"Rumors?"
Edmund scoffed as though he had heard a joke. Those antlike commoners barely entered his thoughts. As far as he was concerned, so long as the central secret remained safe, unrest on this scale was nothing more than a minor irritation.
"No need to make a fuss. The ignorant masses have shorter memories than goldfish. Give them a little something, and they'll forget their fear completely."
Edmund turned around and casually straightened his cuffs, his tone contemptuous and certain:
"Handle it as usual. Send word down: to reassure the public, double the soup kitchens in the Lower District starting tomorrow, and sell indulgences and holy water at half price for a month. Also, notify those Marquises and have them issue a joint proclamation with the Church. Say that Moros sacrificed himself to suppress a lurking demon, that he was the people's protector."
At this point, the Archbishop could not help smiling.
"Just watch. Once those peasants have their hands full of free bread, they'll forget everything they saw last night within a month and go right back to kneeling and singing praises of our mercy."
The High Inquisitor watched the Archbishop's arrogant, utterly confident expression. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he dared say nothing more and could only bow and withdraw.
Edmund had no idea that this time, his tried-and-tested method for handling the "ignorant masses" would become the very thing that drove the Church toward the abyss.
Late that night, at the Silent Retreat.
Flames danced in the study's fireplace, crackling softly.
Veylin sat in a high-backed chair, holding a secret report that had just been smuggled out of the Church.
Simon stood across the desk, excitement written all over his plump face, his two small eyes gleaming intensely.
"My lord, you're a miracle