Flondeck Cathedral is a legendary piece of architecture in terms of artistry.
This grand building completely abandons the rational concepts of architectural studies. Twelve large and elegant cylindrical towers and countless fine arches support the weight of the entire cathedral. Forty-two small chapels inside the cathedral are all supported by slanted columns, and all the surfaces form a complex wavy line.
The spires of the twelve towers are carved with statues of saints, who look down on the entire city with a majestic air, as if they were rulers.
There is no trace of bricks or cement on the exterior of the building, only exquisite reliefs created by famous artists. The building is almost entirely built by stacking large and small handicrafts.
It pursues visual beauty to the extreme, even if it means that the beams and columns that would destroy the beauty must be hollowed out with winding patterns.
In fact, when the cathedral was first built, someone predicted that it would collapse within ten years, but 130 years have passed and the cathedral still miraculously exists.
"The Crown of Flondeck," the bishops often describe it in the form of poetic praise.
But the citizens of Flondeck secretly gave it a nickname: "The Holy Tomb."
Because at night, when looking at this magnificent building from a distance, the white, bone-like structure is filled with a cruel and beautiful nightmare-like atmosphere, making it seem like the largest tomb in the world.
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Norton Phillips lived in the ascetic dwelling in the backyard of the Holy Tomb for twenty years.
He was nearly sixty years old and had a face full of deep wrinkles. His diet, which consisted only of water and beans, had made him so thin that he looked like a skeleton. The hard dry beans had severely worn down his tooth enamel, and whenever he opened his mouth, a mouthful of deformed, sharpened teeth made him look like a demon from hell.
Ascetics were restricted to a diet of plain water and beans, which they endured as part of their physical and spiritual sacrifices to demonstrate their unwavering devotion.
"The bishop is as greedy as a pig. With the wealth I donated, he could enjoy a lifetime of tenderloin and fine wine." Every time Norton picked at the beans in his plate, he murmured these words.
The entire ascetic community in the monastery were fugitives seeking sanctuary, and no clergy member was willing to take on this duty. However, the number of ascetics was often used by the church to assess whether the local bishop was competent.
“Only ascetics are truly the ones who dedicate their souls to God." both the common people and the upper echelons of the Church believed.
Many priests in monasteries use the drawing of lots every six months to decide who will take on this damn position.
"Damn it, I have to spend half a year in prison again!" The priest who drew the lot was as depressed as if his parents had died.
Therefore, Egge, the bishop of the Flondeck region, cleverly sent all the fugitives to the monastery.
In the eyes of the subordinate priests, Egge was as magnificent as the brightest star in the sky.
"Praise the god of light, bless the wisdom of the bishop, and finally get rid of this damn job." They sang devoutly.
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Norton reluctantly chewed on a few beans and pushed his plate away. He felt extremely nostalgic for the rich taste of wine and the smooth texture of meat, which made his mouth water just thinking about it.
"Beans, beans, cursed beans!" he grumbled.
From the shabby cabinet in the narrow room, Norton found a small purse among a pile of rags. He carefully counted and found four or five gold coins inside.
Luckily, he had kept some money aside during his donation of property, allowing him to occasionally sneak out and satisfy his cravings.
With just one gold coin, he could have a coachman from the church stables take him out for a ride while the priest and bishop were inside the chapel for weekend mass.
He could enjoy the bustling atmosphere of people coming and going on the streets through the carriage window, and indulge in some commoner food, such as a bowl of hot fish soup and a few skewers of meatballs from a roadside stall.
These foods were previously insignificant in his eyes, but now they seemed like delicious delicacies from heaven.
However, one time, a few drops of soup spilled onto the carpet in the carriage due to a bump, the coachman sternly forbade him from eating any food that could spill again.
"Fortunately, it was only a few drops. If the whole bowl of soup were spilled and dirtied the expensive carpet, the bishop would be angry," the coachman said. "Can't you get off the carriage to eat?"
Get off? Who knows if the detectives from the patrol team are following behind. Leaving the carriage means losing the protection of the right of asylum. Those red-eyed detectives will pounce on him like perverts seeing a naked woman and tie him to the gallows.
"Or maybe you could help me buy some wine and meat and deliver it to the church, and I'll eat in my room," Norton tentatively suggested.
"Stop these sacrilegious thoughts. Taking an ascetic out for a walk is nothing, but bringing forbidden food into the sacred monastery would result in being brought to the religious court for trial," the coachman said seriously.
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The weekend night had arrived and the church was once again bustling with activity. Every chapel, big and small, was filled with people.
The kitchen was preparing holy water and holy bread, while the priest stood solemnly at the altar, calculating how much money the faithful would donate that night.
The bishop, on the other hand, was in a room reserved for nobles, chatting and laughing with important figures. He had just agreed to baptize the daughter of a baron.
The long hours of worship and blessings began with the ethereal singing of the choir.
"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven," the priest recited while making the sign of the cross. "Glory to the Father in heaven, May the Father forgive sinners," the kneeling believers said together.
The entire church was shrouded in the fervent and holy atmosphere.
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Norton patted his nearly empty purse and decided to indulge himself tonight.
The stable was located on the west side of the monastery, not far away. When the wind was strong, the ascetics had to endure the stench of horse urine.
"Boy!" Norton whispered sneakily. After a while, a young man rubbing his eyes walked out of the stable.
"Oh, old man, I've been busy all day. What reason do you have to disturb a young man's sweet dreams?" complained the boy, whose name was Johnny.
"The bishop won't use his carriage at this time of day. Let's go out for a stroll," Norton said with a grin, winking at Johnny. "Hurry up and saddle the horse."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Johnny glanced at Norton's waist and said, "You old sly fox, you haven't been out for two months. I thought you were out of money."
Norton pulled out a gold coin and tossed it into the boy's lap. "Old Philip has nothing, except that he doesn't lack money," he said.
After biting the coin to make sure it was real, Johnny looked around and carefully put the money in his pocket, whispering, "As usual, you go wait at the back gate of the cemetery."
Norton nodded. "Remember, it must be the black cross carriage," he emphasized.
In the cemetery, rows of tombstones stood in neat rows, silent and still like the dead. Only the privileged who believed in the doctrine of the Light could be buried here.
"Hey, guys, I'm luckier than you, at least I can eat meatballs later," Norton said to the statues of the dead on the tombstones as they passed through the coffin group.
The carriage stopped outside the half-open Iron Gate. "Johnny, is that you?" Norton shouted.
"Quiet, do you want to get us caught?" Johnny's voice came from the carriage.
Norton still hesitated and didn't move. He carefully examined the black cross on the carriage in the moonlight with his blurred eyes, and only after confirming its authenticity did he walk over with relief.
"I want to go to the night market. I miss the cured meat and fish balls there," Norton impatiently exclaimed.
"As long as you don't spill soup and mess up the carriage, it doesn't matter if you smoke weed," Johnny replied impatiently, raising his whip as the two horses snorted and slowly pulled the carriage forward.
Suddenly, Norton realized that something was not right. The blanket on the carriage floor, the redwood liquor cabinet hanging on the interior wall, and the thick cushions on the seats were all brand new, not like the old carriage he had secretly ridden many times before.
He panicked and asked, "Johnny, where did this carriage come from?"
"It was parked by the garage, probably newly purchased by the church. You're lucky, old man. You probably got to use it before even the bishop had a chance to touch it." Johnny said.
The police would never use a fake church carriage to trick themselves out of the church. The black cross on the carriage could not be impersonated, otherwise it would be a blasphemy against divine power.
No one would be foolish enough to use this method to catch a fugitive, and then face the wrath of the church.
“Am I being too sensitive?” Norton murmured, but the panic still couldn't be suppressed. The feeling of impending disaster filled his mind, lingering and refusing to be dismissed.
His intuition had always been accurate. When he was young, at least twice, his ability to sense danger had saved his life.
"Go back!" Norton said hoarsely.
"Are you crazy? You won't get your money back." Johnny protested, still planning to use the gold coin to buy some cheap and practical items at the night market.
Norton pushed open the front window of the carriage and leaned his body out towards the driver's seat. "Go back now!" he grabbed Johnny's hair and shouted in a stern voice. The poor coachman screamed in pain.
The horses pulling the carriage reared and jumped, and the carriage shook violently as the axle creaked as if it was about to break. The whole carriage swayed back and forth for a long time before finally coming to a stop.
Johnny coughed and struggled free, jumping out of the carriage. "You son of a bitch, how dare you..." he coughed and cursed.
"Let's go back, Johnny. Otherwise, people will be surprised to find your stiff corpse in the stable tomorrow morning," Norton lowered his voice, a terrifying smile appearing on his face as he stared at the coachman.
The young coachman shivered, his angry momentum dissipated like a bucket of cold water being poured on him. He felt as if the old man had suddenly turned into a wild beast, and he was the prey that the beast had set its sights on.
"Those who are in the Flondeck monastery now for penance were not good people in the past." Johnny suddenly remembered.
He wanted to abandon the carriage and run away, but at the thought of the punishment that would come upon him when the bishop found out that a carriage was missing the next morning, he realized that being fired was the least of his worries; he was more likely to be sent to jail.
Furthermore, having a criminal record meant that he would never find a respectable job again, as the lords of Flondeck would not hire someone with a dubious past.
As the coachman nervously climbed back onto the driver's seat, a group of police officers appeared on the street just in time."
"Sir Philip, you can't go anywhere now. You are being arrested for first-degree murder." said Detective Lime, who led the group of police officers.
"Nose like a bloodhound," Norton spat, then shouted at the coachman, "Don't stop. No one dares to force a Church carriage to stop."
But as if mocking him, the police officers didn't stop, but quickly rushed up to the carriage, dragged Norton down, and pressed him hard to the ground.
"Blasphemy! How dare you insult an ascetic on the Black Cross carriage!" Norton's face turned red as he struggled.
"I'm sorry, but this is not the Church's carriage," shrugged Detective Lime.
Norton understood what had happened and sneered, "Find a broken-down carriage and paint it with the holy Black Cross? I'll definitely expose this when I stand trial."
"No, I wouldn't do such a foolish thing," the detective said smugly, enjoying the cat and mouse game, "Baron Harsy's daughter is being baptized in the church, and as a gesture of gratitude, the Baron plans to give a carriage to Bishop Egge, designed according to his preferences and appearance."
"Until the gift is given, it does not belong to the Church's property. Unfortunately, if you had taken this carriage a few days later, we would never dare to disregard the divine authority," he added.
"Damn it, this is all a trick," Norton realized everything and gasped for breath, looking around, knowing that he had no chance of escaping.
Even when he was young, he couldn't fight his way out of a dozen police officers' encirclement.
Suddenly, Norton relaxed, the disgusting smell of dried beans floating in his mind.
Now everything is over, and he is free.
As he was being pulled onto the prison carriage, Norton turned his head and pleaded, "I'll confess everything, but before that, can you help me buy a bowl of fish and offal soup?"
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The bishop dipped his fingers into the silver Holy Grail and splashed a few drops of holy water on the baby's forehead. He then drew a cross on the infant's head and said a prayer.
"Your Excellency, thank you for conducting the baptism ceremony for my daughter," Baron Harsy kissed the baby's chubby face a few times before handing her over to his wife.
"Serving every believer is my duty," the bishop replied kindly.
"The carriage is almost finished, made with the finest wood. Even the latest springs popular in the imperial city have been added to the axles. I must admit, this small addition makes the entire carriage more comfortable and resistant to bumps."
"Oh, Baron, you are too generous," the bishop politely complimented, but his tone was indifferent to the value of the gift.
In fact, he was overjoyed. A real luxurious carriage was worth thousands of gold coins.
"I rode in that carriage today, forgive my offense. It was just a small vanity, as I wanted to experience what it was like to ride in the Black Cross Carriage. It felt wonderful, but the horses pulling the carriage were of poor quality, unable to showcase the carriage's value and the owner's status."
"That's nothing. God is tolerant of every believer."
"When the two good horses from the south arrive, I will officially donate them to you, no, to the church. Please believe that if a gift is not perfect, it will damage the dignity of the nobility."
During their conversation, a priest hastily pushed open the door to the room and whispered a few words in Bishop Egge's ear.
"The police have arrested him?"
"Yes, on a street a few hundred meters away from the church."
"What about his right of sanctuary?"
"He lost the right to sanctuary because he stole the baron's carriage and was outside the church. According to the agreement with secular law, he is no longer protected."
Bishop Egge frowned apologetically and said to the baron, "Please forgive me, an old ascetic who has lived in the church for twenty years, snuck out of the church and was caught by the police. Even more unforgivable is that he secretly rode in your new carriage that was intended to be donated to the church."
"Oh, I hope the carriage wasn't damaged."
"I don't know what got into that old man's head. Has he lived enough?" Bishop Egge couldn't figure it out, but he quickly put the matter aside.
An ignorant penitent wasn't worth too much attention, and he was more worried about whether the new carriage, equipped with springs, would be damaged.
"You see, sometimes I feel that sanctuary is too tolerant. Some fugitives, even if they live in the church for decades, still can't learn to follow the rules." Bishop Egge explained somewhat embarrassedly to his guest.
Baron Harsy also thought happily that he had done a great favor for Count Hotchkiss. The cost of the carriage was covered by the count's family privately, and he could sell a favor to Count Rake without spending a penny.
He wished this kind of thing would happen more often.
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As Albert walked into the police station again, he noticed that the police officers were being friendlier towards him. At least those who knew him would smile and greet him warmly.
Inspector Laim even invited him to have lunch together. While they were enjoying a plate of stir-fried green beans with oyster sauce, the inspector said in a joking tone, "Ha, I just remembered something interesting."
"Please, tell me," Albert replied.
"About Norton Philips, the criminal who evaded punishment for twenty years. During interrogation, he would confess to everything if you gave him good food. But one time, when we gave him a bowl of green beans," the inspector pointed at the dish on the table, "that weirdo criminal started pulling his own hair, screaming like he was facing the end of the world."
"Wow, someone could actually be afraid of green beans," Albert laughed as he popped a few beans into his mouth.
They were crispy and delicious.