Chapter 300: The Petitions

The official arriving at the City Hall earliest that morning was exactly Mayor Elric.

Since the day he was honored to inaugurate as the Mayor, every morning he maintained the habit of arriving half an hour earlier than everyone else to take advantage of skimming through the stack of documents needing to be processed during the day. Therefore he coincidentally was the first person seeing the strange man standing before the stone steps, his clothes smudged and soaking wet with mist, his two hands tightly gripping the frayed-brimmed hat.

Elric caringly stepped forward asking a few sentences, but the man just stammered unable to answer any sentence clearly. Asking for a name, he tremblingly said his name was Rudd, a commoner living in Oakhurst village. Asking what lawsuit matter he had coming here, he just absent-mindedly repeated back and forth several messy sentences having neither beginning nor end, about the whistling tune, about his wandering daughter, about the red wooden door.

Elric patiently stood listening forever but still had absolutely no way to piece together understanding the meaning, having to issue an order inviting him inside the main hall to sit temporarily, telling the servants to go get a warm blanket to drape warming him up, then ordering soldiers to run urgently calling the guy George to arrive resolving it.

George hurriedly ran arriving at the place when the sky outside had completely brightened. He only needed to prick his ears listening to Mr. Rudd muttering about the red painted door detail and the water well having the bent crank handle to be shocked to the point of having to tightly grip the tabletop to be able to stand firmly.

He hurriedly flipped opening his work notebook, flipped finding the exact record-keeping page in the group nine area, his two hands trembling to the point of clumsily flipping to the wrong paper page several times. At the edge corner of that paper page, he had carefully used a pencil noting down the real name that young girl had trusted telling him before timidly asking to change her name to Liss.

"Sir..." George lightly swallowed, trying to maintain calm: "Please let me ask, what is your daughter’s name?"

Mr. Rudd slowly raised his head, his voice hoarse because of the cold mist: "Her name is Elsie."

George stared intently at the name Elsie written neatly with a pencil at the paper page’s edge, a very long time later his throat choked up bitterly unable to utter another sentence.

The City Hall’s official horse carriage immediately carried the two people running express out to the East town area right in that early morning. Arriving at the head of the group nine area, George turned instructing Mr. Rudd to just sit still waiting on the carriage, while he proactively walked inside first alone. He always engraved deeply into his heart the words the Holy Son had strictly instructed, that digging up anyone’s life story mandatorily must ask the opinion of exactly that person before announcing.

The young girl was busily working at the brick drying yard, hunching her back bending down patiently turning every single undried raw brick to the other side. George tiptoed approaching near, called her softly once, then lowered his voice recounting in detail the sensational story last night in Millbrook, recounting about the emaciated man’s figure in Oakhurst village standing rooted before the City Hall gate since the sky was not yet bright.

The girl stood silently like turning into stone listening to him recounting, her hand still holding hovering a raw brick.

Hearing finishing the head and tail, she only raised her head asking him exactly one sentence, her voice very soft and weak: "Please tell me, what color was his house door painted?"

"That door... was painted red."

Crash!

The raw brick in her hand slipped dropping down onto the hard dirt ground, shattering breaking into halves.

Mr. Rudd was still standing nervously at the head of the group nine area, standing cowering beside the parked horse carriage, his two rough hands still tightly gripping the old cloth hat. From afar, the girl stepped out of the brick drying yard, her bare feet stepped every single step slowly toward him, walking extremely hesitantly, as if she was afraid that if she accidentally walked too fast then that man’s figure would vanish away like an illusion again.

The father and daughter stood facing each other separated by a few footsteps, their teary eyes looking at each other, no one parting their lips able to utter a single sentence. Endless six years of torment passing, the twelve-year-old little girl from the past now her physique had grown almost as tall as her father, her body significantly thinner, on her skinny wrists still clearly imprinting the scar mark caused by the old iron chain cutting into. The old father was so emaciatedly aged to the point she almost did not dare to recognize him.

Mr. Rudd moved his dry lips several times but still could not emit a calling sound. Ultimately, he had to purse his lips, tremblingly whistling the first sentence of that music tune from the past. The whistling sound rang out tremblingly shakingly, choked up brokenly, even losing its rhythm.

Elsie stood silently listening completely then paused for a moment. Then she also tearfully pursed her lips, raising her whistling voice continuing the second sentence of the song.

But having only whistled up to half a sentence she was already choked up unable to whistle anymore, bursting into sobbing crying running dashing over hugging her father’s neck tightly.

The surrounding citizens in group nine toilingly working nearby all automatically stopped their hands. Not a single person mindlessly raised their voice making noise, not a single person curiously stepped approaching near breaking that sacred moment.

The Crimson expert accompanying supervising group nine was a massive robust Golden Bull clan person, he stood silently looking at the father and daughter reuniting for a while then delicately silently turned away to another place, pretending to be busy bending down rechecking several raw brick rows already finished turning since forever.

Within a mere one week after that tear-soaked event, the Lyra City Hall consecutively received seven petition letters.

The first initiating letter was sent arriving from Oakhurst village. This petition was penned written by an agile young man in the village, he coincidentally was also attending the evening illiteracy eradication class in Lyra city exactly identical to kid Toby. The person honored to press his finger marking the first fingerprint at the end part of the letter was exactly Mr. Rudd.

The second joining application letter was sent arriving from a village located secludedly further toward the South. In that poor village completely no one knowing letters could be dug up, the village chief had to wade walking all the way up to the bustling Crossford market area to hire a scribe writing on behalf, gritting his teeth digging his pocket paying the cut-throat expensive price of two silver coins.

The third letter was personally self-written by the hand of an old village chief, the handwriting scrawled huge like a child’s fist, an entire giant piece of paper only managed to squeeze out writing exactly four short text lines.

The fourth letter was sent arriving from a village originally not lying within the Voss family’s governing territory but belonging to the territory ownership rights of a Viscount located in the West, inside the letter content honestly wrote that their villagers had invited each other walking wearing out their heels arriving at Millbrook village to stand listening to the radio drama throughout three weeks in a row.

The fifth, sixth, seventh letters sent arriving also carried an exactly similar content like that. Some letters were solemnly written on good quality paper, some letters were only crudely written on a piece of tanned animal skin, some letters the folks marked their fingerprints using black ink, some letters the villagers marked their fingerprints using squeezed-out forest tree sap. But summarizing completely all shared a common willed desire, that they thirstily wanted to ask to be merged into Lyra land.

Especially, at the end segment of the seventh letter there was even added a tiny text line written in.

This handwriting looked trembling completely different from the solid handwriting of the petition writer, looking over one could immediately guess it was the artwork of some curious child earnestly begging people to write adding in on their behalf: [If the great Lyra lord is willing to accept our village then will you dispatch people pulling the broadcasting speaker wire returning for our village to listen?]

Elric solemnly spread all seven petition letters out flatly on the tabletop in the small meeting room, he clasped his hands behind his back pacing back and forth around the table an unknown number of laps because of a headache.

"My two Lords, if counting carefully there are four villages currently belonging to the Voss family’s governing territory, two villages belonging to the territory owned by Viscount Ainsley, the final one village directly belongs to the Church’s fiefdom." He grimaced bringing his two hands hugging his head: "The villagers arbitrarily making applications asking to merge into Lyra city then that action is also no different from them secretly taking the lords’ legal land giving offering it for free to Lyra. If we close our eyes nodding accepting then..."

"It is because their citizens automatically ask to join." Sane crossed his arms coldly speaking interrupting.

Elric resentfully opened his mouth intending to raise his voice arguing back something, but when seeing Sane’s nonchalant face as if nothing happened he just swallowed the choked words down his throat stopping.

Kaelen patiently picked every single letter up skimming his eyes reading, he read very slowly, reading down to even the crooked slanted begging text lines at the bottom of the page. Finishing reading the final letter completely, he gently stacked neatly all seven letters together, using his hand stroking smoothing out the paper edges.

"This matter you do not need to answer in a hurry yet. You dispatch people going inviting the village chiefs of every single one of those villages up to the City Hall. I want to personally speak directly with them." Kaelen directed with a deep voice.

Elric hearing that breathed a long sigh of relief, respectfully bowing receiving the transmitted order. He just turned his heels intending to step walking outside when Sane conveniently picked the seventh letter up, staring intently at the tiny text line at the bottom corner of the page for a while, then suddenly called him halting him.

"Elric, you endure the trouble going down to the workshop asking old Borin seeing in our warehouse currently how many copper wire rolls are remaining surplus."

Elric being called halting back, turned his face back with his facial features distorted like a bitter melon: "Lord, did Holy Son Kaelen not just instruct saying we do not answer deciding in a hurry yet?"

"Well I already said not answering them in a hurry yet. I only instructed you to go ask checking the materials first to prepare just in case." Sane casually justified.

Elric wordlessly looked at Sane, then rolled his eyes looking over at Kaelen with a gaze like begging for intervention. Kaelen rested his two hands on the tabletop, lowering his head down laughing to the point both his shoulders shook, completely ignoring having no intention to step out rescuing Elric.

While the atmosphere at the City Hall was tense as a bowstring, then at the Voss family’s luxurious manor, Baron Harlan Voss was sitting tearing his hair out alone in the quiet study room.

The situation was bad to the point over half the amount of his core tenant farmers had secretly left for foreign lands. Some families secretly packed belongings escaping right in the dark night, some families even did not bother to respect faces leaving at night, they arrogantly packed wagons carrying stuffed completely full of belongings clattering running blatantly passing before the manor’s main gate right in the middle of broad daylight.

The miserable households still clinging staying behind whenever accidentally crossing paths seeing the Voss family’s henchmen servants would pout turning their faces away to another place. That great dam he once arrogantly ordered built at the head of Millbrook village’s source now was abandoned without a single ghost bothering to care paying attention to.

The stream water being blocked stagnated piling up full rising high filling the entire lake bed, while that wooden sluice gate opening or closing also no longer brought any bit of important meaning to the villagers anymore.

On his exquisitely carved desk right now was piling up a stack of screaming debt collection papers, this dirty paper stack today was even thicker than the stack of the day before. The measly amount of two hundred gold coins obtained thanks to that secretive selling deal of the stream-side strip of land had quickly evaporated following exactly those debt foreclosure papers disappearing completely without a trace long ago.

Right early this morning, the creditors’ henchmen again dragged their faces arriving bothering him. This time they were arrogant not bothering to sit drinking tea waiting in the guest room like every other time anymore, but burst straight brazenly all the way into his beloved stable area. They took their leather whips pointing at every single warhorse, jerking their chins asking butler Pym seeing which one in the herd still had value converting into money for debt foreclosure.

Voss sat helplessly staring rigidly at that haunting debt collection paper stack throughout an entire gloomy afternoon. By the time the sun set pitching dark, he resentfully called Pym heavily bringing good paper and ink arriving.

He gritted his teeth bowing his head writing an urgent petition letter sending expressly all the way up to the Royal Capital. Inside the letter’s content, he used venomous words denouncing the Lyra city authority secretly using all despicable fraudulent tricks to blatantly usurp the legal land of the aristocratic class.

Denouncing Lyra blatantly harboring covering up for the escaping slave bunch, arbitrarily establishing a court illegally detaining and judging the Merchant Guild’s people. And the greatest crime was they dared to establish altars worshipping heretical monsters. He wrote long-windedly a continuous streak without resting until near midnight before finishing.

Finishing writing, he carefully proofread the text up to two times to be sure, then forcefully stamped the signet seal bearing the image of the majestic hawk perching on the watchtower right close to the bottom corner of the paper page.

Dimly lit morning the next day, Voss resentfully led butler Pym along, the master and servant jumped up riding horses urgently hitting the road advancing straight toward the Royal Capital.

That quiet evening, Kaelen and Sane were shoulder to shoulder sitting peacefully on the towering bell tower of the City Hall.

Below the tower foot, Lyra city’s streets had already begun lighting up brightly. Casting eyes further a bit toward the East, the flickering lanterns in the new town area were sparkling like falling stars on the vast land plot.

Compared to the first days, the light density now seemed sparser, the reason was because very many households had toilingly finished building walls completely, finished roofing the cozy roofs, so those lamps had been carefully brought hung inside the house by them to avoid the wind blowing.

Looking even further away toward the extreme South, tracing along the path of the irrigation canal, there was a tiny light speck flickeringly glowing brightly right at the spot of the broadcasting speaker pole of Millbrook village. Certainly that passionate crowd going listening to the drama arriving at this hour still lingered refusing to carry their chairs returning home.

Kaelen leisurely opened his palm out before his face.

Inside his small palm, the light streaks symbolizing the familiar faith threads sprouting roots from Lyra city’s citizens were still warmly intertwining with each other, the density thickly packed and radiant. But right in this quiet evening, lying interwoven in the middle of that durable string bunch appeared additionally several completely brand-new light silk threads.

Those newly sprouted connecting threads looked still very fragile and slender, pale colored, violently vibrating weakly as if they could snap breaking off at any moment. Most especially, their origin did not sprout roots from the people inside this city but stretched connecting back from all the way in the distant South, from exactly those poor villages where perhaps the majority of the toiling citizens inside there had never even been able to hear his calling name yet.

Sane stared intently following the slender faith threads inside Kaelen’s palm, he did not raise any words of commentary, only gently reached his hand out closing Kaelen’s fingers then squeezed tightly holding them.

Suddenly the sound wave messaging machine stored inside Kaelen’s shirt pocket flashed brightly. He hurriedly pulled it out checking, on the smooth stone slab surface clearly appeared a small text line.

[Papa, Daddy, the weather today on my side is raining heavily with strong winds very much. I wonder if it is raining on that side? – Oliver]

Kaelen smiled gently, again using exactly one index finger patiently slowly typing every single word reacting replying.

[The weather on this side the sky is very clear blue. Papa misses you all very much. – Papa]

He had just finished typing pressing the send key completely, Sane had reached his hand snatching the machine, also stubbornly using exactly one index finger, slowly typing adding an accompanying line inserting below.

[Your Daddy also feels exactly like that.]

The tiny bright dash at the corner of the screen again began blinking flashing then turning off, the light sometimes blazing up sometimes becoming blurry. The two Deities sat closely beside each other silently waiting for the message to be transmitted away, waiting endlessly, until the night winds blowing gliding across the bell tower began carrying freezing cold breath.

Over ten days after that night, all the way in the luxurious Royal Capital, lying deep inside a majestic magnificent mansion that both Kaelen and Sane had never had the opportunity to set foot visiting, the wax candle on the mahogany desk was still blazing burning flickeringly even though the time had stepped past midnight.

On the tabletop were displayed scattered piled full of urgent report envelopes sent expressly back from every scattered region in the kingdom. There was a veiny hand flipping opening every single letter, the eyes skimming reading the content very sharply fast, finishing reading filtering whichever letter then threw stacking it neatly aside that letter.

Only until the fingers flipped to a letter stamped with a wax lump bearing the image of the hawk perching on the watchtower, did that hand finally stop its motion.

The mysterious man sitting behind the desk pondered reading carefully the content of that letter from the first line to the final line, finishing completing then carefully re-read back and forth one more time.

After that, contrary to habit, this important letter was not arbitrarily stacked thrown onto the already read junk mail pile, but it was solemnly placed leaving it separately into a deserted table corner by that person, lying silently nestled right beside a paper-thin classified file folder.

On the cover page of that yellowed file folder was neatly written exactly one single name.

Lyra.