After gathering some information from Qi Eight-Blades, Luo Jin headed back. He had no intention of interfering in gang business. With the sudden turn of events, the trail connected to the Licker had gone cold. It was clear this was going to be a long game—any involvement with cults was never simple.
He’d also picked up a few things about Li Xin from Qi Eight-Blades. Of course, the man’s words weren’t exactly gospel. The Night Watchmen would handle cleanup, and Li Xin would be investigated further. A young Awakened with that kind of combat ability was someone you had to keep an eye on. If he didn’t have deep ties to the gangs, there might even be potential to recruit him.
Just as Luo Jin stepped back into Night Watchmen HQ, the sharp clack-clack-clack of high heels echoed down the corridor. A woman approached—short bobbed hair, a sleek white uniform skirt just above the knees, aristocratic white stockings.
“Captain,” she said briskly, “the High Archbishop has summoned you. If it’s nothing urgent, he’d like to see you right away.”
Luo Jin groaned and waved a hand. “The High Archbishop again? What does he think I am, a tireless machine? Casey, I need a raise.”
Casey smiled sweetly, a warm kind of smile that only added to the mature allure she radiated. Technically, she wasn’t married—but with that body and that face, she gave off the exact kind of charm that said otherwise. Maybe it was the uniform. Maybe not.
“If you get a raise,” she teased, “where would you even spend it? Might finally drink a little less.”
Hmm?
Luo Jin didn’t waste time. He headed straight for the cathedral. It probably had to do with the Licker.
The cathedral was vast and filled with light. Tianjing was under the control of the Lunar Church, and their temples were always the largest. The architecture was grand and ornate—old churches were always rich beyond reason. The High Archbishop was already in the middle of prayer.
The title of High Archbishop denoted a rank above ordinary archbishops. The Night Watchmen were technically under the authority of the goddess of moonlit justice—Diana, a principal deity who held dominion over the powers of night. Due to historical reasons, local Night Watchmen were technically city-affiliated, but in practice, most answered directly to the Church.
“High Archbishop,” Luo Jin began, “the Licker is dead. There was a bit of a complication, but we were forced to eliminate it. We’ve lost the lead.”
The black-robed man didn’t turn around.
“Don’t lament it. The battle against the Abyss is a long one. If they dared make the first move, then there will surely be more to come. For now, your focus should be on your upcoming transfer to the Order Academy. Be prepared—don’t let yourself walk in blind and make a fool of yourself.”
“Is the situation at the Academy that bad?” Luo Jin asked, his tone growing serious.
High Archbishop Matthew looked to be in his seventies. His hair was mostly white, though his eyebrows remained jet-black. His face was healthy and ruddy, and he carried himself with a calm but commanding presence. He was the head of the Lunar Church in Tianjing, and therefore one of the most influential figures in the entire city.
“The Church senses that faith is fading,” he said. “And if the faith is weak, then the Academy must be in even worse condition. The Cardinal is furious. He believes Tianjing’s side has become complacent—resting on the achievements of the past. We've strayed far from the original vision Grand Chancellor Luther had when he founded the Academy.”
“We’re not the only ones in this state,” Luo Jin pointed out. He himself had graduated from the Academy, though after bouncing through several positions, he'd ended up with the Night Watchmen. A dozen years had passed since, and now he was being pulled back.
“Other cities aren’t our concern,” Matthew said. “Tianjing is the cornerstone of the Lunar Church and the flagship of our presence in the Li Long Kingdom. You're being sent in to fix things, not to escalate tensions. Keep that in mind. Nobles are not people you can push around by force.”
Luo Jin rubbed his forehead. He knew full well how murky the politics were. Force wouldn’t work. And court politics were always a mess of backstabbing, cryptic barbs, and endless posturing.
“Can’t we send someone else?”
The High Archbishop narrowed his eyes. “Want me to go in your place?”
Yes, actually, Luo Jin thought—but he kept that to himself, giving an awkward laugh and retreating without further protest.
This time, he wasn’t just getting a job. He was being appointed Chief Disciplinarian of the Order Academy. That came with a seat on the Academy’s governing council—real political clout. But there were seven council members. Which meant he’d be just one voice in a room full of backroom schemers.
The Order Academy was one of Grand Chancellor Luther’s greatest legacies. People still talked about him with reverence. Simply put, the Academy had been created as a clever trap: baiting the great churches with promises of influence, drawing them into building and funding an elite school that would, in turn, serve the Kingdom of Li Long.
The sermons were real. But so was the effort to strengthen national power.
The Academy produced generations of talent. It helped birth the modern era of the Li Long Unified Kingdom. Back in Luther’s day, with Hextech technology booming, a whole new class of powerful citizens had emerged. His vision? God loves all. All souls are equal. The Academy balanced Church influence with noble rule, empowered new blood, and offered commoners opportunity and support.
But after Luther’s death, everything began to rot.
The struggle between royal power and divine authority would never end. And given the choice, Luo Jin would much rather be back in the dark alleys, fighting monsters face-to-face, than stuck in that snake pit.
Still—a command was a command.
Like the High Archbishop had said: this wasn’t the Night Watchmen. You couldn’t just kill your way out of trouble. Make the wrong move, and you’d drag the entire Church down with you.
But send someone too soft, and the whole institution would collapse.
They needed someone ruthless.
Even someone as battle-hardened as Luo Jin felt the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. A problem like this?
Only one solution: a drink.
If one drink didn’t cut it, then two. Or five.
When Night Watchmen were off-duty, it was always either women or alcohol—usually alcohol. It was the only way to bleed out the stress of dealing with death and the supernatural on a daily basis. Frankly, Luo Jin figured he was already living on borrowed time. No vices off-limits—smoke, drink, repeat. And no one at the bar dared to bother him. Everyone knew: this guy sat alone. You’d have to be blind to mess with him.
And if you were blind? You’d probably regain your sight real quick.
If he was going to do this, he had to do it right. The position of Chief Disciplinarian came with real power in the Order Academy, but it was a thankless job. Everyone who’d held the post before had either faded into obscurity—or worse. If it weren’t such a mess, it never would’ve fallen to him in the first place.
But if he played this right? If he did the dirty work and cleaned it up without burning the whole place down?
He might just earn a real promotion—something beyond street-level muckwork.
He tossed back another glass.
Back in the day, if he’d gotten this offer, he would’ve rushed in all hot-blooded, ready to smash heads and "clean house" with a torch in each hand. But time wears even the fiercest idiot down. Ten years of walking the edge made him wiser.
This wasn’t a job to rush.
Either stay out of it completely… or find the artery and cut deep.
Meanwhile, deep in the Underground City—
Qi Eight-Blades hobbled along, leaning on a stick he’d found, one that was reasonably straight. Limping all the way, he finally returned to what remained of his hideout.
The place was wrecked.
What had once been his carefully maintained base of operations now looked like a monster had torn through it—which, well, one had. His boys were slumped around like their beloved leader had just dropped dead. The whole scene reeked of despair.
He stood there in silence for a long moment. A wave of bitter melancholy washed over him.
This is what it’s come to? Is this what being a boss means now? Scraping by like a rat?
“…Tch. Whatever. Still alive, aren’t I?”
He straightened up—at least mentally—and smeared a bit of blood from his leg across his face. Time to switch back into Boss Mode.
He swaggered into the wreckage, every limp now full of swagger. His men scrambled up to greet him, relief and awe in their eyes.
Qi Eight-Blades dropped himself dramatically into a chair, legs spread wide, chest out. Time to start talking big.
He spun a tale. How he’d battled the monster head-on, how he’d outwitted it with brilliant tactics, how it had almost gotten him—but he’d pulled through in the end. Not for himself.
For the crew.
Mental gymnastics? Maybe. But it worked. The more he talked, the more his men got into it. They started cheering, whooping, clapping each other on the back.
Morale—restored.
And not just that. Something shifted in the way they looked at him. There was a new light in their eyes.
Respect.
Real, unforced respect.
Qi Eight-Blades could feel it. That faint, dizzying thrill of power. Of being admired.
For a brief moment, he floated a little.
…Yeah. This batch of underlings probably won’t be planning a coup anytime soon.