"Bedero, Mr. Bedro." Elin walked to the front. "Since you can cure deafness, please take a look at my eye."
From his attire and demeanor, Elin was different from most of the audience, perhaps attracting Bedero's attention.
"I already said, sir. The holy power is not to be misused. If your desire is purely selfish and excessive, I fear my power cannot help you. Can you calm down and pray right now, sir? I don't think so, your attitude is too impatient."
"I understand, but it's hard to calm down in this room. Maybe I can invite you to my home. Of course, not now, there are so many people here who need you. I am a flour merchant with thirty stores in the Eastern Kingdoms, and I am content with my life except for the eye I lost on the battlefield over ten years ago. If you are willing to help me, I would be most grateful."
"I see." Bedro paused for a moment and continued, "We can talk more after the gathering. But remember, it's not me you'll be thanking, but the holy power within me. It obviously has its own will and has chosen me as its spokesperson."
Elin caught a fleeting hesitation in Bedro's eyes. This man who claimed to have divine power was looking for an opportunity through his words. Elin volunteering as that opportunity might have come too soon for Bedro, leaving him unprepared.
"Oh, I completely understand." Elin turned half towards the audience. "Mr. Bedro is so kind and determined." He faced Bedro again. "Oh, I seem to have rudely interrupted your speech… You said you could see the true nature of things and foresee their future. Please explain further."
"Just as the power affects different people in different ways, what I see from each person also varies."
"If you don't mind, could you take a look at me?" Elin asked. "Whether it's foresight or something else, I would be grateful for your guidance."
Elin smiled at Bedro. He didn't make himself seem overly sincere but left a hint of a challenge. "I believe everyone here, like me," he turned back to the audience, "is eager to see another of Mr. Bedro's powers."
The front row began to echo Elin's sentiment. Some in the back adjusted their positions or craned their necks.
"Alright, sir. Please stand next to me."
Elin stepped forward. He looked down at Bedro, who was half a head Shawlter. Bedro shook his sleeves, raised his right hand, placed it an inch from Elin's forehead, and closed his eyes. Moments later, he lowered his hand, faced the audience again, head bowed.
"Sir," Bedro said. "I did see something. But you must know, I can't choose what I want to see, only what resonates between your heart and my power."
"Very well. But you're not just going to say that, are you?"
"I can tell you everything I saw." Bedro lifted his head, still not looking at Elin. "But it will certainly involve your privacy. I have two choices: say nothing or reveal everything. The power within me tells me that what I see is the essence of things, and the essence cannot be treated vaguely."
Elin noticed the audience had fallen silent. They were waiting for a miracle or at least the semblance of one. The rational thing might be to leave, as he could already clear this place under the charge of spreading heresy, but Elin's curiosity was hard to suppress. This man would soon be a prisoner, but such a farce was rare, Elin thought.
"Please tell me everything you saw," he said.
Bedro nodded.
"In the face of such an honest request... I have no reason to refuse. Sir, at your age, as a successful businessman, it is uncommon to be unmarried."
Here we go again. Elin recalled the tailor saying something similar. One could easily tell by looking at his ring finger, not to mention that in Bedero's "essence," he was indeed a businessman. "Please continue," Elin said. He wanted to see what story Bedro could spin in such a Shawlt time.
"Though unmarried, you are raising a daughter. You love her very much. But for some reasons, mainly work, you cannot fully express your paternal love. This sometimes troubles you."
The latter part was clearly filler, but Elin wanted to understand how Bedro deduced he had a daughter. Perhaps it was a guess because Bedro did not say "only one daughter." Even if he was wrong, he could brush it off with "your heart is not pure enough" or something similar.
"Ah, please continue."
"Of course, you also have a female companion. Your relationship is not always stable."
This was no different from third-rate fortune-telling techniques—20% reasoning and 80% statements that could apply to any situation. Elin's interest waned slightly, but Bedro wasn't done.
"According to the essence of what I see, you haven't been sincere enough with her. You think being honest might damage the persona you've worked hard to build, the one that brought you success. You must maintain this persona, or you will lose yourself."
More nonsense.
"But you need not blame yourself. It's not so much your fault as it is hers. Sir, you understand well that a woman should not bind you. The power within me tells me that in your heart, she sometimes takes the form of a black sludge, trapping you deeply within, and other times a green-skinned snake, pouring venom into your flesh. You must extricate yourself quickly to preserve your essence..."
Later, Elin speculated about Bedro's motives for saying such things. There were two possible answers: either Bedro had already figured out Elin's true intentions and was retaliating, or he was using this opportunity to further test his ability to manipulate people with words.
—But that was later. For now, Elin punched the incessant talker down and grabbed his neck with one hand.
"You're under arrest. Move, and I'll rip out your dir..."
The next word was "tongue," but Elin didn't get to say it. Someone hit him hard on the back of the head with a wooden stick or something similar. Then, another blow landed beside his head. He involuntarily let go and turned his body. The attacker was the previously deaf old man. The hits weren't particularly heavy, but most of the people in the front row began to surge forward. Disturber, scoundrel, he must be a fraud, gouge out his other eye—these were their words. Self-preservation became crucial, but Elin still took some time to reflect on why he had suddenly lost his composure and resorted to such a foolish method to execute the task. Without a direct answer, he considered it from this angle: once this guy was brought back to MI7, there would be no way to beat him for personal reasons, so he might as well do it now. Also, if anyone said such things about Elaine in front of him, it would probably end similarly. With that thought, he blocked an incoming chair leg with his hand.
The MI7 agents, concerned that Elin had taken too much time, had entered the cellar when Bedro began talking about "essence." Seeing Elin on the stage, they refrained from acting on their own and waited. As soon as Elin made his move, they rushed in, ensuring the situation was resolved smoothly. Including Bedro, ten people were arrested, and the rest were dispersed.
It went fairly well, Elin thought, except for the bandage on his head. Now, he lay on a bench outside the MI7 infirmary until Jojen approached him. Jojen looked down at him. Elin sat up, rubbed his hands, then stood straight.
"What are you doing?" Jojen asked.
"Chasing a lead. Some bastard tried to take advantage of this situation with some supernatural nonsense to scam money... I wasn't paying attention and got hurt. You should've seen his performance. Though not original, it was..."
"I already know the whole story. What I want to know is why you did something so stupid. The people you brought said there were at least a hundred people in that room. You just directly attacked their leader."
"I guess I got a little excited."
"Why?"
"I... don't know. I just suddenly got really angry."
"What did he say to you?"
"Something about truth and reality. Now that you ask, I realize I can't remember exactly. Probably a side effect of getting hit on the back of my head."
"You think I'll believe that?"
"...Of course not."
"You could have died, Elin. In that situation, even if you revealed your identity, no one would have believed you. Even if they did, it doesn't mean they wouldn't have the guts to kill you. Do you want to die?"
Elin wiped his face.
"No."
"This kind of mistake is ridiculous."
"I understand... If there's a punishment, do as you see fit. It was my fault."
"I don't know if punishment is even necessary anymore. Maybe you're no longer fit to work as a direct agent. Or perhaps you simply don't want to work."
Elin didn't respond or look at Jorgen.
"When you came back from Stromgarde, you dragged me to a tavern, saying it was something important, but in the end, you didn't say anything substantial. Now I think you wanted to say that you were quitting. For whatever reason."
"Don't guess. I just wanted an excuse to relax. Look, I've been a bit foggy-headed lately. Didn't I handle the Stromgarde mission cleanly? Besides, aside from almost getting myself killed this time, it wasn't that bad."
"I'll tell the old man."
"...Tell him what?"
"That you don't want to do this anymore."
"Hey, Jorgen. What kind of talk is that? I've already apologized. I even said to punish me if necessary."
"Elin, you know what kind of people MI7 needs. I'll let you know once a decision is made."
Jorgen left. Elin sat back down on the bench.
He probably figured out what I was thinking a long time ago but didn't want to say it. He's helping me. Trying to find a way to let me go.
Reflecting on Jorgen's gaze just now, Elin thought this was a ridiculous assumption. Maybe he'd never be able to tell Glocara, I kept my promise and resigned. It doesn't matter, the result is the same anyway—this thought didn't bring him any relief. The possibility of having to leave MI7 immediately made him feel a strange discomfort. The area around his head wound started to itch, and he couldn't help but scratch it with the back of his hand.