It should have been a simple goodbye.
However, just as Father Anderson reached the front door, Mrs.
Morgan stopped him and handed him a large insulated food container.
“Father, I made breakfast for you,” she said firmly.
“Please don’t refuse.”
Sandy stood beside her and nodded.
“She’s right.
Please take it.”
Judging by their expressions, Anderson knew there was no graceful way to decline.
The couple genuinely wanted to repay him in whatever small way they could.
Refusing too strongly would only embarrass them or make them think he disliked their gift.
“Thank you.”
He accepted the container with a warm smile and left beneath their grateful gazes.
Now that the unexpected exorcism had been handled, Anderson only had one destination left—the church under his care.
He still needed to complete his daily fixed task.
[Prayer]
[Daily Fixed Task: Offer a prayer inside the church.]
[Completion Reward: 0.5 Points]
His church stood near the intersection of several Boston neighborhoods, some distance from the Morgan residence.
The breakfast container was surprisingly heavy, so Anderson stopped beside a quiet tree-lined street and sat on a public bench.
He decided to eat before continuing.
Whatever else could be said about Mrs.
Morgan, she was an excellent cook.
Her food had gradually become one of his favorites.
It was flavorful, filling, and far better than the bland meals he occasionally received from other parishioners.
Anderson placed the container beside him and opened the lid.
He froze for a second.
Then he chuckled.
The top compartment didn’t contain food.
It was packed with hundred-dollar bills.
Benjamin Franklin’s face stared up at him from several neatly folded stacks.
“This is a little excessive.”
Anderson shook his head but didn’t bother counting the money.
He removed the compartment and slipped it into his backpack.
He had plenty of uses for it.
His experiments, medical compounds, custom ammunition, and underground storage facility all required a steady supply of money.
Much of the funding for his hidden armory had come from grateful families, private donations, and rewards from people he had helped.
Anderson took a breakfast sandwich from the next compartment and began eating.
As he did, a translucent system panel appeared before him.
In the fantasy novels he had read during his previous life, people transported into other worlds were almost always given some kind of special advantage.
He was no exception.
Even now, Anderson couldn’t clearly say whether he was a man from another Earth who had inherited Alexander Anderson’s life, or Alexander Anderson carrying the memories of someone who had lived before.
Both sets of memories felt real.
His past experiences, habits, skills, and emotions had fused with those of his current identity until separating them became impossible.
Perhaps the simplest answer was that neither personality had completely survived.
A new person had formed from both.
“A merged identity,” Anderson murmured.
“But one still influenced more heavily by the memories of my previous life.”
That explanation was good enough for him.
His system was also different from the ones he remembered reading about.
The missions weren’t issued according to a predictable schedule.
Sometimes several appeared within a single day.
At other times, months passed without a single opportunity.
There were no guarantees.
Most importantly, Anderson retained the right to choose.
He could accept a mission or reject it.
The system rarely forced him into anything, and there were usually no punishments for refusal.
That freedom made it far more useful than a system that treated its host like a slave.
Anderson opened his status information and focused on the five points he had just received from Sarah’s exorcism.
Without hesitation, he assigned all of them to Vitality.
[Vitality: 93 → 98]
The moment the points were added, a powerful sensation spread through his body.
His heartbeat strengthened.
Heat flowed through his muscles, and an intense itching sensation seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside his bones and organs.
Anderson calmly continued eating.
He had experienced the process many times before.
Vitality was one of the most important attributes on his panel.
Investing in it had never been a poor decision.
He had tested the stat through controlled experiments.
Minor cuts, punctures, blood loss, exhaustion, and other injuries caused the number to decrease by varying amounts.
The result was obvious.
Vitality represented more than simple stamina.
It was directly connected to his life.
If the number ever reached zero, he doubted the system would give him a second chance.
“So it really is a health bar,” Anderson muttered.
He quickly finished the sandwich, closed the food container, and stood.
Anderson owned a car.
A modern priest operating across several neighborhoods could hardly manage without one.
Still, he preferred to walk whenever possible.
Random missions were more likely to appear when he moved through public areas and encountered ordinary people.
Driving from one destination to another reduced those opportunities.
Unfortunately, nothing happened during the remainder of his journey.
No screams came from a nearby house.
No stranger approached him with a supernatural problem.
No system notification appeared.
By the time Anderson reached the rusted iron gate of his church, the streets had remained disappointingly peaceful.
He sighed.
“Another day as an unpaid therapist.”
The old church stood before him, dark and weathered.
He removed a key from his pocket, unlocked the gate, and entered the property.
Whenever Anderson wasn’t dealing with demons or other missions, he spent much of his time inside the church performing the ordinary duties expected of a priest.
Parishioners came to pray, ask for advice, confess their sins, or simply speak to someone who would listen without immediately judging them.
Some sought forgiveness.
Others only needed a place where they could admit what frightened them.
The church attracted people from every part of society.
Wealthy business owners sat in the same pews as homeless veterans.
Police officers crossed paths with career criminals.
Anderson had even met professional killers, occult researchers, and several visitors he suspected weren’t entirely human.
It was a strange collection of souls.
That made the church valuable in ways ordinary people didn’t understand.
Priests often seemed unusually well-connected because they heard secrets from people who would never speak honestly anywhere else.
No one could know how many favors, relationships, warnings, or pieces of information passed through a confessional.
Anderson walked along the stone pathway and studied the aging building.
Unlike the polished churches run by wealthier parishes, his had never been properly renovated.
The stone walls were stained by decades of rain.
Several wooden window frames had begun to warp, and patches of the roof required constant repairs.
The entire property carried the weight of time.
Yet people still came.
The daily numbers weren’t large, but the variety of visitors was remarkable.
Anderson made the sign of the cross before entering the central chapel.
Inside, rows of wooden pews faced a large crucifix at the far end of the room.
A carved figure of Jesus hung above the altar, hands and feet nailed to the cross.
Several candles continued burning beneath it.
The chapel remained deliberately dim.
Only the candlelight and muted sunlight passing through the stained-glass windows illuminated the room.
The quiet atmosphere helped frightened believers calm themselves, while those carrying darker thoughts often found it easier to speak when their faces were hidden in shadow.
Anderson walked down the center aisle.
His footsteps echoed softly through the empty chapel.
He stopped before the altar, looked up at the crucifix, and made the sign of the cross.
“Amen.”
He clasped his hands, lowered his head, and closed his eyes.
Anderson still wasn’t certain how deeply he believed in Christianity.
His previous life had made him skeptical, and much of his current religious identity had come from inherited memories, training, and practical experience rather than blind faith.
Still, demons were real.
Holy water worked.
Blessed symbols burned supernatural creatures.
Prayer carried power.
That made dismissing God entirely rather difficult.
Anderson treated prayer much like someone making a private wish.
He spoke respectfully, but his requests were often brutally honest.
“Lord, thank you for granting me another opportunity to serve.”
“With your power, I expelled another demon this morning.”
“For the safety of your followers, please encourage the system to issue more missions.”
“Preferably missions without severe penalties.”
He paused.
“And higher rewards would also be appreciated.”
The candles flickered slightly.
“If possible, grant me enough power that nothing in this world can threaten me.”
Another pause followed.
“I will remain your faithful servant.”
Anderson considered his wording.
“Assuming the working conditions remain reasonable.”
Silence filled the chapel.
He continued praying until the familiar mechanical voice finally sounded inside his mind.
[Prayer: Daily Prayer Completed]
[Reward Issued: 0.5 Points]
“Amen.”
Anderson immediately opened his eyes and ended the prayer.
He brought up the status panel and assigned the new half point to Vitality as well.
[Vitality: 98 → 98.5]
The familiar warmth passed through his body.
One day, he intended to become so difficult to injure that his enemies would feel as though they were trying to cut through reinforced concrete with a dull knife.
This world was far too dangerous for him to prioritize anything above survival.
Anderson glanced once more at the crucifix before retrieving his backpack.
He followed a narrow passage on the right side of the chapel, planning to store his equipment, clean himself up, and prepare for the day’s visitors.
A priest normally had a long list of responsibilities.
There were Masses to conduct, records to maintain, meetings to attend, donations to organize, and parish programs to supervise.
Anderson skipped many of those duties.
The reason was simple.
He was lazy.
There was also almost no one around to complain.
His church appeared to have been forgotten by the larger diocese years ago.
No additional priests had been assigned to it, no permanent staff worked there, and official inspectors rarely visited.
Anderson handled the building alone.
With no employees, committees, or active administration, there was very little to manage.
Sometimes he suspected the entire parish existed only on paper.
He did, however, participate in community service whenever opportunities arose.
Helping at shelters, visiting hospitals, checking on elderly residents, and responding to neighborhood emergencies frequently placed him near people who needed assistance.
That also meant those activities had a high chance of triggering new system missions.
For Father Alexander Anderson, charity and personal advancement often followed the same path.