Nehari stepped into the room. Hylan sat at his desk, flipping through an old book and copying excerpts onto cards.
"Archbishop Hylan."
"Come in, Archbishop Nehari."
"I hope I'm not disturbing your work."
"Not at all. This is just a little side interest of mine—On the Evolution of Rural Evangelical Rituals, written thirty years ago by an anonymous cleric. He only self-printed twenty copies to give to friends. I found this one among a donation from a used bookstore a week ago and have been annotating it."
Nehari stepped closer to the desk. "With all sincerity and joy, I congratulate you on winning the archbishop election. The Holy Light has answered the prayers of countless believers."
Hylan put down his pen and stood. "Thank you, Archbishop Nehari. Please, take a seat. There's no need for such formality in my study."
Both sat down.
"Tomorrow is your coronation as archbishop. Many people are eager to congratulate you personally before the ceremony. Regarding the arrangements, though they are mostly set, the election committee wishes to consult you about any personal preferences."
"Tradition will suffice. I've attended numerous archbishop coronations, and they are quite well-organized. The ceremony itself is not what's important."
"Will you be spending the rest of today in your study?"
"I plan to take a walk after dinner. Since tomorrow is a significant day, I shouldn't overburden myself today."
"You are right. I hadn't thought of that."
Hylan returned to his book. After a brief silence, Nehari spoke again.
"Jorgen's execution date has passed, and he's still alive. There are signs that the council may revoke his sentence."
"I am aware."
"Do you believe this is a failure of the council, an affront to the law of the land? Such a grievously guilty man, showing no remorse, receiving such an easy pardon. While I don't know if there's an exchange between the council and MI7, it's..."
"Archbishop Nehari, I trust the council made a well-rounded decision. Beyond that, I can only say this is politics, and my expertise lies in religious matters, not in judging the council's competence. But remember this: Jorgen was judged by a special tribunal, not strictly bound by legal codes."
"But the tribunal was sanctioned by the king, holding the same sacred authority. The problem is the precedent this sets. If traitors think they can be pardoned, imagine the chaos. Worse, it shows the council bowing to the likes of MI7."
"Your words are too harsh, Archbishop Nehari."
"Perhaps, but I don't believe I've misunderstood the situation. The execution wasn't just about Jorgen; it was a message that loyalty to the kingdom of Stormwind is absolute. MI7, with its deceptions, should heed that warning. Jorgen's imprisonment was public knowledge, and now it's impossible to stop word of his pardon. This will weaken the council's authority and embolden MI7."
"I doubt it, as MI7 has faced other repercussions."
"May I ask, once you become archbishop, will you continue the fight against MI7's undermining of national security?"
"Deception is intolerable, whether from MI7 or elsewhere. In a nation rife with lies and chaos, faith cannot spread. Continued oversight of MI7 is necessary, and I will maintain my stance."
Nehari realized Hylan was not enthusiastic about this topic, but he had more to say. Once Hylan became archbishop, such informal, private conversations would be rare.
"I share your stance, Archbishop Hylan, that MI7's misconduct must be stopped. They may have escaped critical punishment, but with the Light's blessing, we have another chance to expose their evils."
"You're referring to...?"
"I've learned that Mardias' mother, Dalia, has awoken from her years of traumatic coma. Her misfortune was caused by MI7. If we protect her and persuade her to testify against their crimes, it could be invaluable."
"Archbishop Nehari, you should not agitate a gravely ill woman."
"I'm not suggesting immediate action. Waiting is necessary, at least until she knows that her former lover, Jorgen, nearly lost his life because of MI7..."
"Archbishop Nehari."
Hylan stood up.
"I can't believe you would suggest such a thing. We are to oversee MI7, not attack or manipulate, let alone exploit a woman like this. It is a horrifying, wholly unholy course of action."
"Archbishop Hylan, I've long been curious: were you always opposed to Jorgen's execution?"
"I'm not a member of the special tribunal, nor do I bear any personal grudge against him. All I did was point out his wrongdoing."
For someone as eloquent as Hylan, this response felt vague. Nehari watched him, recalling how he had been persuaded to withdraw from the election, how he broke a finger in repentance.
"When I withdrew from the election and fully supported you, it was because I believed not only that you were the best representative of the Light, but that we shared the same ideals. At least, we had the same enemies. Maybe I was wrong."
Nehari turned to leave, not out of anger but because he didn't want to stay. He couldn't believe the words he had just spoken. This wasn't what he had come to say.
"Stop."
Hylan's voice, though not as loud as his public speeches, carried the same calm yet urgent force Nehari had never heard before. He stopped but did not turn around.
"Nehari Charlostu, your faith is unwavering, and you always prioritize the greater good. These things are undeniable. But I know how you handle plague victims, how you view prisoners of war, how you continually insult Bishop Lindy, and now, how you express such terrifying thoughts. Clearly, you have no compassion for those who differ in belief. As a clergyman, this is your greatest failing. Your lack of awareness of this is what has troubled you your whole life. You need to reflect on whether you can continue serving the Light with such a mindset."
Nehari did not respond; he left the study, then left Hylan's residence.
After that argument, Hylan's throat felt sore. He sat down and sipped his tea. He had known since visiting Jorgen in prison that Nehari would doubt him. Although it had been Nihri's own suggestion to withdraw from the election...
Maybe I did use him.
After dinner, Hylan went for a walk with a servant, donning a cloak to conceal most of his face.
He had heard that many citizens were spontaneously celebrating his election victory with great enthusiasm. By nightfall, the fervor had waned, but he could still sense the change in the air. He attributed it to his own mindset. After tomorrow, once he was archbishop, things would be different. People's expectations of him would change. He would no longer be seen merely as a wise man who appeared in the aftermath of the earthquake, guiding the way forward. Depending on the group, he would become either a more worldly supplicant or a more divine religious figure. With his many years of studying religious history, he understood he would need to view the world from a different perspective. At seventy-five, he hoped his eyes and hands could still bear such a transformation.
They walked down a small path leading to the cathedral square.
"Archbishop Hylan," the servant said, "would you like to go inside the cathedral?"
"No, they're likely busy with preparations. It's best not to disturb them now."
"I heard from the security bureau that tomorrow's ceremony is expected to draw over ten thousand citizens."
"Too crowded. Let's hope nothing goes wrong."
"Of course not."
The servant regretted bringing up the subject.
Hylan looked at the cathedral doors, then upward. Tonight, the sky was cloudy, and without moonlight, he couldn't see the spire, though he knew its exact location and shape. His life had revolved around this immense structure, and soon he would be its master. He remembered the years he had spent in remote dioceses after being affected by his patron's political downfall. At this moment, perhaps he was no closer to the cathedral spiritually than he had been then. He had been through too much.
"Let's go back," he said to the servant.
They retraced their steps to the front of the residence. About twenty meters from the door, Hylan told the servant to return inside, as he planned to sit in the garden pavilion for a while—a nightly relaxation routine. The servant agreed and headed toward the door. Hylan then turned toward the garden path.
After taking several steps, he heard a sound behind him.
"Archbishop Hylan?"
He turned. A figure stood before him. From what little he could make out of the man's features in the dim light, he didn't recognize him.
Before Hylan could ask a question, the figure raised his hand. Unsure of the gesture's intent, Hylan instinctively raised his arm to shield his face. Something hard struck his arm without making much noise. The pain wasn't immediate, but as an old man caught off guard, he fell to the ground. The figure raised his hand again. At that moment, Hylan didn't know whether to call for help or try to evade the blow. His mind hadn't fully reacted, but he was acutely aware of his own fragility.