Chapter 48: The Hollow Sermon

Chapter 48: The Hollow Sermon
Before long, the much-anticipated Grand Prophet emerged slowly from a side door.

His entrance had been meticulously choreographed. The moment he appeared, the side door's mechanism had been cleverly adjusted to produce a faint echo that seemed to emanate from the void itself.

He was approximately fifty years old.

The traces of time were visible on his face—the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth were clearly defined under the crystal chandeliers. He had made no effort to conceal his age with cosmetics. This was a remarkably astute decision. What the years had failed to obscure was the bone structure beneath—his features belonged to that rare category of faces that maintain their handsomeness from youth through old age.

His jawline was clean, without any beard. His nose remained high and straight. The positioning of his brow bone made his eyes appear deeper-set than most. What drew the most attention were his eyes themselves. Under the lamplight, those eyes held a gentle, almost compassionate expression—the same expression I had observed on the faces of certain officials in Aldenmere's court who were most skilled at persuasion.

It was a face that made people want to believe.

He wore a long robe embroidered with golden thread, the crystal light reflecting off it in countless fragments. His salt-and-pepper hair was impeccably groomed, characteristic of someone who had long been attended to by servants with meticulous care.

He walked to a platform at the front of the hall and raised his hand.

In that instant, the entire hall fell silent.

"What I see," he began, his voice resonant and magnetic.

I immediately sensed something amiss—his voice had been processed by some amplification magic. The treatment made his voice carry more weight, more depth than his vocal cords could naturally produce, as if it were resonating directly within the listeners' minds.

"What I see is given to me by the divine."

"The divine brought me to this city. The divine commanded me to tell you what I have seen."

"Tonight, the divine has shown me visions of this continent's future."

He began his sermon.

I focused my attention and listened for approximately five minutes.

As I had anticipated, every word he spoke consisted of those ambiguous, infinitely interpretable "Barnum statements" that could be twisted in any direction.

"There will be change in the East," he said, his gaze sweeping profoundly across the crowd. "That change, in one sense, is good. In another sense, it is bad. But the divine tells me that this change will ultimately be understood by the one who witnesses it."

—This passage said nothing at all, yet sounded infinitely profound.

"Among you is a person," he spoke again, his tone becoming gentle and mysterious as he surveyed the entire hall. "That person recently made a difficult decision. The divine commands me to tell that person—the outcome of that decision will surprise you."

—At least ten people in the hall nodded slightly. Everyone who had recently made a difficult decision—whether gamblers, merchants, or eloping lovers—would feel those words were directed specifically at them, the "divine oracle" they yearned to hear.

I stole a glance at Rendell.

He sat there with an utterly unchanged expression. He must have recalled every difficult moment in his life to keep from laughing with contempt.

I made a gesture toward him expressing disdain. I couldn't imagine how that couple would react upon discovering they had spent four hundred gold coins to hear such drivel, or how Linda would survive having lost her medical funds.

He caught my gesture and nodded almost imperceptibly.

We had reached consensus: this was a complete and utter fraud.

The sermon continued for approximately one hour.

During that hour, the Grand Prophet delivered over twenty similar passages. Each was deliberately vague, each filled with interpretive gaps that could be read infinitely. After each passage concluded, he would pause, giving the audience sufficient time to project themselves into it, to experience that illusory sensation of "the divine speaking to me."

At the sermon's conclusion, he delivered an impassioned summary. His voice was amplified countless times, making ears ring.

"The divine speaks to me," he said, closing his eyes and raising both hands high. "This continent approaches a turning point. Before this turning point arrives, all must make their choices."

"What you have heard tonight is the guidance the divine has commanded me to convey to you."

"May the divine bless you all."

Thunderous applause instantly erupted throughout the hall, and some people even began weeping in their seats from emotion.

I truly could not comprehend how merchants with such poor judgment had managed to accumulate so much wealth.

To avoid exposure, I stood with the crowd and clapped a few times, adopting the same attitude I used at most court banquets when dealing with nobles.

Rendell beside me made the same motion, though from his appearance he was likely rolling his eyes while applauding.

The sermon ended, and the crowd began filing out in orderly fashion, everyone appearing utterly satisfied, as if they had genuinely received divine salvation. Several of the wealthiest and most powerful-looking individuals approached the platform, hoping to exchange pleasantries with the Grand Prophet, but the Prophet himself maintained his lofty demeanor, barely acknowledging them.

I let myself drift with the crowd toward the exit, feigning dizziness from excessive emotion to slow my pace while secretly observing the Grand Prophet. I noticed he didn't exit through the door he'd entered, but instead descended from the platform and, under guard protection, departed through a side door. His figure quickly vanished behind heavy curtains, making it impossible to determine his direction.

After the last wave of listeners departed the hall, we slipped from the crowd like two silent shadows, melting into the darkness behind the pillars.

The hall's once-brilliant crystal chandeliers had been mostly extinguished, leaving only a few dim lamps for the cleaning staff to work by.

Rendell and I concealed ourselves in the shadows of the row of pillars on the hall's western side, positioning ourselves behind the third column. From that angle, we could observe the entire central hall, but from any position in the hall's center, it would be nearly impossible to notice anyone behind that pillar.

The cleaning staff entered through a low, small door—four of them in total, both men and women.

As they worked, they began speaking in low voices, their tones carrying complaint.

"Did you hear? They've cut our wages again."

That was one of their voices.

"What? By how much?"

"Last month we lost one silver coin, this month they've cut three silver coins directly."

"What's the reason?"

"Take a guess."

Another person interjected.

"Must be those expenses again."

"You guessed it—supposedly the master ordered another hundred gold-thread embroidered robes."

"For himself? Or for his mistresses?"

A brief laugh erupted among the four, but was quickly suppressed. If anyone overheard, they would likely lose their jobs entirely.