Resistance

Noah pondered. He was quick to strategize, knowing he could not possibly take down all the temple guards by himself. These men, loyal to the clerics and trained for combat, were likely to fight with fanatical zeal.

The only way to resolve the situation, then, was to incite the villagers to resist together. It was a large village, with hundreds of people who, though a rabble, could overcome with sheer numbers.

How could he inspire the villagers to fight?

"Where's your village leader? Is he also held at the docks?" Noah asked.

"We don't have a village head... but there is a leader, he lives there," Maden pointed to a large house near the square, scrutinizing the crowd held at the docks, "...he probably hasn't been caught. A man like him will be at the forefront if he is."

"How influential is he? Does he command respect?"

"He's the biggest landowner in the village, our 'good master.' Wealthy and authoritative, yet reasonable, not one to abuse power. He's helped us with tax resistance against Lord Rene, so everyone is willing to follow him," Maden explained.

"What's his name?"

"Geoffrey Baudelaire."

"Good," Noah nodded. "We need to see what stance Mr. Baudelaire is taking towards the clerics."

Noah scouted a path from the hillside to the village and then stealthily entered. With most villagers rounded up at the docks, the village itself was eerily quiet. Usually, watchful dogs would warn against strangers, but they had vanished. Noah suspected they had been summoned by the witch, turned into her malevolent servants, gradually transforming into something far more terrible.

They tread carefully through the village, wary of any temple guards. The closer they got to the village, the more raucous noise from the docks pierced the air, with clerics loudly chanting or delivering reprimands, their stern reproaches creating a cacophony.

Approaching Baudelaire's house, Noah and Maden pressed against the wall to listen for any noise within.

"…so you see, we're reasonable. We've taken only a little money from you," Noah heard a flippant voice.

"Ah," another man complained. "Mr. Luding, how much longer will you be here?"

"That voice is Geoffrey's," Maden whispered nervously.

"Not long. Once we find the witch among you, we'll leave," the man identified as Luding replied.

"She's no malefactor," Geoffrey insisted.

"Ha! Whether she's malevolent, we'll find out when we bring her before the gods at the temple for interrogation."

"What do you plan to do with her?"

"Nothing much. The gods do not tolerate filth in this world, so we act on their behalf, doing the cleaning. Simply put, we'll transform her inside out, making her a better self. She'll no longer pursue evil but will wholeheartedly seek good and become our loyal servant."

"If only it were that simple," Geoffrey sighed. "Her grandmother won't leave it at that."

"The old witch is but a bone in a tomb; don't worry, we won't take much effort. We've brought most of our men. No matter how audacious she is, she can't possibly win."

"I've heard screams; what's that about, sir?"

"Merely attrition."

"Attrition?"

"Everything has its attrition, just like when the gods forged the Divine Sword of the Meimen Hall, there's always some waste that can't be utilized and is tossed aside. It's the inevitable path of fate. Ha ha ha…"

"…so you've been killing the villagers."

"Do they count as people? Perhaps, but they're not of your ilk, Mr. Baudelaire. They're the impoverished, fishermen who can't feed themselves, while you, esteemed in status, possess land, orchards, homes, and servants. You're deeply favored by Lord Rene. They've never even been to Greywood Hall just a stone's throw away. Your perspectives are worlds apart, so why bother with these ants? Their lives are weightless, almost inconsequential. But you're different. You're a person of significance. It's self-demeaning for you to care for them. Just equate their cries to the barking of pigs and dogs."

"Ah," Geoffrey sighed again.

"Won't you at least offer me tea? Imported from the ocean far, you must have some here."

"I'm out," Geoffrey replied dryly, "I apologize."

"Tch, I'll be going then. The dock still needs me."

Once the footsteps faded, Noah climbed silently over the wall, peering into the courtyard to see an opulently dressed man standing in the center, his hair and beard well-groomed, only his expression was despondent.

Noah leaped over the wall and landed with a soft thud. The man in the yard started.

"Who are you!" he demanded.

"Geoffrey Baudelaire?" Noah inquired.

"No matter who hired you, I can pay double. Just don't kill me," Geoffrey was visibly shaken.

"I'm not an assassin," Noah shook his head, looking back at the startled servants, "keep them calm, keep them from shouting."

"…" Geoffrey dismissed the servants, "There's nothing to worry about, you can leave."

"Sir—" a servant called out hoarsely.

"This man might be of use to me; my life is secure."

Seems like he understands. Noah thought to himself.

"What do you want? This isn't a good time, temple guards are outside, and High Priest Chaval is personally here," Geoffrey asked warily.

"How much did that man extort from you?" Noah remembered their conversation starting with money.

"It's none of your business," Geoffrey shook his head, "I'm a dutiful believer, and donations are proper."

"Donations should be voluntary, from the heart, not coerced. How are they different from robbers? Are you content to be butchered and treated like a fattened pig?" Noah frowned.

"What else can I do?" Geoffrey said uneasily, "Who are you from? Are you from the Hundred Sons? Want to agitate me to fight them?"

"Whom do you pledge loyalty to? The gods, the king, or Lord Rene?"

"I trust all three equally."

"Then you're truly pitiable. The servants of the gods extort you, the king doesn't even know this village exists, and Lord Rene hasn't sent a single soldier. You've been attacked, slaughtered, harassed by pirates and monsters."

"I can't just turn against the clerics over this; staying alive is the top priority. If it costs money, it costs."

"Staying alive? I saw people being pushed into the water; what about that?"

"At least it's not me," Geoffrey gritted his teeth.

"But you are responsible," Noah soberly stated, "They aim to take over this village, which you could have managed, becoming the protector of everyone. You are loved by the villagers, you arbitrate right and wrong, you have power here, they have no right to dictate on your turf. Lord Rene doesn't care about this place; you're the real ruler here, aren't you?"

"I've thought about such things," Geoffrey's face stiffened, "...managing the village myself, everyone listening to me, respecting me. I grew up here, I love this place..."

"And yet you watch everything happen, indifferent."

"What should I do then..."

"Call the people to resist. They just need a backbone, a leader they trust. They lack direction; you give them that power. After this event, you'll be the sole hope for the hundreds of fishermen, the true ruler of this place. Everyone will be proud of you, respect and obey you, because you've led them to resist at this critical moment."

"But the temple's retribution... they will retaliate..."

"Gods only reward goodness and punish wickedness; even deities are on your side. How could the servants create a storm?" Noah stated.

"...I'll go to the docks to see the situation. I'm still not sure..." Geoffrey wavered, certainly not taking Noah's words at face value nor easily swayed by mere speech. He left with a few servants in silence, with Noah stealthily trailing at the back. Maden, who had been watching from the outside, quickly followed them.

Gladius smirked.

"You've learned to seduce others with power and illusory prospects."

"..." Noah remained silent. The old me never did this. It's the demon influencing me.

"Relax, I've never influenced you. You're just this kind of person. You have power, you can manipulate others, you're suited to do such things. The weak should be fooled by the strong; mortals are resources. Fools act on their own, the strong leverage power. You speak, they follow; this is the only way out."

The situation at the docks was getting more severe.

A cleric looked at the anxious fishermen and shouted, "Hand her over—give us the witch! The witch is the witch! She's the criminal who communicates with demons! If you protect her willingly... you are all enemies of the gods!"

The fishermen, unarmed, couldn't resist. They didn't move, many began to weep, saddened and confused by the sudden calamity, helpless against the over fifteen temple guards watching over them.

"Bring a man over, push him into the water, don't let him up. This is the will of the gods," the cleric pointed to a fisherman at the front, ordering the nearby guards to act.

"No no no—don't pick him, not him!" Luding, who had just exited from Geoffrey's house, hastily interjected, "This is inefficient."

"What advice do you give?" the cleric glanced at him.

"Choose that one." Luding's voice was contemptuous, pointing to a woman holding a young child, "Throw that child into the sea."

"No! Please, no—!" The woman panicked, clutching her child.

"Don't? Then tell us where the witch is!"

"She's at White Cliff Ravine, White Cliff Ravine," the woman stuttered.

"Wrong, the old witch will be dealt with by the High Priest. We're looking for the younger, tastier one. You seem not to want to talk, eh? Come, grab the child," Luding ordered.

One of the temple guards immediately approached, slapped the woman hard, knocking out a tooth, and she knelt down, curled up, hugging her child.

"She and the child should be thrown together," the cleric judged. "Such disobedience wastes energy."

"Wrong, take the child, let her live. That way she'll talk. Throwing the child into the sea, the mother will point out the target; she can't watch her child drown," Luding shrugged, "Go ahead."

"How long will you watch?" Noah challenged the cruelty of it all.

Geoffrey swallowed hard.

"No... no... they are clerics... sacred servants of the gods…"

The temple guards advanced towards the woman, reaching out to snatch the child from her arms.