Night deepened, and darkness and quiet slowly settled over the land, with only the towns twinkling here and there.
Most people gradually fell into slumber as usual, but a small portion of them were destined to be busy tonight.
"Wayne in Richmond already knows our base is being watched, yet you're still so relaxed. Look, those guys are hiding here without a fire late at night; is it because they like darkness and cold?"
In the dark, Lina squatted stealthily in a small bush, while several Agents guarding the house were similarly hiding nearby, undergoing training.
Daimon McQueedy was slightly embarrassed. "It's my mistake. Actually, we noticed them before; they can all confirm it. However, because there were only one or two of them previously, and they always remained outside our alert range, with limited manpower, after an initial assessment that the malice wasn't great, we didn't actively continue to investigate. We basically just observed them once a day."
Feeling that this answer was acceptable, Lina's eyes shifted slightly: "That iron lump wasn't always covered, was it? Who exposed it?"
Peter, with two legs, silently raised his hand, while Peter, with eight legs, was standing on his head at the moment. "It should have been me. A few days ago, Miss Emma said she wanted to play, so I..."
"Then you'll charge first later."
"Huh? Me?"
"Otherwise? If you don't perform well now, be careful when Wayne returns and finds out; he might have someone hang you from the rafters."
Peter thought about Liam's private ranking of the bosses' danger levels, swallowed, and said, "Okay."
...
"Officer, the commotion over there seems a bit unusual. Should we send someone to check it out? After all, the Georgeberg Parish priest's carriage just passed by not long ago. Could something have happened?"
"He brought so many people with him; if he truly encounters danger, he'll send someone for help. Our order is to temporarily block the road and assist in intercepting fugitives. Other matters are not within the scope of the order. Notify the militiamen to lift their concealment according to the drill plan and start setting up roadblocks."
"Yes!"
...
"Boss, something seems off. According to previous observations, a patrol officer would pass through this block about once every hour at night. Since sunset today, not a single one has been seen."
"This might be part of the plan. We have a mission to execute tonight, so perhaps the superiors are clearing obstacles for us. Once the additional personnel are in place, you'll be responsible for briefing them on the surveillance situation and confirming whether they've prepared voodoo items. Those self-contained action teams are always not meticulous enough; just two days ago, a team was taken down due to a work error."
"Is the target that closed bar on the corner?"
"Don't ask so many questions; you'll know before the operation begins."
...
"Sorry, sir. Our club is currently hosting a dinner party. The hosts are members of the City Police Commission, and the invited guests are City Hall officials, as well as mid-to-high-level police officers and elites. If you don't have an invitation, I'm afraid we can't let you in."
"I have an urgent matter to report; it concerns the stability of Richmond's public order!"
"We're truly sorry; we've seen too many different reasons. Only an invitation will suffice."
"Or could you please inform Sheriff William for me? This is my business card; he will come out when he sees it."
"Okay. But the guests at the dinner party might be conversing privately in various places, and it takes time for waiters to find and confirm guests. You might need to wait patiently."
...
"Old friend, what brings you here for a sudden visit today?"
"It's Father's request. He's still worried you'll make an irrational choice, so he asked me to come and drink with you."
"Mr. Bask is still too cautious. Without a federal order, my men will not be easily mobilized."
"Of course, I trust you. Victor mentioned you many times, saying he was always taken care of by you during his army service."
"Then why did you bring this kind of wine?"
"Hahaha, there are two more carriages of whiskey and one of beef outside. What you should be worried about, perhaps, is the young men having a headache tomorrow morning."
...
At a manor in the suburbs of Richmond, more than half an hour had passed since the banquet was scheduled to begin,
yet almost none of the invited guests who had promised to attend had arrived.
In the reception hall, Father Tyrrell, the owner of the manor, had now realized what was happening, his eyes wide as he stared at the madman beside him, unsure how to react.
Bishop Corleone, meanwhile, sat leisurely on the sofa, pulling out a small, nearly empty bottle of a special pale golden potion and pouring it all into the whiskey in his cup.
Father Tyrrell recognized this uncommon potion; it had a rather pleasant name, "Glory of the Saint."
Since the Middle Ages, Popes of the Holy See, in order to maintain the dignity of the "Spokesperson of the Holy Spirit" at the end of their life, would often take this potion beforehand when appearing before others for the last few times.
Although the dosage varied, it was usually the same "small bottle"—it was ineffective for those who had not reached a specific state, and it could not prolong life's length, only maintaining that ethereal glory at a specific stage, after which it became ineffective.
That was already the maximum required dosage, verified by multiple practical tests. Once the effect wore off, there might be, at most, one to two days of lingering, but one could be called by the Holy Spirit at any moment.
A faint sense of joy was drowned in more complex emotions and considerations. Father Tyrrell appeared neither happy nor sad at this moment: "So, this is why you wanted me to invite them here?"
Bishop Corleone did not answer the question. "I have already recommended you in the closed-door meeting of the College of Bishops. You don't need to worry about the formalities afterward; although the parishes in the western mountain region are generally not large and far less wealthy than those in the plains, fortunately, there are enough of them. I've calculated, adding the scattered votes from here, the votes are already sufficient."
"I offered them a guarantee of safety! You're making me an enemy of almost all Southerners!"
"Then you still have the power to choose now."
Bishop Corleone drained his drink, and the glass clinked lightly on the table. A monk entered the reception hall, then knowingly extended his arm for the Bishop to lean on as he stood up. "I still have a few old friends I plan to see. Do you need me to stay here and continue explaining?"
Although Bishop Corleone's entourage were all elites carefully selected from the Cathedral, and even included his own private staff,
however, due to the special invitation tonight, to ensure safety, Father Tyrrell had also arranged many extra men, but he had not expected things to develop to this extent.
He had originally thought that a "disgruntled end to the banquet" would be the worst outcome tonight.
But once things reached this point, "whether to act" was no longer a simple matter of comparing strengths. One side of the scale was already clearly laden with thorns and gifts, while the outcome of choosing the other side was almost entirely unknown.
The priests from the South all hoped that "their own man" would become the next Bishop, but that "own man" might not necessarily be themselves—especially when they became involved with the cause of death of the "previous Bishop."
Bishop Corleone waited briefly, then released the monk's arm and walked away.
No one blocked him along the way. The situation did not overly surprise Bishop Corleone. "Proactive choice" always requires more courage than "passive acceptance," and some people clearly lacked that kind of boldness.
Compared to sweeping everything away and only being able to put forward a young man with insufficient prestige, Tiriel was at least not too bad an option.
Before leaving, at Bishop Corleone's signal, an attendant pulled out a letter and left it for the butler.
Inside was an advance copy of a news article that would appear on tomorrow's newspaper front page, with the headline:
「Conspiracy Exposed! Church High-ranking Officials Form Society and Rebel, Bishop Attacked and in Coma, Currently Being Rescued, Some Perpetrators Killed On The Spot! Specific Reasons Still Under Investigation.」
In one corner of the advance copy were two announcement boards: one titled "Killed Villains," and the other "Unfortunately Died On The Spot."
Both announcement boards were blank, with a series of names already listed below as candidates, seemingly only needing to be filled in respectively.
