Simon froze.
He opened his mouth, only to find he had nothing to say.
That was right.
For people on the verge of starvation, "Holy water" that filled their bellies and made them forget their suffering was a lifeline. Anyone who dared cut off their food was their enemy.
"Then... what do we do?" Simon looked helplessly at Veylin. "Are we supposed to watch them turn everyone in the city into insects?"
"Of course not."
Veylin drew a roll of parchment from his sleeve and slapped it against Simon's broad chest.
"You don't need a blade to kill. Use this."
Simon fumbled to catch the parchment, then unrolled it.
By the dim candlelight, he saw the densely packed writing covering it.
It was not a manifesto.
Nor was it evidence exposing the truth.
Instead, it was a collection of... stories?
[Horrifying! Screams from the Grand Cathedral at midnight-why are slippery tentacles reaching out from beneath the Bishop's robes?]
[Exclusive exposé! The terrifying truth behind the holy water workshop: where did all those missing orphans go?]
[A dockworker's eyewitness account: people who drink holy water crawl up walls like spiders in the dead of night!]
The more Simon read, the more alarmed he became, and the colder his back felt.
Every story was vividly written, its details astonishingly lifelike. It even described exactly how well-done the "Bishop who grew tentacles" liked his human flesh.
"This..." Simon swallowed. "My lord, this... this is made up, isn't it?"
"Does that matter?"
Veylin walked over to the altar and lightly ran his fingers over the Anvil Symbol.
"The truth is often dull, complicated, and difficult to understand. If you talk to those illiterate paupers about 'parasites' and 'toxins,' will they understand? They'll only think you're jealous of the Church."
Veylin turned to look at