Rejoicing with the People

A bizarre incident occurred at the Temple of Suffering.

The incidence of madness had clearly not risen significantly, yet patients suffering from bites and scratches had surged noticeably.

Moreover, these individuals were all burly men in the prime of their lives, fierce-looking and giving the impression that every single one of them had just slaughtered seventy or eighty people.

They terrified the ladies treating their wounds so much that the women were practically in tears.

This left Mrs. Nightingale thoroughly bewildered. According to past patterns, men like these were the least likely to get injured; they were fiercer than the lunatics themselves, and it was anyone's guess who would bite whom in a scuffle. Yet a massive crowd of such men had appeared this time—had something happened?

Yet whenever questioned, none of them would talk, adamantly insisting they had been bitten by lunatics. Their bloody wounds were completely genuine, making it inappropriate to turn away people seeking aid at the door. To handle the influx of wounded, even Lynch's training had been suspended so the instructors could help out. Nevertheless, a sizable backlog of patients still crowded the church hall, creating a noisy commotion that deeply worried several high-ranking members of the Church of Suffering.

“Madam, those people seem to know one another.”

“Madam, quite a few of them bear old scars.”

“Madam, some of them even appear to be carrying weapons.”

“Madam, someone just reported that Her Highness the Princess will arrive in five minutes.”

“Oh, right... Wait, what?”

Several higher-ups realized almost simultaneously that something was amiss.

Advance notice of the Princess's visit had indeed been given, though the exact time had remained undecided. Arriving now was fine in itself, but the fact that this strange bunch of injured men showed up right before Her Highness arrived was deeply suspicious.

With a representative of secular imperial authority visiting, the church had to show proper courtesy. Thus, several high-ranking bishops accompanied Mrs. Nightingale—who held a lower position than them—as they appeared together in the cathedral's main hall.

Only then did Mrs. Nightingale notice that Lynch and the other three ladies were present as well, likely having come out due to the interruption of their training.

The scene inside the hall was quite intriguing. Those burly wounded men were scattered strategically throughout the hall, neatly dividing the ordinary patients. For every one or two normal patients, there was one of these special wounded men. Not only did they look menacing, but their eyes constantly darted around, scanning every corner of the hall or sizing up the ordinary wounded beside them.

Accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps, over a dozen burly men in black suits strode into the hall.

The church was the domain of the gods. Aside from the agents of the divine—the church's higher-ups—no mortal being had the right to take control of it, even if they were representatives of secular royal power.

Therefore, these men in black dared not display any discourtesy toward the people inside the church, much less clear the area without the church's permission. Even so, the moment they entered, they positioned their bodies to cordon off a space near the entrance, spacing themselves so cleverly that anyone attempting to approach would be blocked.

Shortly afterward, seven or eight gorgeously dressed individuals, led by Duke Vane, escorted two women inside.

The woman in the lead wore a traditional Lande court gown and a wide-brimmed tulle hat. Beneath the draping veil, exquisite facial features were faintly visible; this was presumably Princess Sophia.

Behind her followed a maid wearing the maid outfit Lynch had long yearned to see. The striking black-and-white color scheme was quite eye-catching. Demure and dignified in appearance, she remained inseparable from the Princess.

The men in black swiftly formed a protective barrier around the visitors. Moments later, a large horde of reporters flooded through the entrance, hauling heavy cameras inside and snapping away relentlessly at the scene in the hall.

The wounded hadn't known what was going on at first, but upon hearing that the kingdom's Princess had personally come to offer comfort, they immediately grew agitated. Those who could still walk stood up and jostled toward the front, eager to catch a closer look at Her Highness.

It was at this moment that the strange patients suddenly sprang into action.

A portion remained in critical positions, completely cutting off any possibility of outside approach, while even more rushed forward faster than the other wounded, forming a tight ring around the royal party to thoroughly obstruct all routes of approach.

The real patients outside pushed inward with all their might in desperation, but they stood no chance against the burly men and were firmly blocked out. Meanwhile, the muscular men in the front row put on joyous expressions, as if meeting the Princess were the greatest honor imaginable.

“You have all suffered. I have come on behalf of His Majesty to visit you all.”

The Princess's slightly shrill voice echoed across the hall. Calling out loudly, she extended her hands to shake hands and converse with the people in the front row. The people in the back rows wanted to reach out as well, but they were completely blocked behind the burly men, unable to touch Her Highness at all, left only to stamp their feet in frustration.

“Ah! The Princess shook my hand!” One of the burly men suddenly wept tears of joy, raising his hand and cheering with near-hysterical fervor. His over-the-top acting drew bizarre looks from his fellow toughs, but it also attracted the reporters. In an instant, countless lenses focused on him, capturing every moment.

Princess Sophia visits the Church of Suffering to comfort the wounded.

Her Highness the Princess stands with the people as one to face their pain.

Her Highness shows no royal arrogance, interacting closely with commoners; onlookers weep tears of joy as everyone cheers: Long live the King, long live Her Highness!

Of course, a few reporters occasionally captured some strange side scenes—whenever someone tried to approach the crowd, one or two injured men would conveniently appear beside them and adroitly elbow them away.

Yet what did that matter? The enthusiastic atmosphere spoke for itself. Anyone unable to squeeze in could only blame their own clumsiness—they were all injured, so why could others charge ahead like that? Being able to hear the Princess's caring words from the outer ring was already a great honor, something to boast about to friends and family for the rest of their lives. Thus, the grievances of the innocently injured commoners were swept away completely, leaving the cathedral overflowing with jubilation.

“This was your doing, wasn't it, Mr. Detective?” Mrs. Nightingale walked over to Lynch with her attendants and whispered, “You gave them this idea yesterday, gathering a crowd like this.”

“What are you talking about?” Lynch had a look of utter bewilderment. “What's this about pretending to be injured?”

Mrs. Nightingale glared daggers at the fellow, not bothering to expose his act.

Rubbing his nose, Lynch smiled without a word, neither confirming nor denying it.

In reality, it truly had been his doing.

After all, this era had only just begun to develop a need for grandstanding before the media and the public, so the professionals were not yet well-versed in it. But Lynch was no stranger to such tactics. Even without movies or TV shows, he had witnessed far too many political stunts like this in real life during his past life, and it was mutually beneficial for both parties.

Clearing the area as Viscount Moliere had suggested was utterly pointless; not only would it fail to achieve the goal, but it would also damage the reputation of the Princess and the royal family. His past life had thoroughly analyzed this: the method most commonly employed by nations was to dispatch people disguised as attendees, diluting the density of unrelated crowds while simultaneously providing close-quarters protection for the VIP.

The professionals had merely lacked experience, but they caught on immediately once given the hint, instantly dispatching a large cohort of professional secret agents and bodyguards who bit themselves to blend in. Although doing so without prior notice had caused quite a headache for the Church of Suffering, the results were stellar, successfully preventing any escalation of conflict. Thus, despite her verbal grumbling, Mrs. Nightingale was actually quite grateful to him in her heart.

Such were the thoughts in Mrs. Nightingale's mind.

Amidst the bustling atmosphere, footsteps sounded from the side. Lynch glanced over to see the young lady in the maid outfit taking the opportunity to slip over.

“Her Highness the Princess asked me to convey her gratitude to you, Detective Lynch Levive. Without your suggestion, this visit could never have achieved such wonderful results. Heehee, it was even better than genuinely taking the risk. Her Highness remarked that Duke Vane's evaluation was indeed accurate—you are a rare talent in the kingdom. It is truly a pity you are a Soul Severer, otherwise Her Highness would dearly love to recruit you to Norin. She has already approved His Grace the Duke's reward for you.”

“What reward?” Even now, Lynch had no idea what the Duke intended to do.

“His Grace didn't tell you?” The maid blinked and shook her head with a smile. “Then I definitely cannot say, or Her Highness will blame me. However, though you might not value it much right now, it will actually be very important for your future...”

Before she could finish, a resounding boom echoed from outside.

The church remained intact, but the ground trembled as if an explosion had occurred.

At the exact same time, screams drifted in from outside the church.

The expressions of everyone in the know darkened, realizing that what was bound to happen had finally arrived.