"Ethics don't do our job any good, Tujea."

"Yes, I know."

"It's time for you to throw away those outdated rules, the world no longer needs the so-called justice, we are all just beasts."

"Yes, you're right."

"Why are you so stubborn?" The man asked.

He was drunk, his cheeks flushed, and his eyeballs swollen like two glass balls stuck in their sockets, lubricated by a disgusting, viscous substance, glowing with an uncomfortably greasy glow.

An entire wall behind him was made of foggy glass, and some towering gray buildings looked coldly out of the glass over everything below them. The mark of the Imperial Double-headed Eagle was drenched by artificial rain on their bodies, turning a flickering white.

Tujea's gaze passed over the drunken man to the double-headed eagles, and he was attracted to them. Then he noticed that the number of buildings was increasing, and it was increasing all the time.

They're like tumors or viruses that are constantly proliferating, and the emblem of the double-headed eagle is constantly protruding from the surface of the gray building, turning into a real iron bird and flying into the sky, flying around in the rain of technology.

They have no feathers, they have flames in their eyes, and they use them to spy on everyone.

They're screaming.

"Morality is useless!"

Suddenly, the man roared and grabbed him, so force that he felt like he was about to be crushed. Tujea wanted to answer him, but he couldn't, because he suddenly noticed that the face was somewhat familiar, especially the puffy eyes.

They are green, hungry, boring and dead.

A scream stuck in his throat, and the nightmare cleared before Tujea released it.

He sat up sharply, and a pain in his abdomen came again, but it had lessened. His screams echoed through the church, sounding distorted. At the same time, a peculiar smell came from his mouth.

He frowned, immediately realizing that he had been fed some kind of potion.

Probably painkillers or hallucinogens, but in the nest, there is no difference between the two.

Tujea covered the back of his sore head and slowly sat up straight.

He found himself still in that chapel, not dead or abused. No one hung him up, set up a wooden table, and about a dozen horrible knives for execution, and sanitized them in a brazier.

No, none of these things.

Only in the very quiet chapel, the statues of the emperor still have their eyes closed and their faces are sad.

Tujea dispelled his illusions and gripped the futon with his left hand, but his fingertips touched something else. He looked back and saw that it was his wide-brimmed hat.

He put it on and stood up.

It is a miracle that the light cast by the stained-glass windows that make up the ceiling of the church is spilling in front of him, and it is foggy that there is not much dust in the air.

Tujea had been to some churches, and he had the impression that only the wealthy areas could do this, because those churches had cleaners.

They work tirelessly to clean up every day, and dust and other stains are probably their worst enemies.

What a straightforward goal.

Tujea sighed and began to look for the priest inside the church.

It was unlikely that what had happened last night was his fantasy, the bleeding statue, and the gleaming black shard still lingering in his mind. Compared to them, the corpses that surrounded the entire church were not even a 'nightmare'.

Thinking of this, Tujea couldn't help but tilt his head and look at the tallest statue of the emperor.

The sculptor in charge of carving it has created the emperor's face to perfection, and his closed eyes are being illuminated by the sun under the laurel crown. The stained glass changes the color of the sunlight, making them golden, giving the statue a power that transcends the mundane.

Have they really seen the emperor? Tujea suddenly thought.

If they haven't seen it, then which deity are these statues we worship?

He was silent for a moment, dispelling the heretical and blasphemous idea and continuing his search. He found nothing, but saw his hanging coat in a corner.

Not only that, but its weight was another indication - Tujea reached into his inner pocket, and sure enough, he found his gun, which already had some rough scratches on the handle.

Tujea let go of his hand and let the gun go back to the bottom of his inner pocket. He took out a candy and ate it, and as the sour taste erupted, Tujea habitually glanced at the candy wrapper.

[Never let the Emperor down, citizen! 】

I'll do my best.

Tujea folded the candy wrapper into a strip, pulled up his hat, and pinned it behind his left ear. He walked over to the side door of the church and slowly pushed it open.

At this moment, the small circular square in front of the church was already crowded with people, and with a cursory glance, Tujea could tell that they were all low-level laborers, or low-level civilians engaged in some gray business.

At the same time, a burst of food aroma reached his nose.

Tujea frowned, and a guess slowly crept into his mind.

He instinctively didn't want to believe such things, so he decided that seeing was believing. He walked out of the church and saw a familiar figure with thick gloves in the middle of the circular square distributing food to the laborers.

One by one, he handed out the cheap industrial bowls, and then returned them one after the other

Order? Tujea could barely believe his eyes. No offense, but he actually saw order?

He cocked up the collar of his coat, closed the side door of the church, and quietly squeezed into the crowd. There are all kinds of flavors, and none of them are good. He walked silently through the crowd, observing the identities of the people who had filled the square.

What he saw confirmed his suspicion, that most of them were hard-working laborers, dressed in shabby clothes. But there is no shortage of mothers with children, as well as some teenagers in groups of threes and twos.

They have different identities, and some of them know that Tujea is a thief at a glance. They didn't steal in this place, but stood in the line in a proper manner, keeping their hands in their pockets, very deliberately, almost like a reminder.

"Yes, we are thieves, but we are not stealing here."

I must be crazy. Tujea told himself.

The crowd didn't know anything about it, but continued to swell in silence, like a sea of dust. Tujea is like a silent but rootless reef, little by little the tide is swept to the forefront.

The aroma of the food hit his face intuitively with the steam, bringing a burst of warmth. Hunger immediately swelled, and it was only at this time that Tujea realized his current situation.

He looked down at the large wooden barrels that had been placed on a wheelbarrow, the gruel floating and sinking, stirred by an iron spoon, and scooped up a large spoonful full of them. Unknown fungi, which have been very finely chopped, swirl within it and are then poured into another gray bowl.

A thickly gloved hand handed it over.

"The Emperor bless you, sir." Pastor Horst said with a smile.

Tujea nodded and took it in silence.

Overwhelmed, he took the bowl and left the crowd. The porridge is still hot, transferring warmth from the palm of your hand. Tujea slowly walked to a corner and began to eat slowly.

His taste buds ushered in a burst of saltiness, the porridge was very fragrant, and the mushrooms were also very good. Delicious.

A few minutes later, Tujea found him licking the rim of the porridge bowl with his tongue, feeling the aftertaste.

He lowered his hand and began to wait in the corner. After about ten minutes, the crowd that filled the square dispersed one by one. The morning light of Litatra revealed little by little in the pale gray clouds, shining on everyone's shoulders.

Tujea exhaled a cloudy breath and slowly walked over to the priest who was packing up the cart and the ash bowls.

He quickly walked up to him, and the priest didn't look up, still very focused on the cleanup. Tujea reached out and put the bowl he had received into the empty pile of bowls on the cart.

It was as if it had opened up a dialogue loop for him.

"Do you do this often?"

"Once a week." Horst said.

His gloves were covered with stains from gruel.

Why would you do such a thing?"

"What kind of thing?"

"This kind of thing. The state religion does not include the relief of the poor as a part of its teachings, and in some areas it is even explicitly forbidden. ”

"Who told you I was giving relief to the poor?" Horst looked up and asked rhetorically.

"So what are you doing?"

"I'm giving back to these devout believers for their support of the church." The priest took off his gloves and smiled.

Tujea glanced down at his hands, but there was not a trace of blood. The nails are neatly trimmed and the joints are distinct, and there are no signs of holding a sword often, but the inside of the thumb of the right hand, and the left side of the first knuckle of the index finger and middle finger have thick calluses.

He apparently had to hold a pen every day, write a lot of things, and not use a quill.

Copying the scriptures? A guess was born in Tujea's mind. It is true that the priest of the state church has to copy a wide variety of books every day, but this man

Tujea frowned, forcing himself to clear his mind again. He could no longer connect those hands to the bloodstained hands he had seen last night.

"Are they supporting you?" He asked, trying to slow down so that the conversation sounded more like small talk than cross-examination.

"Of course, the security around the church is maintained by them. Like I said, the second arrondissement of Litatra is a quiet little place, and the old men of the law enforcement team don't come here very much. But it's still quiet. ”

The priest chuckled and turned around, pushed the cart, and returned to the church through the side door. Tujea followed him and closed the door for him, but he still didn't stop asking.

"You didn't kill me, why?"

"Why should I kill you?" The pastor asked rhetorically.

Tujea was silent and did not answer.

The priest pushed his cart and walked into another door of the church, behind which was probably where he lived.

After a few more minutes, he walked out dressed in a white robe that only a priest could wear, his pure skull swaying on his chest, and a string of pious rosaries tied to his right hand.

"I'm a priest of the God Emperor, I don't kill people." The pastor said with a very calm expression.

Tujea didn't know how to refute for a moment.

He kept silent, but the pastor began to talk. The statue of the emperor closed his eyes behind him in contemplation, and for some reason his compassion waned. Tujea took off his hat and began to listen to the words of the strange priest.

"Actually, Mr. Tujea, what you should be more concerned about now is not me, but the nobleman who wants to capture you. No matter how much he indulged in drinking parties, it was probably time for him to notice that something was wrong. You're going to have to face more pursuers soon, and they're not going to take me or this church seriously."

The priest's eyes narrowed.

"Unbelievers." He threw the word lightly, and a chill suddenly came.

Tujea clenched his hat.

"In short, you have a lot to worry about. But don't worry too much, Litatra is a very tolerant city where anyone can find a way to survive. You, of course, are no exception, Mr. Tujea. Also, do you need some advice? ”

"What advice?"

"Change your clothes." The priest said, and made a gesture. "We're a small place here, and news from small places tends to spread very quickly. Maybe those people still don't know what you look like, but they probably already know what you're wearing. ”

"So, if you have an idea of that, you can look for a lady named Anaïs, who has a shop just east of the church and a plain white sign, which is very recognizable. Trust me, Mr. Tujea, you will be amazed at her craft. ”

Tujea nodded silently, no longer hesitating, he put on his hat and planned to leave, he had already made some decisions.

The pastor named Horst was suspicious, and so was this church. But this is not the most important thing for him to care about right now, the priority is to survive and report to his superiors what happened on the Litatra.

An aristocrat who dares to murder an investigator of the Ministry of Justice. Who knows what else he could do? Tujea doesn't like Litatra, but he also doesn't watch someone's plot ferment in this world.

He walked to the side door, but the priest stopped him.

"Oh, yes, sir. I have one more thing. ”

"What's the matter?" Tuje asked without looking back.

"What does that bowl of porridge taste like?"

"Very good."

"Really? That's fine. The pastor smiled and nodded, and watched him leave the church.

The side door closed, and the footsteps faded away, but he still smiled. Seconds later, a voice came from behind the tallest statue of the emperor.

"What do you think he'll do?"

"I don't know, probably to kill to stop killing." The pastor said. "I'm looking forward to seeing his faith collapse."

(End of chapter)

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