"Number 133, ceremony complete."

Hearing the shaman apprentice's loud report, Wayne Dunlop, standing on the observation platform in the ritual hall, tapped his notebook lightly with his pen and said, "Open the ritual pod."

A dozen or so believers split into two groups, one on the left and one on the right, and came to a 'coffin' made of granite.

First, they put on special air-filtering masks, then lined up in two rows, grabbed the iron chains on the coffin lid, and pulled the chains backward while shouting slogans.

As the stone coffin was slowly pulled open, the shaman apprentice in charge of the scene swallowed nervously and shouted, "Guards, prepare!"

Dozens of fully armed soldiers, holding large shields and spears, formed an impenetrable shield wall, aiming their spears at the slowly opening stone coffin.

The stone coffin was first opened with a three-centimeter gap, from which pale gray smoke drifted out and quickly dissipated.

Accompanied by the harsh sound of stone slabs rubbing together, the gap quickly widened to half a meter in size. Looking down from above, one could clearly see that the coffin was filled with a viscous black liquid.

These liquids seemed to have a life of their own, churning, flowing, and swirling in the enclosed space.

As the gaps widened, the liquid inside the coffin flowed faster and faster, and more and more smoke escaped.

A slender, brownish-red hand slowly rose from the black liquid, followed by a forearm as solid as wood wax, and finally, the face of a male elf with a long scar over his right eye slowly emerged from the black liquid.

To everyone's astonishment, an elf with grayish-brown skin and no clothes on slowly sat up from the stone coffin.

Wayne Dunlop looked at the experimental results below the platform, raised an eyebrow, and muttered, "This is quite rare; this time it's actually a dark elf..."

The dark elf male shook his groggy head and coughed loudly, with a faint black liquid still dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The shaman apprentice walked behind the shield wall and shouted at the other side, "State your name and identity!"

Looking at the group of people in front of him, the dark elf lowered his head and stared blankly at his body for a moment, then said in a low voice, "My name is Ackerman. I volunteer to become a member of the Crusader and fight for the glory of the Sons of Gods."

The shaman apprentice opened the record book, and there was a passage written on it.

"Ackerman Shokola, 27 years old, leader of the Red Branch Warband, voluntarily relinquished his family name and personal wealth. Conversion ritual number 133 of the Crusaders. Physical condition before the ritual: no hidden illnesses, no obvious talents, already inoculated with the 'Flame Breath' ability. Strength rating: average; Agility rating: slightly above average; Intelligence rating…"

After asking Ackerman a few more questions and confirming that the man was mentally sound, the shaman apprentice looked up at Wayne Dunlop on the platform and asked, "Mr. Dunlop, may we proceed with the next test?"

"Okay, let's continue."

Completely naked, Ackerman, guided by a shaman apprentice, first walked to the middle of a pile of dumbbells and began a series of strength tests.

Later, the shaman apprentice wrote on the record board: "Maximum snatch weight 77 kilograms, rated as slightly stronger than the average person."

Next, we will conduct weapons testing.

Ackerman walked past a row of weapon racks and finally chose a simple-looking hunting bow.

With a nock of an arrow and a draw of the bow, Ackerman's arrow pierced the heavy quiver and embedded itself deeply in the stone wall.

The shaman apprentice in charge of recording looked at the dark elf in front of him in astonishment. But what happened next left him completely dumbfounded.

Ackerman's second arrow pierced the fletching of the first, splitting it in two; the third arrow pierced the fletching of the second, again splitting it in two; the fourth, the fifth, the sixth...

As if by magic, Ackerman emptied his quiver of arrows in the blink of an eye, leaving only one arrow. A hundred meters away, a 'wooden flower' formed from the split arrow appeared on the wall.

The shaman apprentice dropped his paper and pen to the ground, muttering to himself, "This archery skill, am I dreaming...?"

Ackerman took out the last arrow, gently rubbed the arrowhead with his right index and middle fingers, and the tip of the arrow was immediately enveloped in a ball of bluish-purple flame.

With a sharp snap of the bowstring, the arrow, trailing a brilliant trail of bluish-purple flames, struck the wall and burst into a blinding flash of light.

With a series of violent explosions and burning sounds, the place where the arrow stacks had stood became a raging inferno, and nothing was left behind.

Everyone in the ceremony hall stared in shock at the scene before them, and the vast space fell into complete silence.

Ackerman slowly lowered his bow and arrow, looked at his hands, and said sadly to himself, "If... if I had possessed such an ability back then, Casper wouldn't have died right before my eyes."

While recording every detail of the experiment, Wayne Dunlop said to the group of people around him who were staring blankly, "Take number 133 to the military camp. Pay attention to the food restrictions and environmental allergens of the dark elves. Also, clean up the site as soon as possible and prepare for the conversion ceremony of the 134th Crusader."

Watching everyone busy with their own tasks, Wayne turned and went back to his room, where he flipped through the experimental records and wrote notes.

"The Tyrant's living experiment (here people like to call it the Crusader conversion ritual) has reached its 133rd stage. The experimental statistics are as follows."

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