist. Cold. Weak. Fading.

The system hummed inside him, feeding him power. Unlike the other priests, he wasn't bound by faith. His blessings were absolute.

Golden light spilled from his fingertips, washing over the man's body.

Gasps rang out. Shock. Awe.

The old man's chest rose sharply. His breathing steadied. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

The woman sobbed, pressing her forehead to the ground. "It's a miracle! Oh, merciful High Priest, thank you!"

Zane merely smiled, standing. "Faith rewards those who hold it close."

But he wasn't finished.

His amber gaze swept the courtyard, scanning the gathered crowd.

"Are there others in need?" he asked.

A hush fell over the priests. Then, a younger cleric hesitantly stepped forward. "T-There are many sick in the prayer halls, High Priest…"

Zane nodded. "Then we'll help them."

He turned, already striding toward the cathedral doors. 

Murmurs of awe followed him as he turned, the weight of a hundred hopeful gazes pressing against his back. He didn't need to look to know—every step he took, the faith in him grew. And that was exactly what he wanted.

Zane's presence commanded attention as he entered the prayer hall. The sick and injured were lined along the marble floors, some lying on thin mats, others huddled against the walls. The air was thick with the scent of old incense and dried herbs—a desperate attempt by lesser priests to substitute faith for actual miracles.

Pathetic.

Zane crouched beside a boy no older than ten, his tiny body trembling under a thin blanket. His mother clutched his hand, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. She had no words left, no prayers unspoken. Only helplessness.

"High Priest… please…"

Zane touched the boy's forehead, letting his power seep into fragile bones and weakened lungs. The child gasped as warmth filled his chest, his shallow breaths deepening. Color returned to his cheeks.

The mother's eyes widened in disbelief. "He's breathing… properly?"

Zane smiled. "The gods favor the faithful."

He stood, already seeking his next patient. Let them kneel, let them weep. Today, they would know his name.

Far above, unseen by those below, a pair of golden eyes followed his every move.

They belonged to High Priestess Eleanor Sanctis. She leaned against the balcony, her slender fingers idly tracing the smooth stone railing, golden eyes sharp, watching.

She had seen everything—the golden light, the murmurs of astonishment, the way the crowd gazed at him with reverence.

A man of devotion. Generosity. Faith.

For the first time, she truly saw him.

Zion Aldrich. The newly appointed High Priest. She had heard his name before, spoken in respectful whispers, but a name was just a name. A man had to prove himself.

And he had.

Below, his hands moved over the wounded with practiced grace, long fingers pressing into skin, coaxing miracles with nothing but touch and whispered prayer. His blessings were warm and absolute. His deep voice—low, soothing—whispered words that made even the air feel holier.

He was magnetic, his faith a quiet force that pulled people closer. That pulled her closer.

Still leaning on the balcony railing, Eleanor shifted, the movement accentuating the elegant curve of her waist, the slight flare of her hips beneath the pristine white and gold of her robes. The fabric, though modest in design, traced the shape of her full chest, restrained but never truly hidden.

Below, Zion's gaze flicked upward, catching sight of her for the first time.

She stood poised yet relaxed, her golden braid draping over one shoulder, the silken strands catching the morning sun like woven light itself. The high collar of her robes framed her long, graceful neck, but his eyes lingered on the subtle dip where the fabric met the hollow of her throat—a sliver of bare skin, soft and untouched, the only glimpse of vulnerability in a woman built like divinity itself.

Ah. So that's her.

A slow smirk played on his lips.

He had spent his morning winning over the people. But the real prize?

Was right there.

Zane tilted his head, watching her, feeling something dark and delicious settle into his mind.

She didn't know it yet, but she had already taken the first step.

Because she had noticed him.

And that was all he needed.

[Eleanor Corruption: 0%]

[Time Left: 5 Months, 29 Days]

For now.