March 29, 1027 of the New Calendar.
Plymouth.
Early morning.
Thin morning light pierced the mist, scattering across this metropolis of over a million people.
Thanks to the newspapers and the Church's propaganda, every resident knew that the High Patriarch of the Church of the Holy Spirit would deliver a great speech this afternoon at the Marshal's Rostrum.
As for how "great" was defined?
The believers did not know. In their piety, they merely did all they could to decorate the shops and streets, even holding several parades to display their devotion and support for His Holiness the Pope.
Of course, the square where the rostrum stood was limited in size and could hold at most fifty thousand people, so the vast majority of believers would be unable to hear His Holiness's sacred teachings in person.
Those who truly belonged to high society—the nobles and self-proclaimed elites—would certainly have a place in the square.
It was said that even His Majesty the King—Arthur VI—would attend in person.
The speech square was bound to be unprecedentedly grand today. Should anything happen, it would surely become a historic event worthy of being recorded in the annals!
Baron Jacques's residence.
"Darling... what do you think of me in this gown?"
Though nearing forty, the still-graceful Baroness stood before a full-length mirror, trying on one formal dress after another.
The speech was scheduled for the afternoon, but women always took an age to choose their clothes and apply their makeup.
Even an entire morning might not be enough.
On such an important day, Baron Jacques, who held a court position and oversaw the King's wardrobe, had naturally gone early to Mitra Palace to attend his sovereign and was therefore not at home.
The only ones at home were Metana Jacques and the tutor,