The chapel was modest in size, yet its décor exuded solemnity. Walls of large cut stone blocks framed long windows inlaid with colored glass, which, under the dim illumination, projected a profound religious atmosphere.

Perhaps due to the snow, the air inside the church was cold and damp. Several rows of wooden chairs occupied the vast, empty space, all facing the bare pulpit. Hung on the wall behind the pulpit was a life-sized statue of Jesus on the cross.

The small inscription that held the avatar captive was carved into the right-hand wall, precisely between the two long windows. Time’s attrition was evident in every stroke, suggesting the text had been there for ages, bearing marks of repeated soaking by water and the frequent touch of human hands.

The reason these faint characters held the avatar captive was not their legibility, but the earth-shattering will contained within the lines, as if the carver had condensed all his ephemeral love and determination into physical form, actualizing them in the mortal world through these most common of letters.

The characters were the body; the will, the soul. This line of text was like a living story, and with a single glance, Yang Ying’s avatar seemed to grasp everything the carver intended to convey.

Yang Ying knew well that only a Master-level expert could achieve such a feat; a Master unified with heaven and earth, their every movement subtly echoing the rhythm of nature, allowing them to manifest emotions from their spiritual world into tangible reality.

Those of a lower cultivation, even a Quasi-Master like himself, might achieve such a thing, but only under extremely fortuitous circumstances.

Yet, the will contained within these small characters before him was so potent, acting directly upon the avatar’s sixth sense, that Yang Ying unhesitatingly believed the carver was at least a Master, perhaps even higher!

“Father Vandeheim, Father Vandeheim…”

In the church, the blond Major’s voice still echoed off the walls, but the avatar paid him no further heed. The surrounding events seemed to fade into the background.

The avatar’s entire focus was riveted on the inscription. He couldn't help but reach out, tracing the text from beginning to end. The sensation transmitted through his fingertips told him the sharp edges around the characters had been worn smooth, seemingly from an extremely high frequency of touching.

But the avatar quickly reconsidered; this was natural. Although ordinary people’s sixth senses were dull and they might not glean much from the text, the love and resolve condensed within the characters were like a bright lamp in the darkness—visible even to those with poor sight.

“Agnesacromos.”

The avatar silently mouthed the carver’s name, and a figure gradually emerged in his mind.

Could it be him? But how was this possible?

Yang Ying couldn't reconcile his deduction, as he had never heard of anything so preposterous; such a thing should never happen. Yet, the inscription before him, the texture under his hand, and his unerring memory all pointed to the most improbable answer.

There was only one person capable of writing script like this: Agnes, the peak Master Ape-man who once fought fiercely with Horace in Greyport.

And the name Catherine St. Clair clearly belonged to some human woman.

The avatar withdrew his hand, thinking, "This is utterly absurd. How could a relationship exist between a human and an Ape-man? Neither human society nor the Ancient Legion would tolerate such a thing! Looking at the script, it must be several years old—perhaps a sealed, long-past affair?"

Creak.

A small wooden door beneath the statue of Jesus was pushed open, and light, quick footsteps sounded from within, followed by a gentle, aged voice filling the church: “Is Mrs. Boven going into labor? Why at this hour?”

The avatar’s attention was snapped back to the sound. Turning, he saw a priest jogging across the central aisle toward the door.

The priest appeared to be in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a sturdy build, clad in a severe robe. His entire aura gave the avatar the impression of a man who had weathered all of life’s storms and seen through the world’s mysteries.

As he ran past the avatar, the priest suddenly turned and glanced toward the avatar’s position, meeting his gaze directly. The avatar instantly felt his invisibility technique utterly negated, causing a jolt of alarm. However, the priest showed no other reaction, turning back as if nothing were amiss and continuing toward the church entrance.

“This priest is not simple. That glance he just threw was clearly directed at me. Without me showing any hint of hostility, he could so accurately pierce my invisibility. Yet, in my eyes, he seems like an ordinary person; I cannot discern his cultivation at all. This means his power far surpasses mine! A Master? No... perhaps a Paladin?” the avatar thought in surprise.

“You must be Father Vandeheim. The town doctor isn’t here, and Mrs. Boven suddenly…” The blond Major approached the priest, intending to explain the sequence of events.

“No need to say more. I know all about it. The priority now is ensuring the safety of mother and child.”

Father Vandeheim stepped out of the church and into the driving snow, approaching the car. He peered through the door at Mrs. Boven… then spoke to the two officers and the small boy, “You must come with me.”

He pulled the car door open and gently lifted Mrs. Boven out, returning to the church. His movements were as steady as a mountain, showing no tremor, more stable than a stretcher.

“Father, you must save my mother.” The little boy pleaded, following close behind.

“Don’t worry, child. God will protect your mother,” Father Vandeheim reassured him patiently along the way. His calm tone also soothed the little boy.

“Father, you can still deliver babies?” The two officers followed nervously behind the priest, passing right in front of the avatar.

The avatar paused for a moment, then decided to follow them.

Passing through the small door under the statue of Jesus, they entered a short corridor. The priest opened a door on the side, revealing a clean, tidy room: a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, and a bed. Tightly shut windows kept the heavy snow outside. The room was already heated by the air conditioning, making it quite warm.

Father Vandeheim turned to the chestnut-haired Lieutenant. “Come in and assist me. Everyone else wait outside.” As he said this, he specifically glanced toward where Yang Ying’s avatar stood, clearly including him in the instruction.

“Yes, Father.” The Lieutenant nodded and followed Father Vandeheim into the room.

Then, the door closed.

“Let me in, let me in!” The little boy pressed against the door, but the blond Major pulled him away. The boy immediately bit the Major’s hand, who cried out sharply and pulled his hand back, quickly grabbing the boy with the other hand.

Inside the room, Mrs. Boven’s cries of pain continued intermittently. The Lieutenant opened the door several times to pass in hot water, towels, and other necessities.

About half an hour later, a clear, resounding cry echoed out.

“She’s born!” The blond Major held his left hand, the bite marks covering both hands clearly visible.

Yang Ying’s avatar leaned against the nearby wall, arms crossed over his chest, nodding repeatedly.

“Ah! She’s born! Uncle, is she born?” The little boy, who had been pouting restlessly, jumped up in excitement upon hearing the Major’s words.

“Not Uncle gave birth, your mother did,” the blond Major wiped sweat from his brow; keeping the little boy calm over the last half hour had cost him considerable effort.

The door opened. The chestnut-haired Lieutenant stood holding the knob, his expression that of a pilgrim, completely dazed. Everyone peered into the room. Mrs. Boven was sitting up weakly in the bed, but a happy smile graced her pale face. In her arms, she held a tiny infant, wrapped in layers of colorful silk, crying lustily.

The little boy cheered and rushed into his mother’s embrace.

“This is your little brother,” Mrs. Boven said with a smile. The little boy snuggled into his mother’s arms.

Father Vandeheim smiled kindly at Mrs. Boven. “It should be alright. My little chapel is rudimentary, and I could only use older methods for delivery. Fortunately, I studied medicine before, and since this is your second child, there shouldn’t be any major complications. You just need to eat plenty of nourishing food afterward.”

“Thank you, Father. If you hadn’t been here today, perhaps this child…” Here, Mrs. Boven covered her face with one hand, unable to continue.

“Mrs. Boven, extreme joy and sorrow both tax the body. You need rest now. Furthermore, the birth of new life is always a joyous occasion; there’s no need to thank me so profusely,” Father Vandeheim said, turning to look out the window, lost in thought about something.

“We must thank you too, Father. This was a real hassle,” the blond Major gripped the chestnut-haired Lieutenant’s shoulder, bowing respectfully to Father Vandeheim.

Father Vandeheim chuckled twice and turned to the two soldiers. “Witnessing the birth of new life is a precious experience, even more so for men who regularly face the battlefield. Remember this moment from now on.”

“Of course.”

“How could we ever forget?”

The two soldiers exchanged a look and agreed.

Next, Father Vandeheim gave an address for the blond Major to contact Mrs. Boven’s relatives. After arranging for Mrs. Boven to be moved to her relatives’ home for proper care and handling all the ensuing minor affairs, the small chapel returned to its original stillness three hours later.

Finally, after seeing the two soldiers off, Father Vandeheim stood at the church entrance, waving toward the military vehicle, and then spoke as if addressing the air: “You’ve been watching for a long time, haven’t you? Why not come out and speak with me? It has been a long time since someone like you has visited.”

From within the shadows of the church door, the avatar materialized and asked, “Father, who exactly are you?”