Chapter 375 — Gathering in the Shadows

The church—the church he had built with his own hands.

When Wright set out, he had never imagined he would return to this place so soon, still less that when he came back he would have lost the favor of the Holy Light and become an ordinary man.

To lose his transcendent power, to lose his identity as a transcendent—this was nothing to Wright. Power was only a tool; before he obtained this tool he had lived as an ordinary man for twenty years, and he had never been so attached to the status of transcendent. But to lose his affinity for the Holy Light—that left him deeply bereaved.

He stood quietly before the plain church for a long time, watching the little tower and spire above it form a sharp sword against the outline of the giant sun, piercing the sky like the first ray of Holy Light that, in legend, had guided mankind to cleave through the darkness in ancient times. At last he gave a faint sigh, stepped forward, and opened the church door.

The lord's words had left a deep echo in his heart. Wright knew those words were reasonable and worth pondering, yet he knew even better where his own problem lay—in truth he had never doubted his resolve and his deeds in walking the path of the Holy Light; he had never wavered in that regard at all.

What had truly shaken him was this: why should those who had all but wholly forsaken the Holy Light also be able to wield those sacred powers?

The Lord of the Holy Light... did He truly not see all this?

Once more that near-blasphemous thought surfaced in Wright's heart, and the instant it appeared he felt a turmoil in his spiritual world; a faint, elusive stabbing pain arose in his mind, and an exceedingly distant, blurred, chaotic whisper echoed at his ear. That whisper seemed to hold inexhaustible truth and loving-kindness, yet not only could Wright not make out its words—he could clearly sense that the whisper was receding from him.

The brief stabbing pain and daze soon passed, and Wright felt the power of the Holy Light within him weaken a little further.

"To question the Lord, is it..." the tall pastor muttered under his breath, and walked slowly into the church's prayer hall. He sat down in the first row of seats and glanced up at the icon not far ahead—the image of the Lord of the Holy Light stood upon the pulpit, its countenance blurred, sunlight pouring down through the skylight to cloak the sculpture in a hazy halo. Then he lowered his head and prayed silently.

Halfway through the prayer, Wright opened his eyes. He sensed someone approaching, so he rose and turned to look.

A stout, broad-shouldered middle-aged woman in coarse cloth garments came forward hesitantly. She was one of the believers who regularly came to the church; seeing that Wright had finished praying, she at once abandoned her tiptoeing and strode up boldly, greeting him in a hearty, loud voice: "I saw the door was open, Pastor! When did you get back?"

"Only just now," Wright said gently, looking at the woman who often came to pray. "Is there something you need?"

"Oh, no, nothing—I just heard you were back and came to see. Everyone's missed you," the farmwife laughed. "Now that you're back, will the weekly service be held as usual? I'll go tell everyone."

Holding a service required leading everyone to perceive the Holy Light. Wright could not help frowning, and said with an apologetic look: "I... I'm sorry, my condition hasn't been good lately. I'm afraid I won't be able to preside over the service..."

The farmwife did not mind at all and waved a hand carelessly: "Oh, that's all right, that's all right. I'll just tell everyone the service is canceled."

Then she glanced at Wright curiously, her tone tinged with concern: "Pastor, did you catch a chill out there? I've heard the snow north of Rock Fortress hasn't melted yet—did you freeze out there?"

A farmwife of little learning could hardly comprehend the notion of a shaken faith or a departure from the Holy Light; she could only guess at Wright's present state through her own understanding. And Wright, hearing those words of concern, fell silent for a time.

After a moment, the only pastor in the territory shook his head slightly: "I'm fine. I think I can still preside. Go and tell everyone—this week's service will be held as usual."

"Really?" The farmwife looked him up and down. "Pastor, don't push yourself. You may be strong, but no strength holds up against sickness."

"Thank you for your concern," Wright smiled, as though he had set down some burden. "It's only some... small trouble. No need to worry."

To these ordinary common folk, faith in the Holy Light held no such complex or lofty meaning; what they sought in praying at the church was never any perception of transcendent power. All they wanted was a measure of peace of mind—a moment of quiet in their busy lives.

Whatever the power of faith might mean in the eyes of the clergy, in the eyes of these ordinary people its greatest use was simply as a spiritual anchor.

Perhaps, as a pastor, Wright had lost the ability to feel the Holy Light and to wield divine arts—but at least he still had the power to let these people enjoy half a day's peace.

In the reception hall of Count Horsman's domain—adorned with sumptuous gold and silver ornaments, laid with thick velvet carpets, and brightly lit by magic crystal lamps—Count Karlov Horsman sat in his favorite high-backed chair, listening to the most trusted intelligence advisor at his side relay information. A rather complicated expression came over his face, mingled with a trace of contempt and a greater measure of bewilderment.

The count set down a ruby ornament he had been toying with and said with a strange smile: "Revoke all noble privileges within the territory—even the Cecil family's own privilege of governing its domain—and then set up a Government Hall, letting a pack of lowborn people run the territory?"

"Yes, that is what the spies who successfully entered the Twenty-Fifth Production and Construction Brigade observed. We have always been in the dark about how Cecil Territory operates internally, but through the efforts of those excellent spies we have finally grasped some of the truth," said Green, gaunt and gloomy, with black hair and a hooked nose, unhurriedly from beside Count Horsman. "And it is said that even the Kande region, recently incorporated into the Cecil family, has established a second-tier Government Hall. The Government Hall holds great power—even the territory's taxation and land reclamation are controlled by its clerks and departmental officials."

Count Horsman frowned: "Is this a front? In truth these so-called officials are all Cecils, aren't they?"

"It seems not," Green shook his head. "The spies say the Government Hall has many officials with real authority—positions such as agriculture director, mining director, commerce director—all held by people outside the Cecil family. Though these people are also loyal to the Cecil family, the power in their hands is genuine; even the knights of the territory must submit to the control of these department heads..."

"...It seems that ancient hero who came back to life is... somewhat defective in his thinking," Count Horsman said with a faint, ambiguous smile. "And not only has he revoked his own vassals' privileges, but he has even made those noble knights and ladies of the Kande region swear allegiance to his barbarous new policies?"