Chapter 131

After receiving the world’s first ether anesthesia treatment, Krawft was handed over to the Church for disposition—or rather, sentenced by the bishop.

Of course, as compensation, the doctor, now regarded as a pious benefactor who would bring the church great profits, requested that the wayward youth be shown leniency, at least spared from mob violence—lest the special medical achievement be tarnished.

Before leaving, Kraft warmly shook his still-intact left hand and confirmed again: “Mr. Krawft, are you certain this is your true name? Do you have a surname, full name, or a preferred title?”

“None. I’m just Krawft. Really, that’s all.” He still looked shaken; from the victim’s perspective, it could be described as: one blink, hand gone; next blink, hand restored.

“You won’t regret it. May the Father bless you, Mr. Krawft.”

Though he wished to observe longer, this outstanding practitioner of wealth redistribution had more urgent matters—like helping the bishop’s men track down the schemer who tried to play dirty, and see if he could add a brick to the church’s second-half financial report.

The Church could tolerate rough sailors entering its halls, tolerate the existence of “drunken priests,” even turn a blind eye to the red-light district by the harbor; but it would yield not one copper coin to anyone who reached into its own backyard and stole what was handed to it.

Reach out a hand, chop it off. Reach out a foot, chop it off. No discussion.

But none of this concerned Kraft or Adrian; the Church’s long-established forces in Comfort Harbor would handle it. All they needed was to know they’d receive more than expected when the money was split.

On a pleasantly lit afternoon, they had the privilege of meeting the deputy captain and the mysterious bishop—the decision-maker for Comfort Cathedral and all Church affairs here.

“The captain sent me to extend his deepest apologies; he could not come due to his peculiar illness.”

A white-robed elder sat in a high-backed chair; his robe, save for the style, was identical to Adrian’s, and a black, glossy emblem of unknown material hung on his chest. He nodded slightly, withdrew a clean, unadorned hand from beneath a fur blanket, gestured for his young attendant—whose face bore a faint resemblance—to take over, then closed his eyes halfway again to savor the perfectly warm sunlight.

A wooden box, edged in iron, was brought out—no larger than two thick books, yet fitted with a handle for easy carrying.

The young priest strained his arms, veins bulging blue, to lift it, setting it heavily onto the thickly patterned cotton pad on the table with a thud like a fully armored knight stepping down. Red indentations from the iron ring remained on his palm.

Without a word, its weight felt as if it acted directly upon the soul, dragging even the lightest soul destined for the Father’s kingdom straight into hell.

“Though we’re old acquaintances, at least not strangers, it’s a pity William didn’t come...” He lifted his drooping eyelids, his gaze sweeping over the box, then settling briefly on Adrian’s face before resting on the three visitors.

“But such a sum—I believe it’s better delivered in person.”

A small key was handed to the young priest. The elder leaned back, the gentle afternoon sun smoothing the inevitable chill of the stone building. He seemed to relish the moment; the wrinkles on his aged face relaxed into calm, benevolent ease.

The box opened. Adequate lighting revealed its contents to all. Even with preparation, none could remain composed before them.

Yellow, metallic ingots—not round coins—no patterns, no inscriptions, simply the purest form, stacked neatly without any gaps within the box.

Their minds were instantly seized, becoming the sole focus of vision; nothing else existed.

Kraft felt his heart skip a beat—even those with no interest in gold would be shaken for a moment.

He saw the bishop’s hidden smile of satisfaction, as if the visitors’ stunned reactions were a pleasant diversion between sunbathing sessions. Noticing Kraft recovered quickly, the bishop cast him a glance of mild surprise.

In contrast, the young priest’s trembling fingers clutching the key drew his disapproval.

“Piety is the greatest reward, but the Lord does not withhold humble worldly things.” The clear, steady voice roused the deputy and Adrian from their shock—as if reciting from a sermon, Kraft, who barely opened his Bible, wondered if the bishop had plucked the line straight from its pages.

“The gates of the sanctuary stand ever open to you. Guiding the Lord’s sheep is our duty. Should you need anything, entrust it to Jacques to convey.”

The young priest made a circular motion in the air before his chest, performing the standard prayer gesture—roughly equivalent to clasping hands or making the sign of the cross in the other world.

He chose to hand over the key before speaking; after the deputy took it, he briefly introduced himself: “Jacques. Ordinary priest. Any errands, find me in the cathedral’s main hall. If I’m not there, ask others—they all know me.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” the deputy replied, tearing his gaze from the box and returning the gesture.

As the bishop closed his eyes, the brief meeting ended. He never once acknowledged the box, not even bothering to mention its existence. Jacques escorted them to the end of the corridor; they left through the church’s rear door and returned to the ship—to divide the money.

Even as they entered the captain’s cabin, the priest still couldn’t believe it, as if in a dream. Had they truly just received so much gold?

Distribution raised no disputes. As the primary material backer, who lost three capable sailors, nearly lost himself, and provided ship, crew, funds, and life itself—the angel investor—William would receive the largest share.

Roughly forty to fifty percent—enough to pay generous compensation, give the deputy a share, and recruit new sailors.

And most importantly, buy a large ship capable of long voyages—this would not be easy. Large ships are custom-built, one at a time; construction takes years, and existing ones rarely come up for sale. Unless a premium is paid, money alone won’t suffice.

In reality, he’d likely receive around forty percent; his survival and return to claim his share were due largely to Kraft’s efforts, so a portion should be allocated to him.

Father Adrian, as one of the original participants, contributed intelligence and gathered information, and rightfully received twenty-five percent. Though he never joined the southern hills expedition, the mission could not have succeeded without him.

As a Church-employed resident with all meals and lodging provided, he seemed to need nothing special.

Beyond improving his living conditions, his long-standing ties to the captain’s circle led him to invest part of his share in William’s new ship, securing future profits as a partner and turning it into a steady income stream.

Finally, Kraft—the initiator, core figure, planner, and rescuer—received nearly thirty-five percent.

This sum far exceeded the costs of custom instruments, materials, and clinic setup.

Investing in the new ship was a good idea—where else could you find a captain who operates a high-intensity vessel on water forever?

Wealth unshared is like wearing brocade in the dark. Part of it would be delivered to William, alongside the ether technology, to be sent via letter to Wen Deng Harbor Academy, and forwarded by the Academy to Lien, the next visitor for correspondence and summer procurement, to inform Old Wood and Anderson that Kraft was thriving abroad, without worry.

The letter was already written: He and his newly met captain and priest friend solved the alchemist’s riddle, journeyed to the southern hills in search of treasure, experienced the region’s unique biological environment with the help of warm-hearted villagers, and ultimately found the hoard.

If the chance arises, he will introduce to his grandfather the talent he serendipitously uncovered—loyal and brave retainer Kup.

As for him, Kraft, he would remain in Comfort Harbor for a time to conduct animal experiments, refine equipment, and begin clinical trials, gathering abundant cases from the seafarers, whose bodies naturally suffered frequent trauma.

“Kup, Yin Feng, come here.” The suddenly wealthy Kraft was in high spirits; the dark clouds of nightmares that had hovered over him for days had lifted considerably.

“What is it, Mr. Kraft?”

“Performance bonuses!”