Conflict

Two lavishly dressed individuals approached. One wore a formal suit and top hat typical of Lande, while the other donned a finely textured blue coat embroidered with a golden lion that caught the eye immediately.

In an instant, the already hectic church hall fell into further disarray. With everyone's work disrupted, hostile glares were cast at the group from all sides.

Lynch and Officer Natalie had already stepped back toward Miss Valente, leaving center stage to the host here, Mrs. Nightingale.

“Who are they?”

Watching the entourage, Lynch felt a surge of displeasure. It reminded him of politicians in his past life marching a horde of reporters and lackeys into a hospital for interviews—and a disaster-struck hospital at that.

Yet oblivious fools like this existed in every era.

“I don't recognize them,” the lady officer murmured. “I've never seen them in the files of Rhine City's official personnel. I suspect they aren't from Rhine City.”

“They came from Norin,” Miss Valente replied as she unwrapped the bandage around her wrist now that she had a moment to breathe. Under the effect of her ability, the wound had already closed, leaving only a faint bite mark that would take time to fade. “The one in the formal coat is Emperor Rudolph's secretary, Viscount Moliere. The one in the standard suit is Baron Boivar, the spymaster. Presumably, they are accompanying Princess Sophia on her visit.”

“This is not an order, but a request.”

The tall Viscount Moliere bowed to Mrs. Nightingale, smiling warmly as he spoke in a theatrically modulated, exaggerated cadence:

“The kingdom grieves for the people suffering from this affliction. Entrusted by His Majesty, Her Highness Princess Sophia represents His Majesty and the entire royal family to visit the afflicted commoners and offer condolences to the heroes fighting for their safety. Her Highness carries a formidable task, and she sincerely wishes to do something for the people. We only hope for everyone's cooperation. We know this is a domain of God, and that any mortal stepping foot here requires divine approval. That is an iron law we will naturally obey. However, if our request cannot be accommodated, we could also choose not to set foot here, which would reflect poorly on everyone.”

Sure enough, political grandstanding existed in every world—and in the name of the royal family, no less.

Lynch frowned, feeling a faint distaste toward this princess he had never met. But right then, Miss Valente whispered by his ear, “This doesn't quite seem like Sophia's style.”

Right, this girl was the scion of a high-ranking family from the royal capital. She knew Her Highness, perhaps even well.

“Not well, we've only met a few times,” Miss Valente clarified. “She received an orthodox royal upbringing and has always carried herself with humility and grace. Otherwise, she wouldn't be so beloved by the commoners in the royal capital. In constant contact with her, the capital's populace isn't foolish; maintaining a facade indefinitely would be impossible. She shouldn't be this kind of person.”

“Then that's strange,” Lynch mused. “While some people do reveal an arrogant nature once away from their familiar surroundings, it makes no sense for two of the Emperor's close confidants to indulge her antics. Unless... there's something we don't know?”

“And just who do you consider irrelevant here?” Mrs. Nightingale retorted displeasedly. “The wounded on the stretchers, or the busy doctors and nurses? Or perhaps you think I am the irrelevant one?”

“No, not at all, please do not be angry, Madam.”

Viscount Moliere smiled awkwardly. No matter how high his status, he dared not truly offend a saint, lest his family be cursed for centuries. Still, he pressed on:

“We merely hope that the area Her Highness visits will be kept free of unnecessary personnel as much as possible. If that truly proves unfeasible, we can find a compromise. For instance, you could select a few ambulatory individuals to meet Her Highness at the Governor's Mansion together. That way, everyone's needs are met, and it benefits all parties.”

Damn it, so that was what this was about.

First make an outrageous demand, argue your case after being rejected, and finally put forth the actual goal. It looked like a concession, but that had been the plan all along.

The two of them had intended from the start to have the victims go to the Governor's Mansion; everything up to now was just beating around the bush. Politicians really were disgustingly calculating, masters of psychological manipulation.

“You saw through it?” Miss Valente looked at Lynch in surprise with her lake-like eyes.

Of course. He had plenty more up his sleeve if she wanted to test him—his political acumen, that was.

On second thought, something still didn't add up. Princess Sophia's mission was an official visit, which meant an itinerary should have been arranged well in advance. Something like this shouldn't have cropped up out of nowhere.

Lynch pondered for a moment, then suddenly furrowed his brows. Seeing Mrs. Nightingale still hesitating, he stepped forward, leaned in toward the old woman's ear, and whispered a few words.

Mrs. Nightingale's expression changed. After checking that no one else was nearby, she fixed her gaze on the tall and short men and whispered, “Has something happened to Her Highness?”

“Huh?”

“Or is someone planning to harm Her Highness?”

“Ha, you worry too much, Madam. How could that be? Absolutely not.”

Viscount Moliere, the royal secretary, kept his beaming smile and maintained an unruffled demeanor, while Baron Boivar, the spymaster, expressionlessly sized up Lynch beside the old woman. For a moment, only Viscount Moliere's laughter echoed among them.

It was rather awkward.

“It seems there really is a problem.”

Hearing Miss Valente's voice, Lynch turned back and received a slight shock. The young lady was holding Officer Natalie's arm, walking over intimately with her—one in menswear and one in women's clothing, looking thoroughly mismatched.

“Oh? Miss Valente, you are here today as well.”

“I vouch for these two on my personal honor, and I doubt you would suspect Mrs. Nightingale's integrity either. If there is an issue, speak plainly.”

Lynch also chimed in, “Indeed. Sound won't travel outward. As long as you watch out for lip-readers, there's no need to worry about being overheard.”

The secretary paused and exchanged a glance with the spymaster. Only after a brief silence did he speak:

“This outbreak struck too swiftly. In less than ten days, cases have surfaced nationwide, and the gruesome symptoms have sparked public panic. One of the reasons Her Highness made the impromptu decision to inspect Rhine was to reassure the populace, making her visit to the Church of Suffering essential.”

Seeing that they were finally speaking frankly, Mrs. Nightingale's demeanor softened slightly. “The church is not made of gears and clockwork; it knows how to be flexible. If there truly are difficulties, we are not unwilling to cooperate. There was no need to resort to such... underhanded methods.”

“Her Highness is unharmed for now,” the spymaster said slowly. His tone held no overt chill, yet his gaze was perpetually sinister. “However, we received intelligence that someone plans to make a move against Her Highness during her inspection of Rhine.”

“In Her Highness's view, this is her duty as royalty, one she must shoulder regardless of what lies ahead. Thus, she still intends to proceed with the visit as planned,” Viscount Moliere said with a wry smile. “Yet we are worried, so we could only seek a compromise through this method.”

Lynch asked in confusion, “Didn't you communicate with Her Highness Sophia? Wouldn't it be fine if she just cooperated?”

“It's useless,” Miss Valente sighed. “Some things that must be done cannot be deterred through communication.”

“Inside the Governor's Mansion, Her Highness's safety is largely assured. The inspections of various sites over the coming days are also meticulously arranged by professionals. Only this visit here cannot be secured, and the crowd is far too mixed.” The spymaster looked around at the wounded and medical staff everywhere. “Should someone with ill intent slip in, dying a hundred deaths would not wash away our shame.”

“Isn't that simple?” Lynch's past-life experience flashed through his mind. People in this other world were truly inexperienced—they didn't even know how to stage a proper photo op. Flashing a peculiar smile, he hooked a finger at the two nobles. “I'll give you an idea.”

With that, he leaned in and whispered. Soon, strange expressions appeared on the two nobles' faces. Exchanging glances with the bewildered Mrs. Nightingale, they nodded repeatedly.