CH-030

The traveling wedding of the Northern Lands Duke Claude Forrest and the daughter of the Grand Cathedral's Archbishop — Adalee — had its final stop in Carson City in July.

For Carson City, this was one of the most significant celebrations of the year outside of the religious holiday events and the annual harvest season — or perhaps the most significant celebration in a decade.

As early as June, the entire city of Carson, from top to bottom, had been making hurried preparations for the traveling wedding.

As the core party responsible for the wedding, the church had carried out very meticulous renovations of the cathedral. The already splendid frescoes and sculptures had been arranged to be repainted and re-carved; even every stained glass window in the cathedral had workers polishing them clean one by one with vinegar and linen cloth, to ensure that when sunlight poured through into the cathedral's interior, the light would be at its finest color, its finest brightness, its finest shape.

Carson City's municipal council was equally all-in, with the entire city undergoing renovations — especially the stone steps leading to the duke's manor. Every single step was freshly and finely polished by stonemasons, with the added installation of narrow drainage grooves along the center of each step, to effectively prevent water pooling. This meant that even in rain, the bride's skirts would not be soaked by standing water.

In addition, traveling merchants from all directions had begun flooding into Carson City a full month ahead of time. They brought specialties from various regions — especially goods from the south: food seasonings, specialty snacks, flowers and fresh produce, books and toys, clothing and accessories, even antiques. Stalls of every kind had already begun setting up along the streets and lanes.

Hotels and the lodgings provided by churches were packed to capacity well in advance, and signs of merchant activity had begun appearing in surrounding villages and towns as well.

The bustle and liveliness of the entire city, vibrant with energy, was reaching its final warm-up for the July grand celebration.

At the end of June, the fifteen pastoral districts under the Carson ecclesiastical district began, in accordance with the church's requirements, to send their prepared gifts ahead to Carson City for registration and cataloging prior to attending the wedding.

This part of the proceedings had initially not attracted much attention or anticipation. After all, residents of the Carson ecclesiastical district all knew that within the entire district, the only one with any money was Carson City itself. The faithful in the other pastoral districts were mostly poor — especially in the furthest-out Savoie pastoral district, a faith-barren land with over twenty years of no priest in charge.

A district like that could only be expected in the opposite direction when it came to gifts.

Yet this year seemed to be somewhat different.

On the afternoon of June thirtieth, an ox cart slowly entered through the gates of Carson City.

The cart carried something enormous, wrapped in layer upon layer of white cloth and then bound tightly with thick rope, completely covered with not a crack to be seen. The shape and volume of the sculpture were unlike ordinary cargo, and even without being able to see what was inside, passersby couldn't help but look back twice.

"Which pastoral district's gift is this?"

Not long before, Duke Claude's personal cavalry had accidentally discovered assassins hidden in one of the wedding gifts during a routine check. This had raised the duke's guard unit to high alert, moving the entire inspection process to the city gate square. Upon discovering anything unusual, those delivering gifts were either arrested on the spot or immediately killed — no mercy shown. After all, this wedding had weighty implications, and not a single slip could be allowed.

Once the duke's guard unit moved, the church's clergy and the city council's constables followed in step. The former moved the reception and cataloging of gifts to the city gate square as well, while even more constables were dispatched to maintain order there.

The cavalry now stopped the ox cart, and the square outside the city gate erupted into noise.

Before long, a small cluster of onlookers had gathered in the square.

The cart driver was a simple, honest man who had rarely seen such a grand show of force and had certainly never faced someone pointing a sword at him. He clambered down from the cart, stumbling over his words as he explained: "I — I was entrusted by Father Symeon of Stonehollow pastoral district to come and present a gift for the duke's wedding."

At the mention of Stonehollow, some people reacted. They'd heard it said that a miracle had occurred in Stonehollow over a month ago — it had briefly become the hot gossip of Carson City over afternoon tea, but within a few days the noise had quietly been suppressed. Clearly, the Carson City church was not willing to allow any chapel under its jurisdiction to eclipse its own prestige. And so, however divine the miracle might have been, it could not become an "off-note" threatening the authority of the Carson ecclesiastical district.

The townspeople were all well aware of this, each silently understanding.

Now hearing that this gift was from Stonehollow pastoral district, even more onlookers converged on the square.

"Remove the white cloth." The black cavalry captain's voice was cold and brooking no argument.

Items of this size were the easiest to conceal a person inside — the most suspicious kind.

The cart driver barely dared make the captain wait, especially not with all those cavalry at his back. He rushed to comply, but the ropes were tied so tightly that even with sweat-slicked hands and nails scrabbling at the bindings, he couldn't get a grip — so much so that the skin under his fingernails seemed about to peel away. The onlookers could barely stand to watch.

Time stretched on. The cavalry ran out of patience, lips pressed to a line: "Are you playing games with me?"

"No no, I wouldn't dare, how could I dare? The ropes were tied too tight — please give me a moment."

The black cavalry's eyes were full of indifference, with contempt and displeasure at the bottom of his gaze. One hand on his sword, one hand controlling his horse, he commanded the cart driver: "Stand aside."

Seeing the longsword gleaming coldly and pressing closer, the cart driver scrambled out of the way on all fours, immediately clearing a path for the cavalry.

But when he looked back and saw the cavalry captain raising his sharp sword toward the direction of the divine image, the cart driver couldn't hold back a warning cry: "Cavalry sir, that inside is a divine image — please, please handle it with care!"

The words had barely fallen when the black cavalry's grip on his sword tightened slightly, his lips curling in faint mockery.

He was not in the least religious. But in someone else's ecclesiastical territory, it was better to restrain himself somewhat.

So the cavalry restrained the arc of his sword swing.

The longsword flashed through the air, and the next second, two of the outer binding ropes were cut clean through. The taut ropes snapped outward — yet the white cloth was thick and heavy, still draping firmly over the sculpture without revealing anything beneath.

Cautious for safety reasons, the cavalry would not sheathe his sword before seeing what was beneath the cloth. So the black cavalry captain thrust his sword through the white cloth.

Quickly, amid the faint sound of tearing, the fabric split gradually from top to bottom.

But what emerged, to everyone's surprise, was not the cold, pale stone face of a statue — but rather a pair of hands that appeared almost real, immaculate yet full of life.

As they emerged through the gap, perhaps it was an illusion caused by the swaying cloth — but the cavalry's first instinct was that they were moving.

And so, upon seeing those hands, he immediately stepped back half a step, calling out sharply: "Who are you? Come out on your own."

The "person" beneath the cloth, as though in fear, did not move.

The cart driver glanced back and forth between the uncooperative divine image and the cautious cavalry, both startled and anxious. In the end, afraid the cavalry captain would carelessly damage the precious statue, he endured the strained moment and, unable to help himself, rushed forward — ignoring all propriety — and with one sweep of his hand pulled away the white cloth—

There stood a marble divine image, formed as though from condensed snow-light, head bowed, emerging through the sweeping white cloth as a deity quietly descending into the world.

Because the statue stood with its head slightly bowed, with robes softly concealing it, it was impossible to make out the precise shape of its face and features. Yet the very first impression upon the eyes of all who looked was eyebrows and eyes cool and transcendent, a countenance of breathtaking beauty. And when one met the deity's gaze, one could sense intimacy and calm within those eyes — a deep-hidden gentleness at the bottom of them, like an old friend one had always known.

Such a statue, full of a mysterious narrative quality — beautiful to the point of illusion, beautiful beyond compare — was not something one could easily dare to profane.

Standing before the marble divine image, everyone's gaze was irresistibly drawn in. They forgot to speak and forgot to think; even the black cavalry at hand stood momentarily transfixed.

The sword hanging at his side trembled almost imperceptibly, and he did not notice it.

The cart driver was oblivious to the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He was simply still trembling with fear, hand over his heart, looking up in terror at the black cavalry captain who loomed before him like a demon.

"Cavalry sir, excuse me... excuse me, is this acceptable?"

The black cavalry captain only came back to himself after quite some time. His fingers tightened fractionally; even the motion of sheathing his sword was slowed by half a beat. Before the words came out, a throat that rolled involuntarily blocked his crisp response.

After a long pause, he sheathed his sword and said quietly: "...Let them through."