The next day, in the lounge of the town hall before the ceremony, Jorgen opened the box filled with shoulder insignias and took one out to examine it.
The entire shoulder insignia had a black background with a central design of a simple lantern, surprisingly restrained and concise for a royal designer's work. Whether the designer understood the Night Watch or not, they had put some thought into it. Symbols like eagles and blades, full of aggression and dazzling light, were suitable for noble family crests. But the Night Watch, as lurkers and guardians of the night, needed only the light to illuminate the path beneath their feet. The warmth of the flame in this lantern wasn't enough to keep them warm, but it was sufficient to keep their fingers on their weapons from stiffening during the long night.
Lady Morticia did not plan to attend the ceremony. Firstly, due to the doctor's advice, he did not recommend her participating in any crowded occasions. Secondly, it was her own decision. Earlier that morning, after running her fingers over the surface of the shoulder insignia, she had said, "This is a lantern. Night Watch is like a lantern, and without them, we can't open our eyes in the darkness. This meaning can't be conveyed by me."
She said this with such naturalness, as if she was just expressing some minor regret about ill-fitting clothes. Afterwards, she left, leaving those self-deprecating words echoing in the room. Although now, in front of everyone, her blindness seemed to have no impact on her demeanor and life, Jorgen could imagine that before she reached this point, there must have been a long period of fear and frustration in the face of the darkness. Blindness might be one of the most unfair things in the world. A person enters eternal darkness before they die - she needed courage and determination to keep herself rooted in the world.
"Jorgen," at this moment, Joseph appeared at the door. "I'm a bit late. Where's Lady Dalia?"
"She's still in the dressing room getting ready," Jorgen replied. "Can you make sure Althea behaves herself at the ceremony? I just came back from the hall and couldn't find her."
"Nobody can guarantee that. But since it's her mother's request, Althea is unlikely to disobey."
Jorgen noticed that Joseph's clothes and fingers were stained with mud.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"We lost someone," Joseph said. "Just an hour ago. He was bitten by a spider, and his heart stopped. I decided to come back to attend the ceremony first, and then inform the family."
"Does this kind of thing happen often?"
"No. Because he lacked experience and allowed the spider to get close to his chest. The injection point for the venom was too close to his heart. In fact, just getting bitten by a spider is enough to show his lack of experience. He's the first person to die from spider venom in three months, and luck had nothing to do with it. Inexperienced soldiers die on the battlefield, it's that simple. You can rest assured, he wasn't one of the forty people who were supposed to attend today."
As Joseph spoke these words, he remained stoic as usual. His tone, although kept low, bore no hint of heaviness.
"Why are you explaining this to me?" Jorgen asked. "A real military commander wouldn't casually share their thoughts on a subordinate's death with someone unrelated."
"Just to explain why I was late."
Jorgen observed Joseph for a moment, then said, "Go change your clothes. At the very least, get that big mud stain off your right side."
Joseph glanced down at his garment. "You're right," he said, then left the room.
Jorgen thought that after attending the ceremony, Joseph would immediately head to the funeral. He had learned about some of the Night Watch's emergency procedures devised by the Gondore founder, such as using the flame of a lantern to cauterize a wound immediately after being bitten by a spider to prevent further tissue damage. He could imagine the scene: Joseph and another person holding down the venom victim, who was writhing in intense pain, eyes wide open, and staring fixedly at the torch approaching his wound. It was clearly a lifesaving measure, but it had nothing to do with comfort or warmth, and instead invoked further associations with anxiety and the fearful specter of death. Even if he was lucky enough to survive, when the flame touched his wound, his inherent strength and dignity as a Night Watchman - those unfeeling warrior qualities - would temporarily die away in uncontrollable screams, unless he could later dig them out of the deep, dark mud with his own hands. By then, the part of himself that had trembled with pain from the spider venom would have rotted and festered.
Half an hour later, the ceremony began. Dalia and her maids followed Jorgen into the hall, inevitably drawing the gaze of the assembled Night Watchmen. She had changed into a dress specially prepared for the occasion, more intricate in style and richer in color than the plain dress she had worn a few days earlier. Still, it fell far short of the ornate attire commonly seen at palace banquets. At this moment, she was like the first cloud tinged with rich hues as the morning light rose, shining brightly and brilliantly in comparison to the still-darkened earth, yet she did not flaunt herself. Because as long as the sun continued to rise, her light and color belonged equally to the thick soil covering the land.
Leading the Night Watchmen was, of course, Joseph. The mud stain on his clothing had disappeared, leaving behind a few watermarks. Elro stood at the front of the stage, constantly adjusting his tie. The first part of the ceremony was Joseph's speech, and he delivered it as if it were straight out of an official preaching textbook. With a few key terms changed, it could easily have been used for various occasions, from a new recruits' oath to wedding vows. He spoke fluently and loudly, but there was a lack of passion in his delivery, and his tone remained almost unchanged throughout. Most importantly, he only briefly mentioned the name "Gondore." However, this did not mean he wasn't focused; in fact, it was precisely because he held this matter in such high regard that he followed his usual approach to the utmost: by the book. In the tilted town of Nightridge, he could become the mayor with a touch of irony.
There were only thirty-nine Night Watchmen in the audience, and Althea was absent. This caused Elro to stumble a few times during his speech. Jorgen couldn't discern from Dalia's expression whether she was disappointed by this absence, although based on his knowledge of her -
But then, how well did he really know her?
Dalia's speech was only a quarter of Elro's in length.
"... For Nightridge, I am but a new visitor, unfamiliar with the life here and the deeds you all do for this town. Despite my envoy status, I am just an ordinary person. I fear the things that ordinary people fear, like the darkness - because it always conjures up images of cold, hunger, and loneliness. There must be brave souls who face this nocturnal monster without fear, tame it, bind its claws, and muzzle its teeth, so it can no longer harm others - that's the work you Night Watchmen do. Though I've been here for only a short time, whenever I see the lights in the dark woods outside the window, I know I've become a protected member of Nightridge, just like hundreds of townsfolk. So," she picked up a shoulder emblem, "I am not here to 'give' or 'distribute,' but to 'offer' this token of gratitude. They represent not only me but all the people of Nightridge, all those who have stayed in Nightridge..."
After she finished speaking, Elro led the applause. Clearly, he had been worried primarily because Althea's absence might affect Dalia's emotions, but now it seemed there was nothing to worry about.
Jorgen had heard Dalia's speeches during charity events before. She never used prepared scripts and always transformed the 'official' stiffness of her words into something everyone could feel. In most cases, he tended to think of it as an art of conversation for different occasions, much like what he did when interrogating criminals. However, he now wondered how much of Dalia's words were genuine. Regardless, it must be more than me.
Next, Dalia was responsible for affixing the shoulder emblems to each of the Night Watchmen. She said different things to each person, and her tone and gestures were not fixed, as if she were not meeting them for the first time. If someone was too tense, she would remind them not to be too nervous; if someone passionately expressed their volunteering spirit, she would encourage them appropriately; if someone was excited and embarrassed because they were close to a woman like her, she would skillfully ease their emotions. All of this added an unusual attraction to what should have been a repetitive, monotonous process. Some of the Night Watchmen in the back rows couldn't hide their anticipation, hoping she would come to them and say something intimate that only they could fully understand.
Jorgen understood that this, like the previous speech, was proof of Dalia's unique charisma. A replica of a noblewoman's portrait wouldn't sell well in common households based solely on looks and etiquette. But he suddenly realized he was pondering yet another question: how much of this charisma was genuine.
I don't want to analyze her. I shouldn't dissect her actions.
Twenty, twenty-three, twenty-eight, thirty-two. Thirty-nine. After Dalia had affixed the last shoulder emblem to the final Night Watchman, she immediately turned and walked toward the stage. This movement was unusually swift, and she kept her eyes inadvertently fixed on the ground, allowing Jorgen to catch a glimpse of her disappointment. She had been waiting for Althea all along.
Just then, everyone heard footsteps approaching the door. Dalia turned to look, and Althea appeared at the doorway, out of breath, as if she had been running.
"Althea! Why did you...?" Elro started to exclaim but quickly realized his lapse in decorum and stopped himself.
"Althea," Joseph said, "fall in."
The girl took a deep breath, glanced around, and then locked her gaze on Dalia.
"It's your turn," Dalia said, smiling.
"Where's my mother? She didn't come?"
"No, she's resting," Dalia replied. "Now, tidy your hem and sleeves."
Althea didn't say much and moved to the 40th position in the line, using her right hand to smooth down a strand of hair that had lifted on the side of her head.
Dalia stepped in front of her and bent slightly.
"I'm glad you made it," she said, her voice low.
"Hurry up," Althea said. "It's the left shoulder, right?"
Dalia took out the last shoulder emblem and placed it flat on the girl's shoulder.
"So, this is..."
Dalia didn't finish her sentence. Jorgen saw her take a step back, her shoulders rising, her right hand clutching her side.
Althea slammed the shoulder emblem to the ground, along with the tiny venomous spider clinging to it, and crushed them beneath her foot. Her gaze swept over all the Night Watchmen who had turned to look at her, and she said:
"So, you all really accepted the filth from the MI7. Don't forget, it's these damn bastards who killed my dad!"
As soon as she finished speaking, she ran out of the hall.