Blade and Poetry

I managed to get on the red leather car to Puguo at the end of May.There is an air ban above Puguo, and the red leather car is the only means of transportation that can go directly to the ninth city of Puguo from Colendonan.Recently, the screening for entering and exiting the border has become stricter. I think if it wasn't for my Vanguard ID card, it might not be so easy for me to get the ticket as soon as possible.

There are nineteen compartments in the carriage. I chose an empty seat and sat down, listening to the creaking of the hard-shell car and setting off.In the outer pocket of my thin coat I stuffed bits and pieces of Pu country currency, and in the inner pocket I held my poetry book, a few candies, and the ring I picked up in a test.On the cuff of my shirt was the little medal, juxtaposed inconspicuously with the other button.I also packed some water and clothes in my carry-on bag for emergencies.

I found many precious material records in my grandfather's library.Although the gaps in the literature in recent years have not been filled, its old storage is enough to give me a general understanding of Puguo.

In my opinion, the contents of those documents are quite one-sided in some points.Regardless of some basic information—for example, Puguo is a neighboring country to the south and west of Columbus, its land area is a quarter of its size, and the ninth city in the center is evenly surrounded by eight outer cities—it is actually very unreasonable in other places .According to a chronicle, the king of Puguo selected Galenno, the first archbishop in the country, in 797, and then spread the New God beliefs throughout the country, and developed a group of loyal believers.By 803, the implementation of major domestic policies had to go through the hands of the new archbishop, and the status of the king and the Congress seemed to be empty.

There are many inconsistencies in this passage alone.At that time, the king was in power, but he was controlled by the prevailing theology of the old age; the confidants selected and appointed by the king deprived the king of real power in just a few years; the people of Pu in the past did not seem to have any religious beliefs. And New God is not even a religion with a long history—judging from this new name, it is possible that its scriptures were newly compiled in the past 50 years, but the people of Puguo accepted and believed in it.

The above remote and strange things may be verified by me after I arrive in the Ninth City.However, the lingering confusion in my heart has still lingered in my Hoftas apartment, buried in the cracks of another old book.

The paper that slipped off Fusion that day was actually letter paper.I am not familiar with the writing on it, but a name I am very familiar with is mentioned at the beginning of it.

"Dear Redmonton:

I have read your question.But I still want to say to you: don't question the correctness of the goal.All ups and downs are inevitable, because what we are going to enter is the most magnificent era—and it will become a division of an era.Before it was born, too many people were walking on foot; and after it was born, all sacrifices will be dimmed into paper words that stay in the past tense.Golden age!It will bring about another golden age.A new look, earth-shaking, more universal than the previous change, worth everything we pay.

I am so eager that that era can be presented in your and my lifetime.

I wish you all the best in your trip to Puguo.

Your friend,

T"

Judging by the age of the paper, it must not have been addressed to the little Mr. Redmonton with whom I had just dealt.We all firmly believed that our father was a great man, but I never knew that something my father participated in could have epoch-making significance as stated in the letter.

Is it really just a coincidence that this letter was caught in Fusion?

I leaned against the window glass of the red leather car and slept all night, until the car bell rang from the front of the car, I packed my things and jumped out of the car.The temperature outside is low, and the weather at the end of May is like autumn, with a slightly cold wind blowing.The outer city wall is very plain, and a few groups of people in gray burqas have just walked along it, and I can vaguely see the weeds outside the city through the opening of the city gate.

This is the center of Puguo - the Ninth City.

The scenery at the foot of the city wall is really desolate.I recalled the address mentioned in the mission, and vaguely spoke it out to ask passers-by.The young man seemed a little vigilant, shook his head and left.On the other hand, the two half-grown children who passed by holding the piano were very enthusiastic. They leaned over and explained to me, and asked me for some change.Only then did I know that the address was further inside Jiucheng, so I had to walk another way and took a wooden cart.

The owner of the car was very talkative, and asked about the purpose of my trip in a few words.I didn't have time to open my mouth and hesitated, but he himself spoke enthusiastically first:

"Your accent doesn't sound like a native of the city, is it from another place?" He said, "The central area of ​​the Ninth City is not as lively as the outside. Look at the vendors around here, the street painters mixing paint, and Singing waifs and pickpockets scratching people's purses—these scenes won't be seen until you go further in. It's very quiet for miles around, and the patrol guards of the Rites and Justice are there every day, and you can always see them .But there is one exception—the No.20 Eighth Street No.30 you mentioned."

He hummed a little tune, turned the wheels, passed between two rows of low, blue-painted houses, and turned around a few bluebells in the clearing.It was the first time for me to ride this kind of car, and it felt very novel, and I couldn't help but look back and forth, left and right.I noticed that the wooden cart under me was not driven by horses in front, nor did it seem to be driven by magic power. The owner only needed to move the mechanical handles next to the left and right hands from time to time, and the wheels underneath would spin.

"Why is it different from other places?" I took his lead and acquiesced to what the outsider said.

"Hey, you don't know about that—I guess so." The car owner blew a loud whistle, "Then No.20 Eighth Street and No.30 must have a charity point. I heard that in addition to bread and fruit recently, the church People also set up a new stove outside the house two days ago. The weather is cold, so there are always more people coming.

"Almsgiving?" I repeated, suddenly having a flash of inspiration. "Is—one of our bishops?"

"It's the initiative of Archbishop Galenno." The owner seemed to have opened the brakes, and even his car seemed to be driving a little faster. "Only in such a close place can I truly understand how kind the bishop is. Man! I've never met anyone who was more compassionate—selfless and kind. Who could empathize with the plight of the hungry and homeless? If I ask you, that would have been nothing to him It doesn't matter at all. He is God's most favored people and God's most devout believer. Not only that, but our next generation..."

His tone dropped immediately, and he uttered an ancient saying that looked like a prayer.I saw the roadside thin out, and round the corner came a line of men in gray burqas, their faces half buried in the shadow of wide hoods.Their appearance seemed to turn the wind around them into a sound-killing wave, and pedestrians on both sides of the street stood still when they saw them.Our car also stopped, and we started again after the group disappeared from view.

"A patrol guard?" I recalled the noun he mentioned earlier, and asked tentatively.

"It's a patrol guard." The car owner said solemnly.

He didn't talk much after that, and the surroundings became quiet, and the only people on the side of the road were silent.It wasn't until he put me on 28th Street that I heard distant noises.

I handed him the fare, and he put it in the money bag and said to me, "God loves His people."

"Yes." I said casually.His expression at that moment was a bit weird, and I realized that I might have said something wrong-but the car owner who was eloquent before didn't pay attention, turned around and left.

The air was very clear, I took a deep breath and walked towards NO.30.

Outside the low room of No. 30, there were two nuns in gray burqas showing their heads and faces, and they were distributing food to the crowded and thin children.In addition to children, the waiting crowd included some well-dressed youths and women with baskets on the periphery, eagerly looking at the white heat rising from the side of the house.I slipped the "Masque of the Soul" on my fingers, crumpled my thin coat in my arms, undid one of the cuff buttons, and squeezed into the back of the crowd.

In front of me was a half-old man with a slightly stooped figure and a spine protruding from the fabric covering his back.The nanny who distributed the food seemed to pass it to him, the two said something to each other, and then it was my turn.

A table was placed in front of the two nuns, with several large baskets on it; the aroma and heat of the food radiated from there.One of the nuns brought me a piece of bread, and the other took a small bowl to serve me soup, and told me where to return the bowl in a gentle voice.

"Thank you." I raised my eyes and quickly looked behind them.At this time, the outline of house NO.30 became much clearer—it was similar in appearance to many houses I had seen before, even simpler, with gray and white facades as a whole, and no carvings on the stone pillars.The whole house has only one small floor, and the door is wide open for one person-no gate.The door that should have been installed seems to have been removed, and from here, only a short clean corridor can be vaguely seen.

I took the bread and the soup bowl in my hands, and only heard the nun say, "God loves his people."

I paid attention this time and tried to answer: "God loves His people."

That's about the custom.The nun smiled gently and beckoned the people behind me to come forward.The pile of things in my arms was piled up in disorder; I went to the end of the line and, like many people, dipped bread into soup.

"I'm here for the first day," I whispered to a man next to me who was gobbling, "can you tell me what time alms is usually available?"

"From noon to eight o'clock in the evening." The man seemed to choke on being asked, and looked up at me suspiciously.

"So it's empty at other times?"

"Except for patrol guards," the man said.Then he concentrated on his food and stopped talking to me.

That silver ring was always on my right hand.I found a small hotel near 29th Street, paid for the room for seven days, and began to pay attention to the routes and times of the patrolling guards—including my observations and casual information from the wanderers.I found that the No. 30 house itself does not seem to be special. When there is no alms outside the door, its door is also open, as if it is not guarding against outside intruders.I didn't see anyone coming or going from there the few times I walked by, thought it might be an empty house.

Out of caution, I blended into the crowd to receive relief as usual on the seventh night, and then shrank to a corner and sat on the ground.I blocked the movement of my fingers with my body, and drew a concealment circle intermittently around me.When the donation was over, the crowd dispersed, and a group of patrolling guards just passed by my eyes, I immediately went to the door of NO.30.The corridor in the house was not lit, but one could see the end at a glance.There is a door opening on the left and right, and there is no door leaf either.

I stepped into the door on the left first, and drew a small lamp rune in my hand to illuminate it.

It was a small room, which looked as if it belonged to a person's residence, and the furnishings couldn't be more plain: a wide-legged desk against the wall, a chair, and a bed against the window. The bed surface is generally large.As far as the eye can see in this room, there is no place to hide things at all—even the floor under his feet is solid everywhere.I thought over and over several times what was required in the letter, and decided to look at the room on the right before making a decision.

The moment my little lamp rune was lit up again, I almost thought that the distance I had traveled before belonged to my illusion.The room on the right looked like a perfect replica of the room on the left, with the beds, wide-legged tables, and chairs in exactly the same positions.But there are two more windows in this room, which are set on the two opposite walls.One was towards the side of the alms-house; I went to look, and found that the sash was nailed shut--the one at the other end was wide open.I poked my head out of the window and found that the scenery outside was very good, with dark trees planted and a lake not far away.

"This place is pretty much barren," I thought ruefully, "so there's no need for guards."

I knocked on the wall, waiting to search again unwillingly, but when I lowered my eyes, I saw a difference: a low cabinet was hidden under the table in this room.Before, because the table legs on both sides were too wide, my sight was blocked.

I couldn't help but quickly looked around, and bent down to touch the cabinet door.It has no handle, just a small indentation that doesn't budge when I push or pull.

When I was in deep thought, the sound of footsteps from far to near became very clear.It is stable and steady, only separated by a wall, facing the door of my room.At that moment, I subconsciously snuffed out the runes in my hand, rolled under the table, and retracted my body as much as possible into the gap formed by the low cabinet, the table legs, and the stone wall.The next second the man stepped into the room, seemed to pause at the door for a while, then lit the lamp, moved the chair to the desk, and began to write something rustlingly.

My angle of view was wide enough for me to see the man's pant legs and shoes.It gave me a certain familiarity, as if it was similar to the set of the Rangers.Judging by the size, it was a pair of men's feet—probably the resident here.Perhaps a busy priest is willing to live in such a poor environment.

The priest wrote for a while, put away the pen and paper, and got up from his seat.I held my breath and didn't dare to catch my breath, so I heard his footsteps gradually recede to the other end of the room.I remember that direction, probably the window facing the tree and the water.

I stood still, counting the seconds, imagining his feet rooting in place.The priest sighed suddenly at the other end, and said in an inaudible voice: "You once told me that the door of your house is always open to everyone, and only in this way, the souls who need to be saved don't have to trek for a long time. It's too hard..."

It was a young voice.

I was absorbed in listening to him finish this sentence, and he returned to silence. There was the slight sound of some paper rolls rubbing against the ground, and then the soft sound of the soles of his shoes hitting the ground; then the man left, and the room suddenly fell back. the original darkness.

I waited silently for a while before getting out of the gap.I'm ready to fail the mission - I really have no idea where the black box is, and it's impossible to destroy the cabinet with great fanfare.The information revealed to me in the letter is too little. Judging from my current situation, the information is so little that it doesn't even look like the sender expects me to complete it.If it is not a "task" rather than a "test", I would even think that this is a deliberate attempt to make things difficult for candidates.

But I was still not reconciled, leaning my right hand on the cabinet door, thinking about whether I should try a certain rune.Perhaps this is a locker that can only be activated by magweave - not the old-fashioned way of locking important things.

I rubbed its heavy and smooth door panel back and forth, but suddenly felt the cabinet door jump under my hand; I subconsciously withdrew my hand, and the door bounced open by itself, revealing the stacks full of scroll.

I was bewildered, fingers groping inside ahead of my logic.I came across an angular object in the deepest part of the cabinet, so I moved the top stack of paper rolls and squeezed the hard object out from behind the paper.

With the light of the small lamp rune, I saw a black flat box slightly longer than my palm lying quietly on my hand.

This surprise was too incredible and too shocking.I closed the cabinet door numbly, and tried to open it a few times to no avail.I compared the details in my memory, pondered for a moment, took off the ring on my right hand, and stuck it to the depression on the cabinet door.Sure enough, the cabinet frankly opened again.

"The recessed shape of the cabinet door does close a gem-sized bump on the face of the ring, perhaps owned by its owner." I stared at it, thinking, "But my ring—I'm from another country, Why can a ring without any gemstones be knocked on this door? Its existence cannot be known to the upper echelons. How can they be confident that I can get this black box?"

I didn't have time to think about it any more.It's almost time for the next wave of patrol guards, and after that is the curfew. It is said that the members of the "Ritual Society" who patrol during the day will be replaced by members of the "Redemption Society" at this time, and everyone talks about the "Redemption Society" Sometimes it is somewhat taboo.I didn't want to meet them face to face, so I quickly stuffed the black box and the ring into the inner pocket, and took the poem book that was originally there in my hand—it was slightly bulging, but it was not easy to detect without looking carefully—lightly He ran out on his feet.I turned my front foot out of the first doorway and froze in place.

The lights in the corridor suddenly turned on at that moment, and someone was standing opposite me.

He was wearing a gray smock, his face was hidden in the shadow of the hood, only half of his chin and a few strands of hair hanging outside were exposed.The light above our heads was dim, and I couldn't see his face clearly.

"Hello." I was stiff all over, trying to maintain a natural appearance.I couldn't bear to look down to see if my coat with the black box was flat enough.

He said, "You are?"

His question was very short, but his flat tone seemed to suppress his anger—it was the voice of the owner I had heard before.

I can only pray at this moment, he may not have witnessed my actions inside, maybe he just turned back.

"I'm not familiar with this place, I just passed by," I said in a low voice, "I'm sorry, did I offend something? I only received alms recently. I heard from the nuns here that wherever the church goes, it is very important to everyone. It was open, and I just walked in on this day to take a look."

I was talking nonsense, of course, and I was using some realistic imagination—but the voice on the other side of me miraculously softened.

"You misheard me," he said. "That was referring to the church. This is my private residence."

"I didn't know before, I'm sorry," I said, "I just looked in and realized it wasn't supposed to be a preaching place."

The man's two eyes were probably examining me from the shadow under the hood.

"What's that in your hand?" he asked.

"The book where I write poems." I opened the contents in it for him to read. "I can assure you it wasn't taken from the inner bookshelf—if there was one."

He flipped it hastily, as if weighing how to deal with the follow-up.

"Thank you for forgiving me," I continued, recalling the usual rhetoric of believers, "God will love you very much, my lord."

He didn't say anything more, and handed the notebook back to me, and slightly moved out of the way, as if signaling that I could walk past him.I can feel that his gaze no longer rests on me, and I slowly walk into the distant night.