Since that night when he suddenly had to leave, Panthonia had been away from home for four days. For Hilsbeth, who had been through similar experiences, there was nothing particularly worrying about this—until she heard that the Security Bureau had taken down Salvaney.
"Thank the Light," said a priest standing by the porch, "the greatest scourge of Stormwind is finally gone."
"It's such a relief," said his companion. "I heard the Security Bureau moved in the middle of the night and took Salvaney down. It's the right thing to do, I don't think there's any need for a trial. Everyone knows his crimes. But I also heard that four people died in the operation."
"I'm proud of them. The Light will guide their souls."
"What did you just say?" Hilsbeth interjected, gripping the priest's shoulder. "How did four people die?"
"They were brave warriors of the Security Bureau. They sacrificed their lives in the operation to capture Salvaney."
"Who died? Who were they?"
Hilbes's questioning tone left the priest unsure how to respond. He politely removed her hand from his shoulder.
"I don't know, ma'am. You seem very anxious... Do you know someone who was involved in the operation?"
"No. No. I was just suddenly overwhelmed by such big news…"
"I understand."
Hilsbeth left the two and sat on a bench in the hallway, her hands resting on her knees. She drew her abdomen in and straightened her back, as if to allow what she had just heard to flow unhindered from her ears throughout her body. Within seconds, her heartbeat began to race; the news that "Salvani is dead" quickly lost its obvious significance to her, like a coffin buried deep in the ground, while "four people died" stood like a tombstone on the surface. Without a coffin, there would be no tombstone, but when people visit old friends, all they see are the tombstones. "Sacrifice" "four" "people" split into names and dates carved on the monument, circulating in Hilbes's mind. She tried hard to decipher the meaning of these separated words, hoping to see something clearly, but it was as futile as trying to fully understand a deceased person's life through an epitaph. She mystified the number four: four sacrifices, he's been gone four days... And the real panic crept into her heart as she recalled many facts: Panthonia had once saved her from Salvaney. His main adversary at work was undoubtedly that savage man. Oh yes, Salvaney was also likely the one who killed Aretta... That night, he suddenly left home...
Sacrifice. Four. People.
At that moment, she felt a sudden urge to cry: a cold draft rose in her throat, passed through her nostrils, and stung her eye sockets. There was a hot, tired feeling inside her curled knees, as if some inexplicable weight was pressing on them. She suppressed the ominous feeling, made a sound through her nose that resembled a derisive snort, and then stood up. She walked east with her head down, then, after a few steps, corrected herself and turned west, found the choir director in the rehearsal room, and asked for leave—strictly speaking, she left on her own after saying she felt too unwell to sing without waiting for a response.
After quickly leaving the church, she stopped because she suddenly didn't know where to go. Home? I said I'd go home when I asked for leave, but do I really want to go home? The road she had walked many times suddenly extended in her mind, sprouting many previously nonexistent branches and turns. A strange irritation rose from her heart, temporarily suppressing her unease. Two women walked past her, conversing. Somehow, she felt they must be discussing the Security Bureau's sacrifice of four people, but then realized they were only talking about mending clothes. The sunlight was much stronger than when she arrived at the church that morning, and she seemed to see her ear tips turning red from the sun. Disliking this feeling of confusion and indecision, she took a few more steps forward.
I shouldn't go home. Running out of the church wasn't to stay home alone worrying and fretting. She used this irritation, turning it into a small drive to find out the truth—the best way was to go to the Security Bureau and ask. But before solidifying this idea, she realized she was in a dilemma: Panthonia probably hadn't made her situation public. If she went to the Bureau, who knows how he would react? But that's assuming he's alive to be angry...
Accidentally leading her thoughts into a dead end again, Hilsbeth felt like crying once more but held back. Standing there thinking would be unbearable, so she decided to keep walking, even without a destination in mind. After a short distance, two well-dressed people suddenly blocked her way. One, much younger, said to her:
"Excuse me, ma'am, are you Hilsbeth from the church choir?"
"I... I am." She frowned, squinting her eyes to hide the tears that were about to spill.
"So it is you," the older of the two men said. "His woman."
"Sir, that's not appropriate," the younger man interjected. "Miss Hilsbeth, you're a close friend of Panthonia Shawl, correct?"
After thinking for a couple of seconds, she nodded.
"It's fortunate to see you here today. I've been—"
"Wait a moment. I'm sorry," Hilsbeth interrupted the younger man. "Do you know Panthonia?"
"No personal acquaintance, but under these circumstances, who wouldn't know of him?"
"How is he now? Where is he? Is he alright?"
The two men exchanged glances.
"You don't know?" the older man asked.
"Tell me, tell me what I want to know."
"Well, the situation is this..." the younger man began. "Mr. Panthonia has distinguished himself. He dealt the appropriate punishment to the bully Salvaney in the Queen's District. I thought you would certainly know this."
"No, I didn't. You mean he's alive? He's still alive?"
"Of course."
The older man eyed Hilsbeth sideways and whispered a few words to the younger man. Hilsbeth exhaled deeply, tapping her chest as if to disperse the accumulated anxiety in her heart. After a moment, she looked up and asked, "Who are you? What do you want from me?"
The younger man introduced himself and his companion. They were nobles working for the council.
"Miss Hilsbeth," the younger man said, "it appears that you haven't seen Mr. Panthonia since this major event took place?"
"No."
"That's actually better," the older man remarked. The comment was odd, but Hilsbeth was too preoccupied to question its meaning.
"Ah, no wonder your eyes were filled with such painful worry earlier," the younger man continued. "Standing out here in the sun isn't good. We hope you can spare some time to talk with us elsewhere. It will be a public and very appropriate place for someone of your elegance."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"You can probably imagine. Mr. Panthonia has achieved a great feat and is likely to receive a national-level reward. However, he's quite mysterious to most people. To properly acknowledge his accomplishments, it's essential to understand him fully. Not to mention that countless people, both noble and common, are eager to know his story and what gave him the courage to complete such a daunting task. In fact, I believe one of the most crucial answers to this question is standing right before me. Therefore, we sincerely hope that, as Mr. Pansonia's close friend, you can share some insights about him."
Hilsbeth's first instinct was to refuse. Before she could come up with a suitable way to decline, she heard a familiar voice.
"Hilsbeth."
Panthonia was walking towards them. She hurried over but restrained herself from hugging him, mindful of the two men standing behind her, only looking at him intently. Seeing him alive made her more worried than just hearing about it, as new scars marred his face.
"Don't speak," Panthonia whispered to her.
"Ah, Mr. Panthonia, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person," the younger man said. "Strictly speaking, we've seen you before, but this is the first time we have the chance to converse..."
"There's nothing to talk about." As he finished speaking, he turned, grabbing Hilsbeth by her right upper arm.
"That's too rude," the older man said. "Mind your status. After all, you're still just an investigator with the Security Bureau."
"Apologies."
With that, Panthonia hurriedly led Hilsbeth away.
"I was so worried about you," she said.
"What did you tell them?"
"Nothing... I don't even know what's going on. I only just heard about your situation."
Panthonia didn't respond. Since the last investigation, no trouble had come his way, perhaps due to Duke Koen's timely intervention. Even before Panthonia regained his freedom, Koen had thrown a celebratory feast, showcasing his own sharp judgment in choosing the right man to confront Salvaney. Although he hadn't explicitly stated that Panthonia would be the future leader of the intelligence agency, he clearly indicated he would seek a higher position for him—"He deserves it for thoroughly implementing my strategic vision for maintaining order in the Queen's District." This approach left Panthonia unable to transition smoothly from a covert investigator to his new role. Reluctantly, he became part of the political landscape.
Panthonia wasn't sure what kind of report the investigator had submitted to his superiors; at least for now, it hadn't hindered Koen's support. Koen would use the success of eliminating Salvaney to promote Panthonia, but for the rest of the council, great achievements alone weren't enough. They needed to push Panthonia into the spotlight.
Hilsbeth held his right hand. He looked at her. His previous failure to account for Phipin's presence had led to a wrong decision. Now, an even more complex situation was forcing him to make yet another crucial choice.