Free Web NovelChapter 364: Chapter 78: The 300-Year Aspiration
As Father Anderson’s words faded, a deep silence fell upon the simple room.
The only sounds were his slightly ragged breathing and the faint whisper of wind from the distant fields.
Count Raymond was utterly speechless.
He gazed at the Priest’s flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, a result of his agitation. This mentor, who was usually so gentle and calm, now seemed like a volcano on the verge of erupting, yet held back by some invisible force. The Count’s heart was filled with an indescribable tremor.
Aurora gently took Eleanor’s hand, while Eleanor’s dark eyes darted between her father and the Priest.
Murphy had been listening quietly the entire time, his face remaining expressionless even as he faced the Priest’s almost accusatory questions.
His gaze rested on Father Anderson’s face—a mixture of desperation and resolve—before slowly shifting to the portrait on the wall.
His profound eyes were pools of darkness, making it impossible to discern his true thoughts.
After what felt like an eternity, just as the silence threatened to become permanent and the light in the Priest’s eyes began to waver from the long wait, Murphy finally spoke.
His voice was lower and clearer than at any time before, each word resonating distinctly in the room:
"Father."
Father Anderson flinched slightly, his gray-blue eyes locked on Murphy.
"You’re right." Murphy’s tone was steady. "To do nothing, to simply watch as suffering and injustice spread, that in itself...is the deepest, darkest abyss."
"The conflict of desires, the difficulty of reconciliation, the risks of commitment, and the darkness of human nature. These things are real. They are the unavoidable thorns and steep slopes on the Path. Seeing them clearly is not a reason to stand still, much less to mock those who attempt the climb."
"On the contrary, seeing them clearly is precisely for the purpose of...climbing better."
"Because only by seeing the thorns clearly do you know what kind of boots to wear and what tools to bring. Only by anticipating the steep slopes and risks do you know how to pace yourself, when you will need ropes, and where you should establish camps and markers."
"Pope Fuer II—or rather, the ideal that you follow... its value isn’t whether it painted a blueprint for a perfect, flawless, conflict-free Celestial Kingdom. Such a blueprint may not even exist in this mortal world. Its value is that it pointed toward the idea that ’the status quo can and should be improved.’ It’s that it dared to pull the compassion of faith down from its lofty altar and into the world of mud and tears."
"It lit a candle. Maybe that candle’s light wasn’t enough to illuminate every corner. Maybe it even flickered and died from lack of fuel or a gust of wind, or perhaps it set something else on fire. But at the very least...it illuminated a small patch of darkness. It allowed some people to see the direction of the light, and it let those who came after know that there was once light there."
"And you, Father Anderson," Murphy said, his gaze returning to the Priest, "you brought the embers of that light to the Glamorgan Territory. You carefully preserved it in your heart and used it to ignite the spark of goodness that already existed in the Count’s heart, transforming it into the faint glow of the review panel and the warmth of the mutual aid fund. You didn’t arrogantly claim you would illuminate the entire world. You simply continued that candle’s mission in the places you could reach, using what you deemed to be the safest methods."
"That in itself," Murphy said, enunciating each word, "is a respectable form of ’doing,’ not ’doing nothing’."
Father Anderson stood there, stunned, as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.
The expression on his face—a mixture of grief, despair, and defiance—began to crack, like a frozen lake touched by a spring breeze.
His lips trembled. The moisture in his eyes quickly gathered, finally forming two streams of tears that slid silently down his wrinkled cheeks.
He abruptly bowed his head, raising a trembling hand to furiously wipe his cheeks with his faded white cuff, but he couldn’t stem the endless flow of tears.
He choked back a sob, trying to speak, but only inarticulate whimpers escaped.
Finally, he simply turned toward Murphy and bowed low—so low that his forehead nearly touched his knees.
This bow was more solemn and prolonged than any he had ever made before.
Count Raymond felt his own eyes burn as a powerful wave of emotion washed over him.
He took a deep breath, stepped to the Priest’s side, and also bowed deeply to Murphy, his voice trembling as he spoke. "My lord... Thank you... Thank you for your understanding."
After a long moment, Murphy said quietly, "Rise."
The two men straightened up as instructed.
Father Anderson’s eyes were still red and swollen, but beyond the shimmer of tears, his gray-blue eyes now shone with an unprecedented, almost newborn brilliance, as if years of accumulated dust had been washed away.
Count Raymond’s face was a mixture of excitement, relief, and a newfound, firmer resolve.
He gazed at the unfathomable Legend of the Northern Territory before him. Recalling the miracles Murphy had created in the Monte Territory, and then his profound words just now, an idea ignited in the Count’s mind like a wildfire, impossible to contain.
He took a step forward, his hands clenched into tight fists from agitation, his voice filled with an earnest plea. "Lord Melfield! You... since you understand our Path, and perceive its hardships and risks even more clearly than we do... then, could you... could you possibly offer us some guidance?"
"The achievements in the Monte Territory prove that this Path is not impossible to walk. Could you condescend to guide us, even offering the slightest hint of a direction? The Glamorgan Territory is too small, and my own strength is too meager, but if you were willing... if you were willing to stand behind us, even with just your silent approval, it would grant us an unimaginable amount of strength and support!"
