Dawn was breaking, and the Holy City of Suria was stirring from its slumber. The Chantry's bells chimed, their distant and solemn sound like the whispers of a deity, washing over every corner of the city of faith.
Ethel Windsor, clad in the specialized mithril heavy armor of the Captain of the Thirteenth Holy Knights of the Chantry, stood silently in the waiting area outside the "Hall of Morning Prayer" – the side hall where the Pope handled daily affairs. The armor was sleek and imposing, its pauldrons and breastplate engraved with intricate holy sigils symbolizing light and order. She held her helmet in the crook of her arm, revealing a face that remained serene even bathed in the sacred light. Her honey-colored, long, wavy hair was meticulously tied back, with only a few stray strands casually falling, brushing against the elegant line of her jaw. Deep within her amber eyes, however, lay a barely perceptible weariness and a suppressed fire.
Morning light streamed through the enormous stained-glass windows, casting vibrant patterns of light and shadow on the mirror-smooth floor. The air was filled with the unique incense of the sanctuary and a faint thrum of magical energy. Occasionally, clergy in simple friar's robes hurried past. Upon seeing the newly appointed Captain of the Holy Knights, they would bow respectfully, their gazes holding a mixture of awe, curiosity, and perhaps a subtle, scrutinizing glint. After all, Ethel Windsor's rise had been too swift, and for many, her background remained shrouded in mystery.
Ethel's gaze shifted from the mural depicting the 'Advent of the Saint.' She lowered her eyelids slightly, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold mithril of her armguard, her thoughts drifting back to last night's suffocating encounter…
Last night, the moon was hidden and the stars were sparse. In the Holy City of Suria, within Ethel's study in her residence at the edge of the embassy district, only a single, specially treated magic lamp with a dim light barely illuminated a small area around the desk.
Ethel was contemplating a large military map of the Solon Mountains when suddenly, her brow furrowed. A faint, alien, chilling aura permeated the air. She whirled around, her gaze like lightning, but deliberately suppressed the Combat Aura that was about to erupt. Here, any leakage of Combat Aura could attract the attention of those old foxes in the Chantry.
The deepest shadows in the study seemed to writhe like a living thing, and a figure completely enveloped in a black cloak emerged soundlessly. Almost at the instant the figure appeared, Ethel closed in like a phantom, devoid of any energy fluctuations! She didn't draw her sword. Instead, with an almost feral instinct, she used the pommel of her dagger's sheath to precisely parry the figure's instinctively raised arm, her body twisting at an incredible angle, the cold edge of the dagger already pressed against the shadow's throat. The entire sequence was lightning fast, a pure display of physical strength and combat skill, without a hint of Combat Aura's sheen, making it all the more lethal.
"My Lady…!" The voice from beneath the cloak was hoarse and dry, filled with ragged gasps from the sudden attack and the terror of death's shadow. He could feel that if her wrist moved even a fraction more, he would be killed instantly.
Ethel stared at the silver eyes, characteristic of a Night Elf, which were slightly wide with fear in the darkness. Her own eyes were filled with disgust and suppressed fury. After a moment, she slowly withdrew the dagger, but the chilling intent and killing aura around her didn't lessen in the slightest. "Show yourself. If you dare appear like this again, I'll kill you. Who would care about an assassin anyway? Or is Father trying to remind me this way that 'surprises' are everywhere?" Her tone was bitingly cold, laced with undisguised sarcasm and strong resistance.
The shadowy messenger's legs gave way, and he nearly stumbled as he knelt on one knee, his head bowed so low it almost touched his chest. "This subordinate… deserves death! The Patriarch… he is merely… merely concerned for My Lady's safety in the Holy City."
Ethel let out a very faint, cold laugh and turned back to the map, her back to him. Her voice was filled with weariness and impatience. "Concerned? Or spying? Or perhaps, he's afraid I'll forget who I am, forget whose hands my mother's kinsmen are in?" Every word was like ice. She knew her mother had deeply loved her father, but she herself had little contact with him. After her mother passed away when she was ten, she had lived with her mother's clan. That so-called 'affection' for her father had long since faded, until ten years ago, when her father came bearing the head of the cousin who had called her a half-breed in her childhood. Then, her mother's clan became her father's best leverage against her.
The shadowy messenger shuddered, not daring to respond, and merely said in a low voice, "The Patriarch has new instructions."
Ethel whirled around, fury blazing in her amber eyes. "Instructions? What right does he have to give me instructions! I've infiltrated the Chantry for the Windsor family, wearing this 'human' face, enduring all this hypocrisy, not to be his puppet! Tell him, my patience is limited!"
The messenger, nearly suffocated by her sudden outburst of power, hurriedly said, "My Lady, please calm your anger! The Patriarch says… your mother's kinsmen are… all well recently. He also mentioned that if your identity as 'Ethel Windsor' were to be fully exposed in the Holy City… you know the consequences better than anyone."
Ethel froze, the fury in her eyes gradually replaced by a deeper chill and a sense of powerlessness. She clenched her fists so tightly her nails nearly dug into her palms. Coercion, blatant coercion! Using her long-deceased mother's kinsmen, using the true identity she had to hide, to force her into submission. She took a deep breath and spoke, her voice hoarse, "Speak. What dirty business does he want me to do now?"
The shadowy messenger, as if granted amnesty, fumbled under his cloak and produced a flat metal box wrapped in special shadow-silk, presenting it respectfully with both hands. "The Patriarch has ordered me to reiterate: the actions of those fools at the border this time must have attracted the Chantry's attention. Please ensure that the Chantry's attention is completely diverted to those insignificant, marginal tribes that the family has long since abandoned. The 'Purification' and 'Awakening' of the entire Solon Mountains region is at a critical juncture. The oracle of the Twin Gods brooks no interference, and the preparations for the 'Ritual of the Chosen' must be foolproof. You… are the Darkblade family's only hope, and the only one who can accomplish this task."
"Only hope?" Ethel took the metal box, her fingertips cold, a sarcastic curve playing on her lips. "Just a carefully polished pawn, ready to be discarded like a worn-out shoe at any moment." She opened the box and quickly scanned the documents inside. "These sacrifices… he's chosen them quite well."
She closed the box, her eyes becoming exceptionally resolute, but within that resolve was a hint of a desperate, self-destructive determination. "Very well. Tell your master I will perfectly complete the task he has assigned. But let him remember, one day, I will personally reclaim everything that belongs to me, including the freedom to choose my own path!"
The shadowy messenger dared not say more, only responding submissively, "Yes, My Lady! If there are no other orders, this subordinate… will take his leave." Before his words faded, his figure receded soundlessly into the shadows of the study like ink dissolving in water, vanishing in an instant as if fearing that lingering another moment would provoke even greater wrath.
The study returned to dead silence. Ethel leaned wearily against the edge of her desk, the metal box in her hand almost crushed by her grip. She closed her eyes, her mother's gentle smile flashing in her mind, only to be replaced by her father's cold visage. "Mother… if you knew how the man you loved so dearly treats your daughter now, would you still love him?" she murmured, her voice filled with confusion and pain. A moment later, she snapped her eyes open, her gaze once again sharp and icy.
Her thoughts returned to the present. Ethel let out a soft breath, forcibly suppressing the turmoil in her heart. Her amber eyes regained their undisturbed calm, as if the nocturnal confrontation and scheming had never occurred. She refocused her attention on the closed doors of the Hall of Morning Prayer, awaiting the impending summons. Only the hand gripping her helmet, its knuckles white from the force, betrayed that her inner state was not as tranquil as her outward appearance suggested.
"Knight-Captain Ethel Windsor, His Eminence Regent Auguste, the Pope's Regent, summons you." An acolyte's voice broke Ethel's reverie.
Auguste was the Cardinal who was currently stationed long-term in the Holy City; the other five were assigned to the five Grand Duchies. At this moment, he was the Pope's Regent. Ethel took a deep breath, buried all personal emotions deep within her heart, and her face resumed the composure and humility befitting a Holy Knight. She adjusted her armguard and strode towards the heavy oak door, a symbol of one of the Chantry's cores of power.
The interior of the Hall of Morning Prayer was even more magnificent and solemn than the waiting area. The dome soared high above, and sunlight, passing through the vast glass dome painted with scenes from the lives of saints, transformed into soft, sacred shafts of light illuminating the center of the hall. A richer incense permeated the air, along with the faint, ethereal sound of hymns, as if drifting from the heavens. Regent Auguste, the Pope's Regent, a lean but vigorous old man, stood with his back to the entrance, gazing at a large star chart on the wall.
Ethel stepped into the hall, the metal soles of her boots creating soft, rhythmic sounds against the polished stone floor. She stopped about ten paces from Auguste, knelt on one knee, placed her right hand over her chest, and said in a clear, respectful voice, "Good day, Your Eminence."
Auguste turned slowly. His face was aged and wise, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, as if capable of piercing through to a person's heart. "Ethel, my child, may the Light shine upon you." His voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority.
"The urgent intelligence from Grand Duke Blackwood in Windbreath Town – you should have seen it already." Auguste gestured to a nearby acolyte to hand over a magically sealed scroll.
Ethel accepted the scroll. Last night's "preparations" allowed her to remain composed. She "carefully" reviewed it again, her brow furrowing just enough. "Yes, Your Eminence. Night Elf activity along the Solon Mountains has become unusually frequent, with even small-scale raids occurring. This indeed exceeds the tacit understanding established between both sides after the Moonfall Conflict two hundred years ago."
Auguste's sharp gaze fell upon Ethel, carrying a hint of scrutiny. "Grand Duke Blackwood is concerned this might be a precursor to a large-scale invasion. As the newly appointed Captain of the Holy Knights, this is your first test, and your chance to prove yourself to those who still harbor doubts. What are your thoughts?"
Ethel paused for a moment, her tone laced with a degree of "uncertainty" and "speculation," yet sounding reasonable, as if it were a well-considered judgment. "Your Eminence, the Night Elves suffered greatly after the Moonfall Conflict and are riddled with internal factions. Based on my 'limited' understanding and past experience dealing with border conflicts, this seems more like some minor families, long dormant in the depths of the Solon Mountains, who, due to the prolonged blockade and scarce resources, are resorting to desperate measures like tentative raids and smuggling. Two centuries of isolation are enough for some young Night Elves to forget past lessons, and enough for some destitute tribes to take desperate risks. A large-scale invasion… given the Night Elves' current strength and degree of internal consolidation, it's unlikely, but we cannot entirely rule out the possibility of a grander scheme." She skillfully steered the conversation towards "minor families," "economic reasons," and "internal conflicts," while also leaving room for other possibilities, appearing both decisive and cautious.
Auguste stared into Ethel's eyes, as if trying to discern something. After a moment, he nodded. "Your analysis has some merit. However, regardless of the situation, we cannot afford to be complacent. The Solon Mountains are the kingdom's eastern shield; we cannot allow them to fall."
He paused, then continued, "I have decided that you will lead a Chantry-direct Knight Squad to Windbreath Town to ascertain the truth. If it is merely small-scale harassment, eradicate them as a warning to others. If… the situation is indeed as critical as Grand Duke Blackwood claims, report back immediately, and the Chantry's main forces will provide swift reinforcement. This is a test of your abilities, and an opportunity for you to prove to the entire Chantry, and to all who are watching you, that you are worthy of this armor and this position."
Deep inside, a cold sneer flickered across Ethel's thoughts, but her voice was filled with just the right amount of excitement and resolve. She knew this was both Auguste's test for her and an opportunity to further consolidate her position, gain more intelligence, and secure more autonomy. Her father's schemes, the Chantry's expectations – they were all just pieces in this intricate game of chess. And she had to be the one who could see the entire board and make the final move – for what she had to protect, and for the freedom she craved.
A perfectly timed glint of "determination" and "loyalty" flashed in her eyes, as if inspired by his words. Her voice was clear and firm, "As you command, Your Eminence! Ethel Windsor will ascertain the truth, fulfill this mission without fail, and spread the Chantry's radiance to every inch of land shrouded in shadow! I will also respond to all expectations and scrutiny with concrete actions!" She bowed again, hand to her chest, her voice resonant.
Auguste revealed an enigmatic smile, containing both expectation and the hint of a trial. "Very good. Your squad has been prepared for you; they are all Chantry elites. Depart at once. May the Goddess's gaze guide your path, and may you return with achievements that convince everyone."
An hour later, on the 'Path of Divine Grace,' the central thoroughfare of the Holy City of Suria, bells chimed in unison, and banners fluttered.
The Path of Divine Grace, this grand avenue dissecting the Holy City from north to south, had now transformed into a sea of faith. On either side of the road, the white marble edifices that usually stood in solemn silence now seemed to radiate a unique splendor because of the grand ceremony. Atop the towering spires that pierced the clouds, the holy emblem of the God of Light refracted the dazzling morning light. Enormous, lifelike statues of angels and saints gazed down with compassionate eyes at the surging crowd below. Countless flags and ribbons, adorned with Chantry insignias and scenes from the lives of saints, cascaded from every window and balcony, fluttering in the wind like a flowing river of color.
The air was not only filled with the incense of the sanctuary but also mingled with the simple scent of soap from the common folk, the delicate perfumes of the nobility, and the faint smell of sweat from the excited crowd. The melodious and solemn chiming of bells was not a monotonous unison but a coordinated symphony played by dozens of bell towers of varying sizes, creating a rich, layered resonance that vibrated in everyone's heart like the breath of a deity. Intermittently, spontaneous hymns would rise from a corner of the crowd, quickly swelling into a chorus of hundreds, then thousands. The singing, pure and devout, soared towards the heavens as if to directly convey the earthly reverence to the celestial gods.
The streets were already packed shoulder to shoulder, a veritable sea of people. Commoners in simple linen clothes, lavishly dressed merchants, scions of noble families wearing their house crests, and even some tottering elders and children held high by their parents, had flocked from every corner of the Holy City just to catch a glimpse of the newly appointed Captain of the Holy Knights and witness the Chantry's glory. Their faces, without exception, beamed with excitement and piety. Many clasped their hands in prayer against their chests, murmuring incantations, their eyes fixed on the end of the road, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the procession symbolizing light and hope. Some fervent devotees even prostrated themselves, kissing the dew-kissed flagstones as if this would bring them closer to divine grace. Lining both sides of the road, rows of Chantry guards in silver-white armor stood solemnly, their lances like a forest, maintaining order. Their very presence was the most direct manifestation of the Chantry's authority.
Ethel Windsor, draped in a pure white cloak emblazoned with the Chantry's insignia, mounted on a magnificent white warhorse, slowly rode out from the Chantry district, escorted by a contingent of Chantry knights in silver armor, armed with lances. Her mithril armor gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. The visor of her helmet was closed, revealing only her amber eyes, which appeared exceptionally bright in the shadows.
As Ethel's procession advanced with solemn dignity, the crowds lining the streets erupted. They cheered, "Holy Knight Ethel!" "The Goddess's Blade!" "Guardian of Light!" Countless flowers and ribbons rained down from the windows and balconies on either side, like a vibrant, colorful shower. Children excitedly chased after the procession, their eyes filled with adoration for their hero.
Ethel maintained a grave and solemn demeanor, occasionally nodding slightly to the crowd, which elicited even more fervent cheers. The sun cast long shadows behind them, while Ethel's heart, much like her face hidden beneath her helmet, remained concealed beneath this grand and fervent radiance of faith, burdened by unknown secrets, coercion, and a heavy weight. She felt the crowd's fervor, yet deep down, she felt a twinge of sorrow and mockery for this adoration built on lies. What they worshipped was merely a meticulously crafted illusion. Yet, at the same time, she knew that this illusion was currently her only shield, her capital for navigating this world interwoven with light and darkness. She had to continue this act, flawlessly.
The procession passed through the magnificent Gate of Holy Light and set out on the road to Windbreath Town. The clamor of the Holy City gradually faded. The road ahead stretched into the unknown distance, and also towards a more perilous game. Ethel gently tugged the reins. Her warhorse let out a low whinny, as if sensing the heavy mission and hidden resolve in its rider's heart.