Glen's face was a bit pale, his hands sweaty as he walked by the altar—seeing no traces of the strange ritual he had witnessed—everyone looking as normal as usual. The candles burned steadily. The marble floor reflected the morning light. Nothing seemed disturbed.
A few of his acquaintances, including Fred, saw him and struck up conversations, asking about his health with concern. Glen shook his head dismissively, took the Goddess' name, and assured everyone that he was fine. After some small talk, he took his leave and politely turned towards the open entrance that seemed to be quite lively… after all, it was a Saturday.
As he walked forward slowly with a smile on his face, Glen's heart was racing when he saw Priest Phelipe standing at the threshold, overlooking the plaza casually, with no expression on his face. Clearly, he seemed a bit absentminded, a rare sight indeed.
Glen stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and calmed himself down, thinking about the pleasant things in his life to steady his mind. Then he passed through the nave of the cathedral and arrived at the threshold, right in front of the priest.
Priest Phelipe had already felt the presence behind him and turned abruptly, somewhat startling Glen as he immediately lowered his head.
Priest Phelipe raised his brows slightly as he recalled the servant standing before him. It only took him a brief moment before his typical cordial smile appeared on his face.
"You are… Glen?" Priest Phelipe asked softly as he crossed his hands behind his back.
Glen's eyes widened in surprise. In all honesty, he felt slightly flattered that someone so high above had remembered his name. Raising his head just slightly while bending his spine even more, he replied, "Yes… Your Excellency."
Priest Phelipe nodded. Then abruptly, he frowned and leaned forward slightly. "What's this, child? It seems you are not well…"
Glen bent his back even more, his expression shifting to shame and embarrassment. "It's my fault… the Goddess must be dissatisfied with me!"
Priest Phelipe smiled dismissively and waved his hand. "Nonsense. Life and death, sickness and health are a part of being human in this life. The Holy Mother loves all her children, especially those who serve her devoutly." The priest paused for a moment and looked into Glen's brown eyes. "Servants such as you and I," he said with conviction.
Glen felt his eyes moisten and quickly lowered his head. Only he knew whether he felt guilty or deeply touched at that moment.
"You have a request?" Priest Phelipe asked as he turned his gaze away from Glen, overlooking the bustling plaza once more.
Glen put aside his emotions, his gaze drifting toward the plaza in front of the cathedral gates. "Your Excellency, I wish to give alms," he asked hesitantly.
"Why?"
"My sister is getting married, Your Excellency." Glen bowed even lower, his voice tinged with desperation and sincerity as he continued, "I wish to do a good deed and ask for the Goddess's blessings for her happiness."
Priest Phelipe was silent in thought, a faint pressure emanating from his body, making Glen more and more nervous. The priest recalled that Glen had a very good reputation. He was extremely devoted to the Order, worked hard without complaint, and his colleagues liked him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Priest Phelipe spoke simply without looking at Glen. "You may."
The other few servants nearby had seen the entire interaction and looked at Glen enviously, though they were also happy for him. This was quite an honor, and their respect for Glen subtly increased.
Some color returned to Glen's face. He was genuinely happy as he thanked Priest Phelipe repeatedly, then took his leave respectfully and left the building.
The view opened up before him and a hubbub of voices instantly rang in his ears. A large crowd had gathered in the plaza, stretching far beyond the cathedral grounds while Paladins stood guard, forming a perimeter with their mountain-like presence alone.
In front of the entrance, several stalls were set up—a handful of clergy stationed behind huge pots of porridge and stacks of bread placed at the back of the open stalls. Steam rose from the food and drifted toward the needy, carried by the humid spring breeze.
People had lined up at the cathedral. All of them were disheveled, wearing tattered, dirty clothing, their eyes fixed on the food with restrained hunger and hope.
This was not a rare event. Every Saturday and Sunday, the Cathedral gave alms in the name of the Divine Order, and a crowd would always show up. No matter how prosperous and developed the port city of Brinescar had become, that prosperity was quite recent. Naturally, there was still a significant portion of the population that was poor and hungry.
Glen approached one of the stalls and asked the clergyman in charge to allow him to give alms as well. The clergyman was surprised, even slightly outraged at first, but upon receiving a nod from Priest Phelipe, he immediately stepped back, allowing Glen to take over.
Finally, Glen began giving alms to the hungry crowd one after another. Behind the stall, someone filled the bowls with porridge. Another person placed the bowls onto plates and added two loaves of bread. Then Glen would take the prepared plates one by one and hand them to the needy standing before him.
Glen wore a genuine smile of contentment and satisfaction as he gave out the food with his own hands. Once, he had been the one waiting in line for charity. Now, he stood on the other side. He felt very fortunate.
As the crowd gradually shrank, a brief commotion stirred at the back. A dirty, old blind man joined the line, making his way toward the cathedral with difficulty, waving his stick over the ground to find his path.
The blind old man was quite frightening in appearance. Many of his teeth were missing, his eye sockets were dead white, his hair coarse and unkempt—who knew when he had last washed himself.
Seeing the blind old man, even the helpless poor felt pity and made way for him to pass ahead of them in a rare, touching display of compassion.
It so happened that the blind old man chose the stall where Glen was standing. Glen looked at the unfortunate soul before him, arms spread uncertainly, jerking slightly, those blank eyes turning as though still trying to see.
Glen sighed and offered a silent prayer in his heart. He grabbed the old man's arm to guide him and then carefully placed the plate into his hands.
The blind old man smiled merrily. His face was covered in dust and soot, his skin wrinkled and loose, yet there was not a shred of gloom in his demeanor. Before leaving with the food, the old beggar offered a deep bow to Glen, his blank, unsettling eyes facing him directly, carrying meanings no one could decipher.
Priest Phelipe saw the scene from above and sighed softly with compassion. A thought crossed his mind briefly before he chuckled to himself and turned back, disappearing into the cathedral.
A man with nothing smiles as if he owns the world, but a man who owns the world may never smile in his entire life.
Glen felt visibly relieved. His face was no longer pale. He continued the good deed happily while the blind old man found a quiet place away from the cathedral and finished the warm food with satisfaction.
After eating, he returned the plate and then left, slowly making his way toward the edge of the city where everything was old and decrepit. People lived in narrow, congested, crumbling houses. Of course, no one paid attention to the useless blind beggar as he took his usual spot on the ground at the rowdy market plaza and began begging for coins.
The shining sun had dipped near the horizon. Twilight stars blinked faintly in the sky. Only a few bronze coins rested in the beggar's bowl.
He was not disappointed. He was content. After all, he had eaten well that morning by the Grace of the Divine Order. The blind man, however, was quite tired and began dozing off.
Suddenly, his ears twitched. He sprang upright abruptly, his hand shooting toward the begging bowl, grabbing a wrist. "What are you doing?" he asked timidly, though his grip was firm.
The person before him looked embarrassed as whispers of condemnation echoed around them. He appeared to be an affluent, well-dressed young man who now found himself in a very awkward position. It looked as though he had been trying to steal from a feeble blind beggar. Shameful indeed.
The young man twisted his hand and easily freed himself. "Hey… I was putting money in the bowl! It's a misunderstanding… Do I look like a thief?!" he said hurriedly, his face flushed red in the evening light.
"How would I know?" the blind beggar tilted his head slightly.
The young man was momentarily speechless. He scoffed, then threw a few bronze coins into the begging bowl in irritation, shooting a glare at the onlookers as if to say, What are you looking at? Then he left with a stomp, muttering to himself.
The young man left the old, undeveloped district behind, wandered through the bustling market, bought some street food for himself, and then took a carriage ride to the commercial district.
He got off in the commercial district and began moving quickly, weaving through a maze of narrow lanes before stopping in front of a popular textile shop.
He entered the shop, removed his hat, bowed politely after seeing the beautiful female receptionist, and then proceeded inward, eventually descending a staircase into a basement.
The basement was quite large but damp and gloomy. A few candles burned weakly, providing what little light there was, revealing a table, shelves stacked with bundles of paper, and a group of ordinary-looking men in robes.
The refined young man removed his hat completely and exhaled sharply upon entering, his face twisting into an unpleasant scowl as he cursed, "It smells like shit in here. Fuck, I hate this place!"
A few of the men laughed awkwardly. Another frowned slightly in dissatisfaction. One man stepped forward, the candlelight revealing a face as ordinary as any other, yet his eyes were sharp and calculating.
"What have you got?" he asked calmly, his voice deep and steady.
The refined young man clicked his tongue in annoyance, already uncomfortable from the sweat clinging to his body. He quickly produced a tiny crumpled piece of paper in his left hand and a report slip in his right, handing them to the man in charge as though unloading a burden.
"It's intelligence from our little crow in the cathedral. Must be something important, I imagine," he remarked casually, dropping into a nearby chair and fanning himself with his sleeve.