Chapter 131: Settlement Time

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

Of course, as compensation, the doctor—now a pious VIP who would bring the church immense profits—requested that the wayward youth be shown leniency, at least spared from vigilante justice, lest the special medical achievement be damaged.

Before leaving, Kraft warmly gripped his still-intact left hand and confirmed again: "Mr. Cowen, you confirm this is your true name? Do you have a surname, full name, or a preferred title?"

"None. I'm just Cowen. Really, nothing else." He still looked shaken; from the victim's perspective, it could be described as: blink once, hand severed; blink again, hand reattached.

"You won't regret it. May the Heavenly Father bless you, Mr. Cowen."

Though he wished to observe longer, this outstanding practitioner of wealth redistribution had more important matters to attend to—like helping the bishop's subordinates find the one who used underhanded tactics, to see if he could add bricks to the church's second-half financial report.

The Church could tolerate rough sailors entering its halls, permit the existence of "drunken priests," even turn a blind eye to the red-light district by the harbor; but any hand reaching into its own backyard, siphoning off guaranteed profits, would be met with zero tolerance.

Reach out a hand, chop it off; reach out a foot, chop it off. No negotiation.

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

On a pleasantly lit afternoon, they were fortunate enough to meet, alongside the first mate, the decision-maker for all matters of the Comfort Cathedral and Jiaotangji Sect: the mysterious bishop.

"The captain sent me to extend his deepest apologies—he cannot come due to a peculiar illness."

A white-robed elder sat in a high-backed chair; his robe, aside from the model, was identical to Adrian's, and on his chest hung a black, glossy holy emblem of unknown material. He nodded slightly, withdrew a clean, unadorned hand from beneath a fur blanket, gestured for a young priest beside him—whose face bore some resemblance—to act in his stead, then resumed half-closing his eyes to savor the perfectly balanced sunlight.

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

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

Without words, its weight felt as if it acted directly upon the soul, dragging even the lightest soul destined for the Heavenly 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 on the three visitors, lingering especially on Adrian's face.

"But such a large sum—I believe it's better delivered in person."

A small key was handed to the young priest. The elder leaned back in his chair; the gentle afternoon sunlight smoothed the inevitable chill of the stone building. He seemed to relish the moment, the wrinkles on his aged face relaxing into calm benevolence.

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

Yellow, metallic ingots—not round coins—required no patterns, no inscriptions; they were stacked neatly, without gaps, in their purest form.

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' loss of composure was a pleasant diversion after basking in the sun. Noticing Kraft recovered quickly, the bishop cast him a glance of mild surprise.

In contrast, the young priest's trembling fingers clutching the key displeased him.

"Piety is the greatest reward, but the Lord does not withhold humble worldly things." The clear, steady voice roused the first mate and Adrian from their shock—like a sermon, Kraft, who had barely opened a holy text, even wondered if he'd quoted it at random.

"The gates of the sanctuary remain open to you all. Guiding the Lord's sheep is your 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, and after the first mate received it, briefly introduced himself: "Jacques. Ordinary priest. Any minor matters, find me in the cathedral's main hall. If I'm not there, ask others—most know me."

"It's an honor to meet you." The first mate tore his gaze from the box and returned 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 faced little dispute. 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.

This portion would be roughly forty to fifty percent—enough to pay generous compensation, give the first mate 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 always custom-built, taking long to construct; existing ones rarely come up for sale unless at a premium. Money alone wouldn't suffice without it.

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

Father Adrian, as one of the original participants, contributed by providing leads and gathering intelligence, and received a solid twenty-five percent. Though he hadn't joined the southern hills expedition, the mission could not have succeeded without him.

As a full-time Church staff member living and eating at the cathedral, 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, becoming a partner and securing future profits as a long-term income stream.

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

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 runs a high-intensity vessel on water forever?

Wealth unshared with one's homeland is like wearing brocade in the dark. A portion was entrusted to William to deliver alongside the ether technology to Wenden Harbor Academy, and the Academy would forward it with a letter to Lien, the next visitor for correspondence and summer procurement, to inform Old Wood and Anderson that Kraft was thriving abroad, and they need not 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 seeking treasure, and with the help of warm, hospitable villagers, experienced the region's unique biological environment and ultimately found the hoard.

If the opportunity arises, he will introduce to his grandfather the talent he stumbled upon—loyal and brave retainer Kup.

And he, Kraft, 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 suffer 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!"