The next morning, at dawn.
To the crisp chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves, the two slowly woke, only realizing after quite some time that they were trapped in a prison.
"I have to say, this cell is quite well built. Look at the patterns on these walls—they're practically works of art. I almost don't want to leave."
Even now, Bismarck did not forget to make light of the situation.
But Bishop Alfred beside him had not slept a wink all night. Dark circles ringed his eyes as he complained.
"There are too many bugs here. I've never seen bugs as big as a hand."
Alfred, as the youngest son of the Taaffe family, was destined to be unable to inherit the family estate. His parents therefore did their best to satisfy him materially; he had been raised in silk and fine food from childhood. Bismarck, to put it bluntly, was merely a minor noble from the countryside.
"Didn't you see them when you were preaching in Africa?"
Alfred's face reddened.
"I usually handled work at the center of the diocese."
Bismarck nodded. He, too, had witnessed the extravagant excesses of high society. The man before him had not screamed at the sight of crawling insects, which already counted as remarkable composure.
"Will your brother send troops to rescue you?"
Alfred shook his head.
"My elder brother is mediocre and incompetent, but he is a governor who faithfully performs his duties. I will fulfill mine as well."
Bismarck's last shred of hope shattered along with those words, yet he felt strangely relieved—and fortunate.
Bismarck had always believed he was special. He had thought himself destined to accomplish great things. No matter how many hardships and obstacles lay in his path, he had never feared them. He had even