The next morning, the number of commoners gathered in front of the cathedral square was twice what was expected. The cathedral guard, the Security Bureau, and the MI7 all participated in the security work. The podium and VIP seats were set up in front of the cathedral door, with a row of paladins guarding the steps, and below the steps were clergy and government officials, with two rows of soldiers separating these supposedly harmless spectators from the commoners behind them. Among the commoners were informants from the MI7, all under the command of Jorgen standing at the front of the crowd, while Elin patrolled the rear perimeter.
Due to this work arrangement, Elin could not see what was happening on the cathedral steps up close. However, since he had reviewed the guest list in advance, his curiosity was largely diminished. Although there were many predictions about what Hylan might say, it was unlikely that there would be anything destabilizing: the guests included high-ranking individuals representing all aspects of Stormwind, and even Mardias had been invited as a representative of the MI7. As for why the old man was not attending, Elin thought it was understandable: partly due to health reasons and partly to boost Mathias's reputation, establishing him as the next leader—a strategy that had been in place for four years. Lucky brat, Elin sometimes thought when he saw Mardias. Eighteen, and the whole world is watching him. Although among his peers he might find a few with similar status, they clearly didn't want to stand next to Mardias, as they couldn't establish any psychological advantage—let alone a physical one.
Elin raised his head and saw Mardias sitting on the far right of the VIP seats.
Now, only a handful of the MI7 members knew this history: the old man, in his thirties, established the predecessor of the MI7, which at the time was a small agency under the Security Bureau with only about a dozen members. Years later, when the noble who supported the old man fell from power, causing severe public backlash, the Stormwind Keep, unable to abandon the intelligence agency, pretended to dissolve it. Once the uproar subsided, they temporarily fabricated "Division Seven," claiming it had secretly served the country for decades, incorporating the old man and his men into it. Naturally, the only widely publicized part of this process was the "dissolution." Deception being a key part of the MI7's work, its very existence was a lie. A lie repeated for over forty years had become a fact. The one who would continue this lie was now sitting among the most elegantly dressed people in Stormwind; some of whom, compared to him, were like dull firewood wrapped in fine clothes.
If not for that old man fighting tooth and nail, you'd still be sneaking around like he did in his youth—
Realizing he was feeling indignant on the old man's behalf, Elin burped and quickly patted his chest.
Before the crowd began to gather, he had seen Hylan up close. The bishop, who rarely appeared in public, looked very pale, but somewhat younger than his actual age. Now in Stormwind, there were few people close to the old man's age still in high positions; it was hard to imagine Hylan had never had any contact with the MI7 in his life—which piqued Elin's great interest in the speech's content. Unfortunately, once the speech started, he became the farthest listener, constantly moving to check the situation, making it difficult to hear a complete sentence.
Hylan's voice, amplified by a gnome-manufactured loudspeaker, contained some noise, but its deep and calm quality was also magnified. Since the selection of the next Archbishop became the most watched topic in the nation, many people had rich imaginations about this supposedly most learned and mysterious candidate, allowing them to temporarily escape their post-earthquake damaged lives. This was the moment to satisfy their imagination, and they focused their attention, maintaining the utmost silence. The believers standing in the front rows were almost undecided whether to pay more attention to Hylan's face or his voice. Their half-understanding of Hylan's reputation deepened their reverence. He was one of the three candidates. He was the most learned. It was said that Archbishop Benedictus privately admired him the most. He had never formed any kind of family, devoting himself entirely to scholarship. His writings on the Light were extremely profound, requiring the church's most authoritative scholars to interpret them. It was said that twenty years ago, he withdrew from the election due to illness, allowing Benedictus to become Archbishop. Maybe he was indeed the qualified one.
At the beginning, Hylan's theme was naturally the mourning of Benedictus. However, he did not offer unreserved praise for the deceased; it was from this point that the crowd's focus on the actual content of the speech gradually suppressed their pure curiosity.
"I am older than Benedictus, so when he first joined the church, I became his mentor in some situations. Soon, I realized that on the path of seeking the Light, we were not only mentor and companion but also competitors. How should the seed of the Light be sown and nurtured? We never reached a consensus. He believed that the primary quality of the Light was majesty and justice, thus reflecting these qualities in the demeanor of preachers and the church was crucial. But my belief is that as long as one has a pure heart, they can dispel the hidden evil; and only a simple and frugal life can cultivate such a heart. These two decades of secluded scholarly life have further strengthened my belief: simplicity and frugality are the most sacred soil where the seeds of the Light can grow perfectly."
Hearing this, Elin stopped and looked towards the distant podium. Everyone knew Benedictus loved elaborate rituals and exquisite, expensive artifacts, though he had gradually restrained this tendency in recent years. It was normal for Hylan to use this opportunity to promote his own beliefs, but no one expected him to start by subtly criticizing Benedictus.
"Some say that excessive simplicity and frugality bring suffering; the Light honors endurance but does not advocate self-torture. Perhaps these people do not know what true suffering is; I have prayed many times for them to understand the difference between restraining desires and suffering. Now, I believe most of them truly understand the meaning of suffering. If you do not know suffering, wash your eyes with clean water and look at the remnants of fallen walls in the quake. If you do not know suffering, let the spreading wind carry to you the cries of children who lost their parents overnight. If you do not know suffering, open your hands unreservedly and let them touch this wounded land. Believe me, you will see the shape of suffering, hear its sound, and feel its tremor. Regardless, we must, under the guidance of the Light, reject further erosion by suffering, protect our hearts, and thus give birth to the most needed fervent and pure courage to rebuild Stormwind. When a Light follower is about to jump into the water to save someone, they do not care about their attire. When a Light follower is to sacrifice for the country on the battlefield, they do not care if they are hungry or thirsty. When a Light follower reaches out to help the suffering, they do not care if they are enduring the same or even greater suffering..."
Hearing this, Elin felt someone tugging at his sleeve from behind. He turned around. It was the daughter of the rumor-spreading tailor.
"I didn't mistake you," she said. "It's really you."
"Uh… who are you?"
"Don't play dumb. You must remember me. You can't be an ordinary person, right? That day, my father followed you and was so scared that he didn't speak for two days after coming home. Who exactly are you?"
"Don't cause trouble. I'm working."
"I've actually been watching you from a distance for a while. You seem to be patrolling or something. Are you with the Security Bureau? Or... tell me. I don't meet people like you around here; they just talk about boring things."
She approached Elin, smiling, and put her hand on his lowered right fist, trying to pry his fingers open. Professionally, Elin knew he should immediately shake off this suddenly clingy girl, but years of habit made him hesitate for a moment. Instead of immediately shaking her off, he simply tightened his fist. This seemed to pique the tailor's daughter's interest even more, as she thought he was playing a basic physical game with her.
"Your hand is strong. Not cold at all," she said.
"Stop it. Go back to where you came from," Elin said, turning away. Perhaps this refusal was too ambiguous, or maybe the seventeen-year-old girl's head was filled with too many fantasies, but she chased after him again, speaking in an even more deliberately intimate tone: "I can't see anything from here. Can you take me to a better spot? I want to see who's in the VIP seats, okay?"
At that moment, Elin suddenly stopped. In the crowd about twenty steps ahead, he saw Glocara. She stood with her arms crossed, looking toward the podium, but she hadn't fully raised her head, as if she didn't mind someone blocking her view.
Elin didn't remember Glocara saying she would be here. He immediately turned around.
"So, what do you say?" the tailor's daughter asked. "Will you take me to a better spot?"
"Go away." Elin grabbed her hand and started walking back, then found a gap and squeezed into the crowd. Although his intention was to avoid misunderstandings, when the tailor's daughter hugged his forearm, he suddenly felt a strong discomfort. He had never thought a seventeen-year-old girl's bare, smooth arm could make him feel so uneasy, like being pressed against a large piece of rotting bark.
He found a MI7 member mixed in the crowd and said, "Keep an eye on her, don't lose her until the speech is over," then quickly let go and tried to squeeze out of the crowd again. He quickly spotted Glocara. Although he thought she probably hadn't seen him with the girl earlier, Elin felt an urgent need to cover up his mistake: he had to get to her immediately, grab her hand, and say, "Why are you here?" as if nothing had happened.
From that moment, Elin had completely stopped hearing what Hylan was saying. Before he could get out of the crowd, people around him suddenly started jostling; some pushed forward while others retreated. Perhaps the speech had ended, or maybe Hylan had said something shocking; Elin didn't have time to think. He just wanted to get back to her quickly; through the gaps in the crowd, he could see a small part of Goloka's face. Next, the jostling grew more intense, pushing Elin back several steps. When he regained his balance, Glocara was no longer in her original spot—or maybe he couldn't tell where he was standing anymore. He recalled the trampling incident that caused twenty-four deaths the night of the earthquake. It might have been an excessive worry, but he still reached out in the direction he imagined she was standing, also making it easier to clear a path for himself. The cathedral square had never been so noisy; still trapped in the crowd, Elin suddenly felt immense confusion. He didn't know where he was or why he was stuck in a situation where he couldn't move forward or backward.