"What else do you want?!"
The firelight of the fireplace was warm and yellow, Adele's silver hair was pulled aside, revealing that the skin on her neck was as white as snow, and her lines were mellow like a hunted swan. She heard the crackling of burning firewood and Dalton's rapid breathing. The black-haired officer stubbornly inserted his fingers into hers and clasped them tightly.
The finger bones are burned together, and the blood of the young man is hot for her.
Dalton and his Queen's forehead were pressed against each other, and they were close enough to clearly capture all the light and dark in each other's irises.
The black-haired officer questioned hoarsely like revenge, with deep shadows on the sides of his cheekbones.
"Dalton."
Adele called his name hoarsely.
The flames were beating, the joints of the black-haired officer's mandibles were snapping violently like rusty gears, and the lines of his cheeks were twitching in light and shade. Even he himself didn't know what the emotions that were surging in his chest at this moment, making his heart beat violently.
Desperately and angrily, he wanted to accuse, to ask her if she was satisfied, to see that he was hopelessly insane knowing that it might be a trick.
But those images were still circling before his eyes, stirring up his fear, as soon as the words were spoken, they would uncontrollably turn into begging that even lost his self-esteem.
—Pray for heaven and earth, gods and demons.
I pray for everything in the world, and I pray that those pictures will never become reality.
Before all the begging poured out, he put his arms across the silver-haired queen's waist, so hard that he almost wanted to embed her into his own flesh and blood.
"I just think there's always going to be a change."
She sighed, very softly.
But they were so close, close enough to catch every vibration of the vocal cords, to catch the exhaustion hidden behind the armor of fortitude. Dalton no longer looked at the eyes that made him fall into the swamp, pressed his cheeks against hers tightly, clenched his teeth, and refused to say another word.
Asking for her temperature like an arrogance.
But bowed down on one knee.
…………………
"God, I beg you
in your righteousness, in your mercy
Bless her with your eternal wisdom
Please save her from any knife or fire[1]
…”
The bells spread layer by layer into the morning air of Rose Strait.
Mahler was about to walk out of the church with the morning prayer crowd, and the singing of the choir was still faintly echoing in his ears. He still had the same skinny look, and his deeply sunken cheeks were still somewhat scary. But compared to when he just escaped from the free commercial city, it is much better.
It seems that there is already a force supporting his remaining skeleton.
"Mahler."
Someone yelled at him from behind.
Mahler turned around, saw a priest in black uniform, and immediately bowed to pay his respects.
The priest who called him was very young and serious, with brow bones like eagle wings, sharp steel blue eyes, and a brass cross hanging on the chest of the black cassock. The only thing that can be called luxurious on the whole body is a jewel button on the cuff. Mahler didn't know the identity of the young priest, but only knew what the priest said that day, which made the bishop of St. Al's Cathedral agree to bury his child in the cemetery.
"There will be a mutual aid meeting in the church in two days," the priest said, "Pray for all the brothers and sisters who are suffering, and help newcomers like you. Are you coming?"
His overly serious expression always makes people feel that he is not inviting, but scolding.
"OK… "
Mahler replied with some surprise.
The Protestants who escaped from the Free Chamber of Commerce City obtained the permission of the Roland Empire to live in the port city, but there was still a sense of strangeness between the outsiders and the locals, and there were not many contacts.
After receiving Mahler's answer, the priest nodded and recorded his name in a register.
Mahler waited for a while, seeing that the priest didn't say anything else, he was about to turn around and leave.
"Mahler, please invite more people."
The priest stood on the steps. He had already put away the paper and pen neatly, and nodded to him with a solemn tone.
"OK."
The tall and thin ship designer hesitated for a while, but instead of rejecting the commission, he also made a sign of the cross on his chest.
After leaving the church, the Maletto took a leave of absence from the Navy—he is now designing a fleet of ships. Before setting off to invite the others, Mahler paused for a moment. He looked down at his coat, which was stained with asphalt and oil, and returned to the room after hesitating for a moment.
As a ship designer hired by the Navy, Mahler's life was much more lucrative than others, but he hadn't paid attention to his external image for a long time.
…from his wife being burned at the stake.
He opened the cabinet in a strange way, rummaged through a clean brown coat, and searched for matching shirts and jackets inexperiencedly... Marie, with curled temple hair and ruddy cheeks, always complained to him while helping him pick out the most suitable clothes in the shortest time … Pale fingers fasten each button.
Mahler put on his hat—he didn't know if he had chosen the right hat, he was not Mary, and he couldn't tell the difference between two similar hats, so he opened the door.
The sea breeze came in, and he shivered, as if he was pulled out of a nightmare. It was the first time he had really looked at the city in Rose Strait for so long.
The priest gave him a map, which also marked where the refugees lived.
Holding this very detailed map, Mahler couldn't understand why the priest asked him to invite him. You must know that he is not a articulate person.
Walking on the street, a man dressed as an Old God sect approached him. Mahler straightened up reflexively, and instinctively wanted to find some weapons. Soon, the Old God sect passed him by. Seeing the panicked expression of the haggard and strange stranger, he paused, reminding him that his hat was askew.
Only then did Mahler realize that he had left Broadway.
There is no heresy here, and there is no stench of burnt flesh in the air.
Muscles relaxed for a while, and Mahler stood at the intersection in a daze, looking around, and found that he hadn't seen any burning frame in the Strait of Roses.
The sun's rays softly spread on the gray stone buildings in the harbor city. Roses were planted at the door of almost every house on both sides of the street, and the green branches and new leaves were covered with sparkling morning dew. There were a few early roses with soft, delicate fringes... Mahler belatedly noticed that roses were everywhere in the city.
… Is it because of "Rose Strait"
he guessed.
The new leaves and flowers in spring always bring comfort to people. Mahler looked at them for a while, as if he also had a little strength. He straightened his hat and walked towards the first location marked on the map, which was the port construction site of Rose Strait.
As a ship designer, Mahler is no stranger to the construction site, but he couldn't help being a little surprised when he came here.
No loud whipping, no walking overseers, no barking hounds.
Too strange!
He had to walk around on the beach to make sure he was right. It's really weird! There are no whips and noble servants, but the person in charge holding rolls of blueprints, piles of wood and stone, workers who are busy going back and forth, and the dry dock structure that has been roughly completed, all prove that this is indeed true. Port construction site.
A bunch of questions flooded Mahler. He didn't care about the embarrassment, and hurriedly found a Neotheist Jem he knew who also fled from the Free Chamber of Commerce city.
Jem wore a mud-stained short coat and his forehead was covered with sweat, but he was in good spirits and not at all sad like Mahler imagined. He worked with some workers who fled to Roland together, and greeted him happily after seeing Mahler.
"The royal family hired you directly?"
"Is there another bonus for finishing early?"
"Even the Thirteenth Committee of the Alliance wouldn't be so generous?"
"Has the royal family really not owed a salary?"
…
After getting the answer, Mahler's questions not only did not decrease, but increased.
He listened to Jem's general introduction to the situation of the port, and estimated in his mind how much money Queen Adele of the Roland Empire would allocate to these basic naval constructions according to this standard. He couldn't believe the amount he got—she could almost use the money to hire a mercenary.
"I heard... Roland's treasury really has no money left to pay the workers' wages," Jem glanced around, leaned over to Mahler, and muttered softly, "It seems that Her Majesty has mortgaged several of her castles." gone."
Mahler looked at him in astonishment, and then at the construction site.
This time he found more places that were different from his impressions. He started working so early, and the workers on the construction site did not have a trace of resentment on their faces. They worked as quickly as if they were fighting for time with death. Mahler remembered something he hadn't noticed before.
After he came to Rose Strait, he never heard from the navy that there were not enough docks and warehouses to build and repair ships.
But this is a very strange thing.
Everyone knows that Roland's Rose Strait port has been in decline for a long time, decayed and old.
The bay he saw when he came to Rose Strait clearly had countless wooden warehouses and dock slips, and the barges full of timber, rope, tar and canvas were never without docks. Is this really the decaying Roland he had heard about? Even a free chamber of commerce city known for its wealth does not have such a busy port.
Mahler hadn't figured out what all this was all about, and when Jem learned that he was going to invite others to a mutual aid meeting, he enthusiastically offered to accompany him.
"Most of the wool workers live in the eastern suburbs, but they don't seem to be washing wool now, but... Hey, look at this dress in me, man!" Jem pulled out a cuff to show Mahler. "They Call this stuff 'cotton cloth', and it's a good thing, warm and comfortable, and much cheaper than wool."
While talking, they passed through the poorest east end of Rose Strait.
Mahler found that many people here also wore the "cotton cloth" in Jem's mouth, and most of them were girls. Girls from poor families are thin and slender, and they cherish the hem of their skirts carefully. The white skirts, which are as simple as nuns, bring a little bright breath to the always dark and dirty streets, like strands of morning light falling here.
"Ah, their skirts are the cloth of gifts." Jem actually looked a little envious, "It seems that Queen Roland gave them to them on the Holy Spirit's Day, and the queen seemed to wear such skirts that day... They should be going to the Holy Spirit. Over there in the square."
"What square?" Mahler asked.
"The square of the apparition," repeated Jem, "and they wanted to put up a statue of the queen there, ah, by the way, some time ago there was a guy named Hermi or something who offered to do it for them Sculpture."
"Hermesoya?" Mahler guessed uncertainly.
Hermesoya is one of the most famous sculptors living today, and also one of the most arrogant. Mahler had heard that the governing coalition of free commercial cities offered a high price, and he wanted to ask him to carve statues for the Thirteen Guilds, but he refused.
"The place where the guy works is near the square, want to see it?" Jem asked.
Mahler nodded curiously, and the two walked quickly through the long alley, and the square of Rose Strait appeared in front of them.
There are many poets on the square who are reciting their poems, and businessmen from all over the place are arguing fiercely in front of the paving. Hermesoya's work place was on the southeast side of the square. When the two arrived, the sculptor with messy hair was working with a chisel.
The pure white marble has initially revealed the elegant figure of the young woman.
Mahler confirmed that the volunteer sculptor was indeed the Hermesoa who had rejected the Free Chamber City.
The arrogant Hermesoya seemed to be indulging in his own world. While muttering to himself, he gently brushed the dust off the stone statue. The weird attitude made Mahler shudder, and he always felt that this guy was not sculpting figures, but worshiping something.
Jem shrugged and led him away.
They passed through Dongcheng District.
When night fell, Mahler finally completed the priest's commission with Jem's help.
The church bell rang, and the priest waited in the church for a long time, and Mahler returned the map to him. Instead of asking how many people had agreed to join the fraternity, the priest looked him up and down and asked how he was feeling.
"Everything will be fine," even when the priest said his blessing, it was as strict as a warning during a sermon, "A new life will always come."
Only then did Mahler realize that the young priest had long been aware of his isolation and separation from others, and of his resentment and hatred for the world.
He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.
"But I have nothing left."
He finally said what was on his mind.
From the time his wife was burned at the stake, from the time his children were taken out before they were born, everything was over, everything was gone. Why would God allow such a tragedy to happen? Why did he suffer such a fate? If this world has really been reduced to hell, why is it completely different when Roland is in Rose Strait? How unfair this is!
When the priest put his hand on his shoulder, Mahler realized that tears were streaming down his face, pouring out all his doubts and unwillingness.
He suddenly realized how many ungrateful words he had just said, those jealous and selfish thoughts made him feel ashamed.
The priest didn't scold him.
"Because someone tried their best to save us," said the priest. "We saved people can't give her anything in return, but try to help you."
"everything will get better."
The priest made a sign of the cross on his chest, and his last words were more like a prophecy from the heart than a blessing.
The evening bell of the church struck, the bell startled white doves across the sky, and the lighthouse of the distant port lit up.
The lighthouse named "Sun" is as high as 400 naked. The tower body made of granite and copper is as tall as a silent giant guarding the harbor. extinguished flame. The flame was refracted heavily by the mirror, illuminating the distant sea.
"everything will get better."
Mahler murmured and crossed himself on his chest. He bowed deeply to the priest.
The priest nodded to indicate that he could leave.
When he was leaving, Mahler looked back at the young priest standing in the courtyard of the church. He was looking at the Tower of the Sun, with a thin and straight figure, holding the cross on his chest, as if he was praying for something.
Mahler vaguely guessed who the priest was.
……………
"God, I beg you
in your righteousness, in your mercy
Bless her with your eternal wisdom
Please save her from any knife or fire[2]
…”
Archbishop Rodrik stood in the twilight. He was ordered by the queen to secretly leave the northbound team and came to Rose Strait to be responsible for the confidential affairs of establishing a trade point with the continent of Ermia.
He crossed himself over his heart.
"... I beg you, please protect her."
The war is approaching, and the priest who no longer believes in God whispers a prayer for a person.
The author has something to say: [1][2] Compiling and citing Sutra 31:2-31:6