Night had fallen.
The clamor of the slums subsided, leaving only the whimpering of the wind as it passed through the cracks of the shacks.
Inside the office of the abandoned warehouse, an oil lamp was the sole source of light.
Lacey sat behind a simple wooden desk, upon which lay a map of Salem and several newspapers he had procured from the city.
He was studying the distribution of the city's water supply system and granaries, his finger moving slowly across the map.
Just then, the door was gently pushed open, and Serafina walked in carrying a steaming cup of barley tea.
She had changed out of her practical attire into a simple linen dress, which, under the dim yellow light, gave her the gentle air of a girl next door.
"Still busy?" She placed the barley tea on the desk, her gaze falling upon the red dots circled on the map.
"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd take a look." Lacey didn't look up, his gaze remaining focused.
Serafina stood silently to the side, not leaving.
The office was filled only with the occasional crackle of the lamp's wick and the rustling of Lacey turning the pages.
After a long while, she finally spoke, her voice somewhat tense.
"Today... you were too reckless."
"Reckless?" Lacey finally looked up and smiled. "I thought you'd say I did a good job."
"After all, we gave that high-and-mighty Count a good scare."
"You know that's not what I'm talking about." Serafina's brow furrowed slightly. "Every word you said was meant to provoke her."
"Leinia is a pure egoist. Your 'blueprint for the future,' that empty promise, could never have convinced her."
"She'll only report your words with her own embellishments, painting us as a band of vicious insurgents."
"I know." Lacey's reply was frighteningly calm. He picked up the barley tea and blew on it. "But that's precisely part of the plan."
"Plan?" Serafina's voice involuntarily rose a little. "A plan that uses your own life as bait?"
Lacey paused in the act of drinking his tea.
He looked up at Serafina. Under the lamplight, the girl's eyes were filled with worry and confusion.
It was a vulnerability he had never seen on her face before.
He put down the teacup and leaned forward slightly. "Serafina, our enemy is the deep-rooted system of this country, the invisible order that weighs down on everyone's head."
"To break it, just making a fuss in this small pond of Salem is useless."
"We need a bigger stage. We need the whole of Leithanien, and even places further away, to hear our voice."
"So you plan to get caught by them and use a trial as your stage?" Serafina's breathing grew ragged. She could sense Lacey's emotions at that moment.
It was an almost cold calm, and beneath that calm surface was a resolve that disregarded personal gain or loss.
"You're not confident, are you?" she pointed out sharply. "You have no confidence at all that you can escape from their grasp unscathed."
Lacey fell silent.
He had forgotten that the young woman before him possessed the ability to see through lies and disguises.
"Confidence is something that has never existed," he finally said. "A plan is just a plan. There will always be accidents. But I have to do this."
"Why?!" Serafina took a step forward, her hands pressed against the desk, her body trembling slightly with agitation.
"Can't we find a more stable way? We can develop slowly, build up our strength, take it one step at a time..."
"And then what?" Lacey interrupted her.
"Follow their advice, dissolve the Workers' Party, and transform into the Elector's Deputy Tax Collector? Become one of their kept dogs, baring its fangs at our own compatriots?"
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then what do you mean?" Lacey stood up, his gaze burning as he looked at her.
"Serafina, tell me, is there any better way?"
"There is only one chance, and Leinia's arrival is that chance."
"This fire has already been lit. If we can't make it burn brighter, burn beyond these slums, then it will soon be extinguished by a piss, without even a wisp of smoke left."
He walked around the desk to stand before her, his tone softening.
"I know what you're worried about, Serafina, and I'm grateful for your concern. But change always requires sacrifice."
"It has always been so, since ancient times."
"Today, even without me, Lacey, tomorrow another would rise from the east, another from the south, another from the north."
"If sacrifice is necessary, then why can't it be me?"
Serafina was left completely speechless.
She could clearly "see" that when he spoke these words, there was not the slightest trace of hypocrisy or wavering in his heart.
It was a belief so pure it was terrifying.
He was truly prepared to cast his own life as kindling into this raging fire.
Logically, she could not refute him.
As someone who had witnessed too many tragedies in Ursus and Leithanien, she knew better than anyone that this seemingly insane act might truly be the only hope of breaking the stalemate.
But emotionally, a strange emotion that flustered her coiled tightly around her heart like a vine.
Why?
Why was this happening?
She should have been happy for the people of Leithanien, for they finally had a leader willing to give everything for them.
But now, all she could think was, "He might die."
She didn't want anything to happen to him.
The thought was so strong that it even overshadowed her anticipation for this great cause.
She didn't know what was wrong with her.
She just stared blankly at the man before her, at his calm and resolute face, at the faint candlelight reflected in his eyes, feeling her own world tilting in some uncontrollable way.
"Get some rest."
Lacey seemed to notice her distraction. He reached out, as if to pat her shoulder, but paused mid-air before finally retracting his hand.
"Tomorrow will be a busy day."
With that, he turned, walked back to the desk, and returned his gaze to the map.
Serafina stood there for a long time. In the end, she said nothing, merely turning in silence and walking out of the office.
The moment the door closed, a cold wind from outside the warehouse rushed in, causing the candlelight to flicker violently, dimming and brightening, on the verge of being extinguished at any moment.
...
...
Three days later, at the crack of dawn.
The heavy, rhythmic sound of marching feet shattered the tranquility of the slums.
Along the streets, the doors and windows of the shacks were instantly shut tight.
Dozens of fully-armed City Guard members directly surrounded the Workers' Party headquarters.
"Everyone, lay down your weapons! Those who disobey will be killed without mercy!" the leader shouted towards the warehouse gate.
At the warehouse entrance, Taylor the blacksmith was leading a hundred members of the Action Team, ready for a confrontation.
They gripped sickles and axes in their hands, facing the well-equipped regular soldiers. Every face was etched with tension, but at the same time, a fire of rage burned in their hearts.
On what grounds!
On what grounds are you taking our leader!
Just as a conflict was about to erupt, the warehouse doors opened from the inside, and Lacey walked out slowly, alone.
He was still wearing his clean, coarse-spun clothes, his face devoid of expression, as calm as if he were just out for a stroll.
He walked through the defensive line formed by his own people and stopped before the guard captain.
"I am Lacey."
The guard captain looked down on him appraisingly, then pulled a scroll of parchment from his coat and read aloud:
"By order of His Lordship, Elector Erak, the commoner Lacey is accused of inciting riots, organizing an illegal armed force, and plotting to subvert the order of Leithanien, thereby committing the crime of treason!"
"He is to be arrested immediately, escorted to the Salem Tribunal, and will face a public trial at a later date! Resisters will be treated as accomplices!"
With that, he rolled up the parchment and looked at Lacey with contempt. "You are under arrest for treason."
Treason!
The Workers' Party members present had anticipated many charges, but never this one.
This was a death sentence for their leader!
"Boss!" Taylor the blacksmith roared, his eyes wide with fury as he raised his axe. "Let's fight them!"
"Fight them!"
"Fight these nobles' dogs!"
The hundred members of the Action Team were enraged. They raised their weapons, ready to charge forward.
"Everyone, stop!" Lacey spun around and shouted sharply.
The men who were about to risk their lives froze in unison, staring at him in astonishment.
Lacey's gaze swept over everyone, finally landing on Taylor the blacksmith's face. "Taylor, put down the axe."
"But, Boss..." Taylor's eyes were red-rimmed.
"Put it down!" Lacey's tone left no room for argument. "Trust me. Stick to the plan."
He gave a long look to Serafina at the back of the crowd. The girl's face was ashen, but she still gave him a firm nod.
Lacey turned back and calmly extended his hands to the guard captain. "I'll go with you."
Two soldiers stepped forward and locked his wrists with a clang of shackles.
As Lacey was led away through the crowd, the entire slum fell into a deathly silence.
From behind cracks in their doors and through their windows, the people watched their leader—the young man who had brought them hope and dignity—being put in a criminal's chains.
Many eyes grew moist.
Some women couldn't help but cover their faces and weep.
It was at this moment that someone in the crowd, with a hoarse voice, began to softly sing a song.
It was a ballad about a war hero, widely sung among soldiers.
At first, there was only one voice, then a second, a third...
Soon, the singing swelled into a torrent, echoing above the slums.
"...Across the hills piled with corpses,
The hero's medal shines bright with blood,
He drove the jackals from his homeland,
But returned only to be forgotten..."
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