1-6

"Panthonia, are you interested in gardening? For example, pruning."

"I don't know much about it."

"To outsiders, it may seem like I'm casually trimming, but it's actually quite intricate. There are many factors to consider. It's not just about cutting off diseased branches; overly weak, already withered, and parts hindering the growth of healthy branches must all be meticulously removed. However, if too many diseased branches are removed at once, the entire plant may wither due to the inability to adapt to the changes. Timing is also crucial, especially in the harsh winter when I often have to tolerate these diseased branches in my flower beds temporarily. What troubles me most is when there's a small branch that is perfectly healthy and surprisingly beautiful but unfortunately disrupts the balance of the entire garden layout - then I have to reluctantly remove it. Gardening is a great art, and I've learned how to care for my people in this garden. The only difference between these two jobs is that flowers don't speak, while people seek to express their opinions; but the core issue is that people don't always know what's best for them, just as flowers cannot understand the gardener's actions. You can stand up now."

Panthonia stood up and handed the shears to Koen. Koen took the shears, observed a small cluster of flowers for a moment, and then clipped a branch.

"You should develop some healthy hobbies as well. At least I don't want the future leader of the intelligence organization to have a reputation for disrespecting women. You're an intelligent person, so I won't say more. I think that's all for today. Do you have anything else to add?"

"No, thank you very much, Duke."

As he turned away, Koen spoke again.

"Oh, I remembered something about my son Phipin. Recently, for some reason, he's been very fascinated with a female singer from the Queen's District, and he almost goes to listen to her sing every night. I should have strictly forbidden him from going out like this." He frowned for a moment, then continued, "Two days ago, a servant told me that the singer called Red Heron seemed to have disappeared for some reason, and because of this, Phipin has been unable to eat properly and has caused me a lot of trouble. Of course, I don't want any relationship between a woman from the Queen's District and him, but..."

At this point, Koen turned his head away, completely facing away from Panthonia, and raised the shears again but didn't move, as if waiting for the other party to understand.

"I've heard of this singer," Panthonia said. "She works within my jurisdiction. I'll keep an eye out for you."

"You should understand that what I'm talking to you about now..."

"No one else will know."

Koen didn't respond. Panthonia bid farewell again and left. He knew that Koen had five children from two marriages, and Phipin was the only son. Three daughters had married, and another had entered a convent to practice celibacy, after which Koen seemed to have imposed four times the indulgent education he had given his daughters on his only son. Fortunately, this was not a samurai family, and he didn't need to raise a descendant who could go to war - it was enough for Phipin to carry a few bodyguards with him, even if he went backstage to give a diamond necklace to a female singer, it wasn't a particularly dangerous thing.

Outside the garden gate, Panthonia saw Herlan sitting on a stone bench, looking over with the serene and steady gaze unique to clergymen, as if he had estimated the timing of the guest's arrival. He stood up and returned the dagger to Panthonia.

"I didn't expect it to be so heavy," he said. "Maybe because my hands are only used to pages."

"It should be."

"You know... being in charge of law enforcement is a very difficult and special job. To comfort and bless the clergy of the Law Enforcement Bureau, the cathedral holds a sermon dedicated to them every two weeks. I often preach there, but I have never seen you there."

"I am not a follower of the Light now."

"Were you before?" Sensing Panthonia's unwillingness to answer, Herlan continued, "Anyway, I hope to see you there. Faith can make people more steadfast and focused on their work - this is beneficial to you, to Duke Koen. After all, you are someone he trusts."

"Thank you for your advice. I will consider it."

Herlan smiled. His smile was sincere, as if he truly believed Panthonia would fulfill this promise; as if he believed Panthonia was not insincere. But Panthonia understood that this did not mean that the clergyman before him was hypocritical. The spreaders of the Light must have an optimistic and positive tendency when looking at things, and deeply believe that this tendency will become a reality, just as Panthonia often has to do the opposite. Panthonia had indeed been a follower of the Light, at least judging from the fact that he had memorized several scriptures at the age of seven. His father demanded that all family members - including servants - must believe in the Light, which was a principle commonly followed by noble families in Lordaeron at the time. These people had an outstanding prince who studied under the greatest Light mentor, and those who did not respect this basic fact would not achieve anything in the public sphere. The prince's betrayal caused some people to lose faith, and others chose the opposite attitude, but more people simply didn't have time to consider their spiritual lives anymore. Panthonia was twelve years old that year; compared to the accumulated scriptures, he was more concerned about his music box hidden in the study, but he knew it was impossible to salvage it and take it with him. One reason was that he couldn't spend too much time and effort digging through the ruins of the house; the other reason was that he was afraid that if he really rummaged through the rubble, the first thing he might see would be his father's body - he refused to leave the ancestral mansion until it collapsed. Looking back now, Panthonia felt that his father had never thought of fleeing, because this middle-aged man, who only dared to show anger to his family, refused to imagine life as a refugee.

With his father, Panthonia's younger brother also disappeared. His brother had once collaborated with the old steward to make Panthonia's music box. Now, from the beginning of the journey, he was alone.

Like all those seeking survival amidst disaster, the refugees of Lordaeron tried to stick together as much as possible, but something more terrifying than pursuers - the plague - gradually separated them. Months later, the pattern of escape turned into small groups of people who trusted each other or had to be together heading south. It was uncertain whether this ultimately increased the refugees' survival rate because small groups were often prone to getting lost and lacked resistance when encountering enemies, and the more resilient individuals started plundering others to improve their own chances of survival. In such circumstances, some people couldn't retreat or advance and, clutching at a glimmer of hope in despair, hid in the mountains, abandoning their nationality, refugee status, and everything else.

Panthonia's small group consisted of five people. Besides him, there was a slightly lame soldier, another man who claimed to have been a village schoolteacher, a taciturn old man, and a woman about ten years older than Panthonia - a housewife who had lost her family. In this group, the soldier held the most power because his combat and reconnaissance experience allowed them to avoid more aggressive groups, yet his lameness prevented him from appearing too dominant among the five. When necessary, he still had to listen to the opinions of the schoolteacher and the woman. The burden seemed to be the seventy-year-old man, whom the woman insisted on bringing along because of their apparent kinship. Panthonia's status was higher than that of the old man, but he still had to obey everyone else because he was only twelve years old.

About a month later, due to food shortages, the soldier planned a raid on another small group of refugees; they didn't kill anyone, just frightened away three people from the other group with stones and torches. The teacher lacked the courage to participate in the attack, so it was actually the soldier and Panthonia who did the work. After that, Panthonia found himself ranked above the teacher. During meals, he could sit next to the soldier. The teacher gradually became as reticent as the old man; he always had nightmares when sleeping, even sitting up after howling. Panthonia occasionally had nightmares too, but he rarely saw people he once knew in them.

Facing the looting of the weak group, there naturally wasn't much to gain. For the five of them, the condition of hunger didn't improve much. One night, Panthonia got up to urinate and happened to see the teacher and the woman standing in the nearby woods. He approached and listened to them talking.

"Do you really have...?" the woman said.

"Just this. Just this. Here, take a look."

The teacher took out a small strip-shaped thing from his pocket, which Panthonia couldn't see clearly.

"Why have you been keeping it with you all this time? Why not eat it?" the woman said.

"I kept it for myself, to save for later."

"You said you'd give it to me..."

"Promised. Come. Come."

Next, Panthonia saw them undressing to do that thing. The woman's back and shoulders were covered in mud, her elbows bent as if to push away the person on top of her, and her face looked into the distance of the dark forest. Afterwards, she ate what the teacher promised her. First, she chewed it vigorously, then licked her hands, licked her fingers, licked the back of her hand, and even licked her wrists.

Three nights later, the soldier called the teacher aside, saying there was something to discuss. Fifteen minutes later, the soldier limped back alone, threw the blood-stained knife near the campfire, making sure the old man, the woman, and Panthonia could all see. But no one said anything. Panthonia knew that the soldier and the woman had never done that, nor did they do it later.

After that, his status was second only to the soldier's, but his survival situation didn't improve much because a group of four was weaker than a group of five, and the woman also began to speak less. She always sat quietly next to the old man, only having a clear emotional reaction when the soldier slapped her or grabbed her wrist, which was often just panic.

Later, in order to find and kill the refugees hiding in the mountains, the enemy began a large-scale search. The four of them hid in a cave for a week, completely running out of provisions, and there seemed to be no end to the search. So the soldier said:

"This won't work. We can't all die here. We need to draw lots. The person drawn will become the food for the others."

No one objected, only the woman sobbed softly for a while.

Panthonia was the last one to draw lots. He was drawn.

The soldier drove the old man and the woman out of the cave, drew his knife, and faced Panthonia.

"It's time to accept fate," he said, and thrust the knife.

In the struggle, Panthonia was injured on his face, shoulders, and palms. In the end, he seized the opportunity to attack the soldier's lame leg, then took the knife and took the soldier's life.

With the knife in hand, he walked out of the cave and happened to encounter the old man who seemed to be coming in to check the situation. He killed the old man too.

The woman was sitting against a rotten tree stump, her eyes seemed empty, and it wasn't until Panthonia approached her almost that she panicked. Panthonia didn't have a clear thought about whether to kill her too, but if it weren't for what she said next, he would have killed her for sure.

"It's not my business, don't kill me, they planned it all. It was decided from the beginning that you would draw the lot... everything else was marked. I begged for mercy for you, but the soldier said..." she said.

"Don't kill me, please. Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it." she said again.

Panthonia remembered the scene he had seen that night, and he took her. They hid in the cave for a while longer until the search for this area by the pursuers ended. They survived by roasting the flesh of the two bodies at night, huddling together tightly to sleep. Every time Panthonia entered her body, he felt pleasure half the time and wanted to vomit the other half. Occasionally, he recalled his schedule from not long ago: wake up at six in the morning, morning reading. Breakfast at seven. From eight to twelve, literature, history, or law classes. Lunch and nap from twelve to two in the afternoon. Afternoon classes were usually religion and mathematics. Weekends involved equestrian training, and if his father was in a good mood, he would allow him to handle the swords and blades in the house that had never been used before. Unless there were special circumstances, he was not allowed to leave his room from after dinner until ten o'clock. In his room, he secretly wound up the music box...

He had thought about continuing like this with her, but it didn't happen. The second day before the end of the search, she fell ill, coughing up blood, running a high fever, and speaking deliriously; she died five days later. Thirteen-year-old Panthonia buried the first woman of his life and continued south. In the next three years, until he met Jorach Ravenholt, who was about his age, in Southshore - then still a small fishing village unable to accommodate refugees - he experienced much more, but there was nothing much to say. Such is the story of a person.