4-13

Hylan realized he was a bit agitated. He had not arrived here with a completely calm mind. The air in the old prison made his brain heavy, and his respiratory tract seemed coated with coarse rust. He had already violated enough medical advice; since his body could no longer self-regulate properly, he had to at least ensure he could control his emotions.

At the beginning of these conversations, he tried to hide his intentions. When he saw the Panthonia tomb, the suitability of the site and whether the deceased could rest undisturbed were not his main concerns. At that moment, his emotions were dominated by a persistent unease. He did not feel like he was looking at a white gravestone and a patch of green grass. What he saw was a recently extinguished volcano, submerged reefs beneath the sea, and a sword with a notch carved out, submerged in a battlefield of blood. How could a small patch of easily turned soil contain all the sins he committed in life? At times in his life, he did wish for Panthonia to suffer a painful death and to be buried without anyone to mourn, vanishing as if he had never existed the moment his breath ceased. Now he understood how absurd and laughable such thoughts were; just as a devout follower of the holy light does not need specific tools or rituals to invoke awe for their faith, a mere gravestone could not erase the fear Panthonia had instilled in others.

Moreover, he felt an unusual loneliness. It might not be long before he too became a marker standing in the graveyard. Compared to Panthonia, he should get a more expensive coffin, a more elaborate tombstone, and a larger crowd, occupying more soil. But ultimately, these differences were meaningless. He still had many important things to do; he would hasten his steps while waiting for that day to come. Waiting always made one feel lonely.

"You must have already seen Bossia," he calmed his tone.

"Don't be pretentious. She came here because you allowed it."

"I gave her permission, but I haven't spoken to her since then. You probably think I want to get something from you through her."

"I am actually a stranger to her, and she clearly has no clear understanding of the current situation. If you want to ask what you hope to find out through her, you might as well ask me directly and perhaps get some hints."

"You need not be hostile toward me now. You are waiting for a trial by the council; perhaps there will be a chance for you to defend yourself, or perhaps not. By choosing to surrender, you indicate that you do not wish to escalate the matter further. If I tell the council that you show no remorse in prison and are full of hostility, what will they think? Or is that your true intention? I have asked some people and reviewed some records; I know your history, Jorgen. Driven by an incomprehensible obsession, you have repeatedly put yourself in difficult situations. This time, if this so-called obsession is loyalty to Panthonia and the MI7, it is truly not worth it. Eight years ago, he wanted to kill you, and that was also the beginning of Bossia's choice to wander..."

"Bossia's issue is her conflict with Benedictus," Jorgen interrupted Hylan. "Furthermore, I don't want to hear you talk about her anymore because it is pointless, and we don't have time to waste."

"Fine. Not talking about her is fine, but there are many other things I need to remind you of. Before the establishment of the MI7, Panthonia's way of doing things was already set. Long before you joined the MI7, he was creating disasters for others. You have sympathy for the weak; he does not. Any sign of weakness only provokes him to seize and destroy further. In such cases, the weak either submit and endure torture or escape. You know, his biological son chose the latter. But no one can escape for long, and Dean was no exception. I am not entirely clear about the details, but I know the beginning. Dean was a kind person, which was no secret in Storm City at the time. He could not bear the burden of following in his father's footsteps and even left his pregnant wife because of it."

Jorgen fell silent. Hylan had anticipated this reaction; all he had to do was continue speaking until his intentions were clearly conveyed. Subtle hints were now entirely pointless.

"When Panthonia controls a person's life, he never lets go. Think about those you love... Dalia. Panthonia never stopped controlling her. You both once worked together to escape his influence, but ultimately failed. You planned to buy a house in Lakeside Town to escape all constraints of the MI7; now she is unable to do this with her own will, and you seem to have forgotten the promise to leave the MI7 you once made. Perhaps you will resent me for hearing these words, which means you do not oppose these facts. Besides the two of them, you also tried to rescue more people from the whirlpool created by Panthonia, but now you are jumping into it yourself. This is an act that causes pain to those people, and causing pain is not something you willingly do. Do you need me to continue?"

The atmosphere inevitably changed. Without the iron bars blocking them, Hylan knew he could not confront Jorgen in this way. It was not that Jorgen would express his rejection with violence, but Hylan could not endure being in an unseparated space with him. The silence they experienced at this moment was like a blinding, awe-inspiring lightning appearing in the distant night, with the thunder yet to come: tortured by ominous and broken expectations until Jorgen spoke.

"What do you want to convince me to do?"

"Testify to the council, conceal the death to ensure Mardias' succession; this was Panthonia's premeditated plan. He has some ways to make you comply with this decision, and as for what they are, I trust you will find the appropriate rationale. If you need some work to support this rationale, I will help you prepare it. Under these conditions, I will also emphasize the mistakes of Panthonia and the MI7 system to the council, striving to mitigate your punishment."

"Are you asking me to commit perjury?"

"I do not know the entire process of the matter. Of course, besides you and Mardias Shawl, no one else will know. Mardias provided the council with a considered answer, and no one expects your trial to be based entirely on the truth. All that is needed is a suitable, non-controversial way of handling it."

"Panthonia is dead. You also understand that he would not care about his posthumous reputation. Lindy's threat to you is limited; becoming the Archbishop, there is almost no obstacle. Whatever happened between you, I do not think you can get compensation from this matter."

"If the MI7 retains its past system, then his death is not the end. Of course, one day his influence will gradually fade, and I just hope this process can be quicker. The faster it is, the more people can be spared from lifelong entanglements and calamities. You keep emphasizing my purpose; I hope you consider preserving yourself more. You concealed the death of a national leader and wielded his power for eight months. In such a case, the crime you alone bear is at least deceiving the king. If someone tries to link the interference of the MI7 with the death of Prince Galin, the situation will be even more severe. Consider that to the council, you are an unknown entity, Jorgen. You have no traceable background, purely an executor of Panthonia's will. No one can plead for you, and no family connections can mitigate the possible penalties. They can impose any judgment without regard for the consequences. Do you understand what I mean? I previously mentioned thinking about the suffering of those around you because of the MI7. Now think about how much effort you have made to help and save them. And as everything is about to end..."

Hylan paused. He waited for his words to fully sink into Jorgen's awareness. He believed that Jorgen had considered these deductions. Whether the council intended to reform the MI7 or not, punishing someone with little background to eliminate negative impacts was something they would be willing to do.

In any case, Hylan had said all he needed to say. During this not-so-long silence, he suddenly realized that he might never have another opportunity to come here; if Panthonia had given him any positive inspiration, it was that once the correctness of a goal is confirmed, one should pursue it relentlessly. He understood that after this conversation, he would no longer appear to Jorgen as a candidate for the Archbishop but as a persuader troubled by mundane emotions and reasons. Those excited crowds from the public speeches could not see him. The people in the church who read his works daily could not see him. For decades, all those who witnessed his mistakes could not see him now, and some of them had already entered eternal sleep.

Perhaps there was no need for reservations.

"Jorgen, I cannot force you to accept my proposal, but I must let you know everything you should know. I mentioned before that your background is a blank slate to the council... but not to me. I know your parents. I have known them for a long time. Sam and Esther were the names they used after leaving Storm City. I do not know if you had the chance to learn during your upbringing, but your father's real name was Cornwall, and your mother was Sylvia. They were both victims of Panthonia. I suspect this does not make you feel much sympathy for the two of them..."

Hylan found it hard to continue. He hoped Jorgen would respond, whatever it might be; communication could help him control his emotions. Jorgen remained silent. He knew I had not finished speaking.

"Some people, after being persecuted, uncontrollably pour their inner hatred onto innocent people. I have to say, your parents were such people. They mistakenly believed that this way, they could free themselves from the fear Panthonia had caused. Growing up in such a hateful family, you would have become a completely different person, despising the world and lacking empathy... but fortunately, another person watched you grow up. I firmly believe it was she who made you the Jorgen you are today. Although you never heard it directly, you know her name. Her name was Sylph. What you do not know is that she was once Panthonia's lover, and Dean's mother."

At the end of his sentence, Hylan had to raise his voice to convey the emotion contained in the syllables. Why he first came to this prison was no longer important. These truths that had been imprisoned in his heart for too many years seemed only to be spoken in the presence of iron bars. Some people lived their entire lives trapped in suffering and confusion because of Panthonia, and Hylan knew he was still one of them, but he believed that his own faults had built most of the walls of his prison.

The Canal Prison awaited sunset. It waited anxiously until the faint lights within the stone walls and their probing secrets drowned together in the darkness.