The silence in the purified Cathedral was heavy, but it was no longer oppressive. It was the silence of a tomb that had finally been sanctified. The smell of rot and old blood was fading, replaced by the crisp, sterile scent of the holy light that Alvian had unleashed from the vessel.
Alvian stood by the shattered altar, the [Sanctified Soul Vessel] glowing warmly in his hand. He didn't absorb the experience points immediately. It was a dense, concentrated source of power, and he needed to be in a secure location to process it without risking a mana overload. He stowed the item in his inventory.
"Secure the perimeter," Alvian ordered, his voice echoing in the vast, white hall. "Seraphina, check the Vicar's private chambers. A man who skins people for a suit usually keeps detailed records. I want to know who his contacts were."
"On it," Seraphina said, vanishing into the shadows of the sacristy.
