St. Lawrence Hospital stood still in the rain. Water droplets flowed from the glass windows, melting the world outside the windows.
"Have you served in the military?"
Rowan cut off his blouse and scanned the scars on the old tramp's arms with eagle-like eyes.
The beggar leaned on the chair and straightened his back slightly:
"Yes, in the New World to the east. It was not a pleasant experience."
At the end of Voluni's reign, the remaining elven fleet left Silvermist City (then called Yuanwang Port) and sailed to the east, never to be heard from again. It wasn't until more than six hundred years later that an explorer luckily crossed the stormy ocean and found their traces——
A brand new continent, "Arcadia".
That was the beginning of all legends and tragedies, swords and muskets, seven golden cities, the black ark, and the massacre of one race against another.
"I understand. In which regiment did you serve?"
"Corporal Joseph Daly, Line Infantryman, Pioneer Battalion, 1st Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Division, 3rd Lyrea Expeditionary Force."
He gave a military salute with his free hand. Rowan just shook hands with him:
"Rowan Shire, used to be a hunter. What is the name of your regiment leader?"
"Ke Lusi——" Just as he was about to answer, Dr. Luo Wen suddenly took his arm back violently. The veteran endured the pain and squeezed out a sentence through his teeth:
"...Cruth Harken."
"It's just a dislocated arm. I've helped you reset it. You must pay special attention to protecting this arm in the future."
"Thank you, doctor. But I don't have any money..."
"I'm more worried about your liver than this. You can't continue drinking."
"So what do I do? It's a painful world, and alcohol," he said, twitching his bird's-nest beard sadly, "is the only painkiller available to people like us."
"...I'm old and stupid. I don't have any skills except shooting. Even the woodcutter and fishermen gangs are not willing to take in people of my age."
"You'd better not mention that gang in public." Rowan reminded kindly.
"...I know a man who is in the pineapple business. The greenhouse plantation he runs needs a janitor. I happen to have a few spare sets of clothes in the lounge. Please take my letter of recommendation and change into another one. With the right outfit, I’m sure I’ll get a job.”
"It's too late, Brother Rowan, it's too late..."
"...The war destroyed us, and Lyria and the Emperor betrayed us."
The veteran sat up from his chair painfully and took out the worn-out medal. Looking at it for the last time, he was shivering. I don't know if it was the effect of cold or alcohol, and the medal fell to the ground.
"If the merits and demerits can be balanced, the Holy Spirit will acquit me."
After saying this, the old beggar seemed to feel much more relaxed, like a dock worker unloading a barrel. His tattered leather shoes ran over the medal, and he walked out.
Neither Rowan nor Ed, who was watching in the corner, spoke to stop him - the veteran had left everything he had here.
"I will pay for his medical expenses."
Ed suggested that after all, he had made the mess himself, and he should clean it up both emotionally and rationally.
Although he didn't have much money on hand and his salary for this month was overdrawn, he still had four faceless iron coins in his hand. Except for the one he planned to keep for upgrading the secret keeper program, the remaining three could be turned into cash, so Ed was not too strapped at this time.
"It doesn't matter, it's just a little effort."
Rowan waved his hand, signaling Ed not to mention the expense again. He walked forward slowly, gently picked up the medal on the ground, took out his handkerchief and wiped the dirt on it.
"A small medal can actually buy a person's life..."
Opening his palms, the doctor looked at the medal in his hand. The rain was pattering on the glass window, like a crying face.
…
After leaving the hospital, it was almost noon. Ed casually walked into a cafe and ordered buns, half a portion of pork liver, fried potato chips, small pieces of salted fish, and a large cup of hot coffee.
The total cost was one shilling. He quickly finished his lunch on the marble-topped table. The meal was not light, but it was always a bit unpalatable. After the meal, he could only recall that the coffee was very hot.
The green church in the rain exuded a bitter fragrance of vines, and the green became gloomy and depressing, and even the statues of the Seven Gods were filled with gloom.
Ed came to the Green Church. Today was Sunday. Father Dylan was foaming at the mouth and praying in front of the auditorium. At first glance, it looked like the same thing.
Without saying a word, the old nun led him to an unoccupied seat and gestured for him to sit down with her chin. The quaint wooden seats were scarred, like artificial growth rings.
Ed had no choice but to sit down, clasp his hands, lower his head and close his eyes, pretending to pray.
Otherwise, what else can be done? He swaggered up and said to Dylan, "This is the money your brother asked me to bring you."?
Then he and Dylan will definitely be packed up by the believers and thrown down the Ivy Bridge.
It's better to wait until the end of the week to talk to Dylan alone...
Fortunately, as a small church attached to the East End Cemetery, the Green Church adheres to the principle of "keeping everything simple":
There was no music, no choir, and even the most important donation collection was just the old nun holding the box and walking back and forth in the aisle without any persuasion.
The service soon ended, and the believers began to leave. Only a few believers were still bowing their heads in prayer or repentance.
Somewhat surprisingly, Dr. Luo Wen is also here. At this moment, he is closing his eyes and nodding, not knowing what he is reciting silently.
There are many much larger churches in the central district, so why would he make a special trip here?
What's more, if others don't know whether the priest here is reliable, doesn't he still know?
Dylan walked up to him and greeted softly:
"You haven't been here for a while." He looked around and gestured for Ed to come over. "How is Mr. Kuntu?"
"It's a half-life, I can't do more." Rowan didn't open his eyes, his voice was a little low.
"Dylan, tell me, can a person's good and evil be balanced?"
Just when Ed took the opportunity to sit over, Rowan asked softly.
"How do I know, but the lawyer definitely doesn't think so." Dylan lowered his head and rubbed his nails, then lowered his voice and said:
"As for theologians - you're definitely barking up the wrong tree. On a side note, I'm actually an atheist."
Atheist priest? !
Ed, who had just sat down, almost laughed out of anger.
"Don't look at me like that. If that idiot Bernard hadn't refused to inherit the family business properly and wanted to dump the whole mess on me, I wouldn't have gone to the seminary."
Dylan complained under his breath.
"...If I hadn't run away, I'm afraid you would have to call me Councilor Eaton now."
"What did Mr. Eaton do?"
These words piqued Ed's curiosity. Could it be that Mr. Eaton, a steady person like him, had an irregular side when he was young?
"It's not because of that girl of his... forget it, I can't tell you clearly."
He turned his head back and continued to say to Rowan:
"Anyway, old man, you have to find a way to get out of Poppy Valley. It's not your fault. If you want to blame it, blame it on the officer who gave the order, or the emperor with a bad ass."
Poppy Valley? Ed secretly recorded this place name in his mind and decided to go to the library to look it up when he had time.
"Yes, Sergeant Rowan Shire, it was not your fault."
A solemn and powerful call broke the silence of the chapel.
The man in front of him had gray beard and hair, like an old lion, but his body was as straight as a spear, with a solid gold sunflower medal hanging on his chest.
"...And I believe that in the face of the Holy Spirit of justice, good and evil can certainly balance each other."
Ed was a little surprised, Dylan turned pale, and Rowan had already stood up. The soles of his shoes made a crisp sound on the wooden floor, and he stood at attention solemnly and saluted:
"Hello, Colonel Corus Haken."
