Iron Curtain and Faint Light

Pastor Lavoisier's feet had been unbound, yet the invisible shackles upon him had only grown heavier. He sat in the small stone house assigned to him, far cleaner and sturdier than his ruined shack in Ralte, his face livid as his chest rose and fell faintly with anger and humiliation. Zhou Beichen's crude remarks about "robbing talent" still rang in his ears, while the giant called the Son of God... Lavoisier glanced from the corner of his eye at the towering figure outside helping believers lift a metal beam, and let out an almost inaudible snort.

Son of God? Absurd! The Covenant's scriptures had never recorded a messenger of such appearance. This was nothing more than the delusion of ignorant people in a remote land, bewitched by that heretical pastor with his crafty face and constant talk of "investments" and "assets"! He, Lavoisier, had served the Covenant for decades. Though he had never found success, he would never bow his knee to such a false god.

Zhou Beichen's attempts at "persuasion" followed close behind. Wearing the smile Lavoisier despised most, as though appraising the value of merchandise, he sat opposite him and spoke at length. He spoke of Colchis's poverty and the settlement's potential, of the Covenant Church's rigidity and the New Covenant Church's vitality, of material scarcity and plans for the future. He promised status, respect, and even hinted that Lavoisier could oversee the future education system.

"Pastor Lavoisier, your talents should not be buried in moldy files." Zhou Beichen's voice carried an almost bewitching enthusiasm. "Here, you can truly fulfill your ambitions and build the order you envision. Look outside. These are the fruits faith ought to bear, not ascetic suffering and numbness."

Lavoisier kept his lips tightly sealed. His clouded eyes held only cold rejection and a trace of mockery. Fruits? Flowers of evil watered by kidnapping and heretical nonsense? He would rather return to Ralte to organize ancient scriptures that no one cared to read than allow his wisdom to be used for blasphemy.

Again and again, Zhou Beichen exhausted himself trying to persuade him, but Lavoisier remained utterly unmoved, like a hard stone dried out by time and dogma. The smile on Zhou Beichen's face gradually became unsustainable, and a flicker of irritation passed through his eyes. Time was precious. He had no leisure to waste on an old stubborn fool.

Just as Zhou Beichen was considering more "direct" measures, such as locking him in a cellar or starving him for a few meals, Lorgar, who had silently watched from the side, spoke.

"Father," Lorgar said, looking at Zhou Beichen, "perhaps the power of words eventually reaches its limit. Imprisoning the body can only breed deeper resistance. Why not... let Pastor Lavoisier see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears? Let him walk freely upon this land. Let reality itself, rather than our arguments, question his heart."

Zhou Beichen frowned and looked at Lorgar. Remove the restrictions? Let this old man move about freely? The risk was not small. But as he looked into Lorgar's eyes, which seemed able to see through the human heart, and saw the nearly certain calm within them, he hesitated. He recalled Lorgar's increasingly refined ability to grasp people's minds.

"And the risk?" Zhou Beichen asked. "What if he runs, or incites a rebellion?"

"The Faith Guard are not for show," Lorgar answered calmly. "As for incitement... I believe the 'reality' we provide will be more persuasive than his 'dogma.'"

"...You're right." Zhou Beichen finally nodded. His gaze turned to Lavoisier, carrying a warning. "Pastor, I grant you the right to move freely, but only within the settlement. You may look, listen, and speak with anyone you encounter. But do not try anything clever. Every pair of eyes here is watching you."

Lavoisier gave a cold snort and did not reply, but in his once lifeless eyes, a tiny spark called opportunity had ignited.

For the first few days, Lavoisier's movements truly were limited to the area around his stone house. Like an old wolf trapped in a cage, he warily observed everything around him. He saw the believers' almost fanatical worship of Zhou Beichen and Lorgar, heard them greet one another with awkward New Covenant doctrines, and felt only contempt and sorrow.

Ignorant! How utterly ignorant!

Unwilling to sit and await death, he made his first attempt to escape.

Under cover of night, relying on his small amount of desert survival knowledge, he tried to sneak away in the vague direction he remembered coming from.

However, he had underestimated the vigilance of the Faith Guard and Lorgar's inhuman senses. Before he had even gone two kilometers, a squad of silent but swift Faith Guard members "invited" him back. There was no rough treatment, but that silent efficiency left him feeling even more deeply powerless.

The second time, he chose daylight. He mingled with a group heading out to gather ore, hoping to escape amid the complicated terrain of the mining area.

The result was the same. He was quickly discovered, and the small leader of the group did not even scold him much. He merely looked at him with pity, as though he were an unruly child.

The repeated failures made him realize that forcing his way out would not work.

He began to change his strategy and turned his attention toward the settlement's ordinary people.

He sought out believers who appeared somewhat older, perhaps those who still retained a trace of memory of the Covenant Church. He approached them, lowered his voice, and tried to awaken them with emotional words:

"Brothers, sisters, do you still remember the true meaning of the Covenant? Suffering is a trial. Only by holding fast to faith can one reach the other shore! Do not be deceived by the false prosperity before your eyes. It is a crooked path that betrays the Covenant!"

He expected to see confusion, wavering, even a trace of guilt in their eyes.

Yet most of the responses he received were a strange calm, even smiles of tolerance.

An old woman repairing her home's wall with "Colchis Clay" looked up and wiped away her sweat. The wrinkles on her face relaxed as she said, "Old pastor, I don't understand what you're saying. I only know that before we came here, the children were so hungry they couldn't even cry. Now they can eat their fill, live in sturdy houses, and the Son of God even helped us find water. How can that be a crooked path?"

Another burly man who had just received his daily ration smiled honestly. "You're Pastor Lavoisier, right? Pastor Beichen said that if we work, we get food, and if we believe in the Son of God, we get a good life. Look, isn't that right?"

There was no fierce rebuttal, no anguish over shaken faith. There was only an unbreakable sense of contentment rooted in the simplest needs of reality. Their eyes were clear and their smiles sincere, yet Lavoisier felt a bone-deep chill. It was as though he were pounding with all his strength against an iron wall covered in soft velvet. All his force was silently absorbed and erased, without producing any response he had expected.

The foundation of faith on which he had relied and believed without question seemed to have lost all its power here.

A deeper unease began to seize Lavoisier. If... if these people had not been deceived, if the hope and vitality they showed were not false... then did that mean what he had always believed in was the thing that was... wrong?

The thought was like a venomous snake, silently gnawing at his heart. He no longer hurried to flee or incite anyone. Instead, carrying a mix of doubt, fear, and a curiosity he was unwilling even to admit to himself, he began to truly and deeply observe this settlement known as Earthly Heaven.

He walked through the neat, uniform residential district, simple but exceptionally clean, and saw children chasing and playing in the open spaces. Their faces bore the rosy vitality of a normal childhood, something he had never seen on the faces of children in Colchis.

He came to the workshop district and saw craftsmen using the power generated by that enormous, creaking windmill to efficiently sharpen tools and process materials. He saw people skillfully building walls with that grayish-red "clay," others carefully refining salt, and even some attempting to polish cloudy glass in hopes of making lenses.

He stood beside the newly reclaimed fields, watching patches of tender green life that could never have survived in the past. He listened as those responsible for irrigation excitedly discussed how the Son of God had sensed the underground water source and how Pastor Beichen had designed these ingenious irrigation channels.

He witnessed how Lorgar used his inhuman strength to move boulders blocking the way, how he patiently listened to an elder's worries, how he used those violet eyes to comfort the injured. What he saw was not a god elevated beyond reach, but a... guide and guardian integrated among the people. That unique aura, where compassion and majesty coexisted, differed from any saint or prophet he knew. It felt more... real, more compelling.

He also noticed the details: supplies were distributed strictly, but there were clear records and relatively fair rules; disputes were mediated under the Faith Guard's lead, but evidence and reason were valued as well; everyone seemed to know what they should do and was willing to work toward the collective goal. The efficient and orderly mode of operation he had dreamed of had somehow been realized in this place he had regarded as a nest of heresy, in a way that was crude yet brimming with life.

Late at night, Lavoisier lay awake in a bed far more comfortable than the one he had in Ralte, tossing and turning. The scenes of Ralte in his memories—numb faces, filthy streets, the greed of the upper clergy, the despair of the lower people—constantly intertwined and contrasted with this land before him, filled with life, order, and hope.

When he had first entered the Covenant Church, had he not also carried dreams of cleansing filth and establishing order? Had he not hoped that faith could truly bring salvation to people, rather than merely spiritual anesthesia and bodily asceticism?

Why had the Covenant he had defended all his life borne only rotten, numbing bitter fruit in Ralte? And why had this land, viewed as heretical, blossomed with such... light, so close to his ideals?

That pastor named Zhou Beichen had vile methods, crude speech, and reeked of money. Yet it could not be denied that he possessed a frightening ability to organize and execute, to turn ideals into reality. And Lorgar... was he truly a false god? Or perhaps... the Covenant's records were not complete? Could the Father God's will reveal itself in such an unexpected way?

Once the seed of doubt had been planted, it grew wildly under the nourishment of reality.

That day, Lavoisier went alone to a height at the edge of the settlement and looked down upon the bustling yet harmonious scene below. The windmill turned slowly, cooking smoke curled upward, and the cries of working people mixed with children's laughter on the wind. The setting sun dyed everything a warm orange, and even the sickly orange-red sky appeared magnificent at that moment.

He saw Lorgar crouched on the ground, gently blowing on the wound of a little girl who had fallen and scraped her knee. His focused, tender expression was as though he were tending the most precious treasure in the world. The little girl stopped crying, opened her large eyes, and looked at him with trust.

At that instant, the high wall in Lavoisier's heart, built from decades of faith, dogma, and prejudice, came crashing down.

Was this not the very scene he had always pursued? Faith should bring not restraints and suffering, but order, hope, and tangible happiness. Divinity should not hang high in the heavens. It should walk among people, understand their hardships, and bring light.

Tears surged forth without warning, rolling down his weathered, wrinkled cheeks. They were not tears of humiliation, nor tears of anger, but tears born of ideals awakened and a soul shaken to its core. The piety he had upheld his entire life now seemed so pale and laughable, while the heresy he had once dismissed had touched the sacred vision his heart desired most deeply.

He staggered around, but instead of returning to his stone house, he went straight to the command stone house where Zhou Beichen and Lorgar usually stayed.

Zhou Beichen was calculating the material requirements for the next phase under a lamp. Seeing Lavoisier burst in with a face streaked with tears and a dazed expression, he first frowned warily before showing confusion.

Lavoisier did not look at Zhou Beichen. His gaze fell directly upon Lorgar, who was seated to one side.

Step by step, he walked forward. Then, under Zhou Beichen's astonished gaze, this stubborn old pastor slowly yet incomparably solemnly bent knees that had never yielded easily before Lorgar and lowered the head he had always held high.

His shoulders shook violently, and suppressed sobs spilled from deep within his throat, mixed with relief, regret, and newborn devotion.

"I... I saw it..." he choked out, his voice utterly broken. "I saw... the faint light of Heaven's Kingdom... upon you..."

He raised his head and looked through tear-blurred eyes into Lorgar's calm, profound violet gaze, as though gazing at a star guiding the lost.

"Please... please allow this lost old sheep... to return to the true flock..." His voice carried a humble plea and the resolve to sever his past and reshape his faith. "Lavoisier... is willing to devote this remnant of his body and this meager wisdom to you, to this... Earthly Heaven."

Zhou Beichen froze. He looked at Lavoisier, kneeling on the ground and weeping bitterly, then at Lorgar, whose calm expression made it seem as though he had anticipated this all along. For a moment, Zhou Beichen did not know how to react.

Lorgar slowly rose and walked before Lavoisier. He did not immediately help him up. He merely lowered his gaze to look at him, compassion and the understanding of one who saw through everything woven together in those violet eyes.

"Rise, Brother Lavoisier." Lorgar's voice was low and magnetic, carrying a power that smoothed the wrinkles of the soul. "To return after losing one's way is the greatest good. The building of this Heaven's Kingdom needs foundations like you, with order and devotion in your heart."

Lavoisier could no longer speak through his sobs. At Lorgar's gesture, he merely rose trembling. When he looked at Zhou Beichen, the hostility and mockery in his eyes were gone, replaced only by a complicated submission mixed with reverence and a trace of embarrassment.

Watching this scene, the stone in Zhou Beichen's heart concerning talent finally settled. Yet at the same time, a subtler feeling quietly arose—Lorgar's ability to win people over seemed even greater than that of him, the "mentor."