Frostpunk Divine Throne-Chapter 14: A New Day

"Is this what he did?" Rain stubbed out his cigar in the silver ashtray.
"Yes, Governor sir. Our spy mixed in with the crowd and witnessed the entire process." The soldier said.
"He dismantled the cathedral's chairs to give people fire for warmth, gave his gold collar stud to the boy who made a suggestion, had women step forward to help him record believer information and property, overturned the accusation of witchcraft, and even healed people's frostbite..."
"It can now be said that everyone is his loyal believer."
Rain smiled, and that laugh made the soldier shiver.
"Quite laughable, isn't it?" Rain lit a new cigar, "We stabilized the situation, we gathered refugees, we provided food, shelter, and protection. We did so much, yet all we get is people's resentment. But those charlatans only need to shout the Lord's name to make people cry tears of gratitude and willingly dedicate themselves."
"What did he do? Sing a few prayers? The people in the cathedral won't remember that we were the ones who brought them into the city. They'll only remember the lies of that clown beneath the cross."
"Too laughable, isn't it?" Rain directly snuffed out the cigar he had just lit.
"G...Governor..."
"I recall, he brought a runic craftsman with him?"
"Uh, yes, let me see..." The soldier rapidly flipped through documents, "Aldridge Cain, from Florence, received the Mountain Medal, third-level rune master. For unknown reasons he later lived in seclusion in Londinium, recently transferred to Spessay as Chief Engineer of the Rune Department."
Rain hooked his left hand's fingers, unconsciously tapping the desktop with his thick knuckles, one tap after another, silent in the smoke-filled room.
After a long while, he said, "Have Schneider go chat with that charlatan. We can make some concessions, but the rune master must be in our hands."
"Yes."
…
Sunlight passed through the cathedral's colored glass windows, scattering dreamlike golden fragments. Various colored lights shone on people's haggard faces and on Cyren's busy figure.
He had woken up early. Since crossing over to this place, he hadn't slept well once. Memories, death, the apocalypse, cold... countless disasters surged toward him.
People found comfort depending on him, but he was alone.
He left through the church's small door. Yesterday's dark clouds had mostly dispersed, revealing a gentle sun. Light shone on the thick accumulated snow, refracting colors of hope, as if everything had passed and would get better.
But that ice-blue "moon" still hung at the edge of the sky. The sun's rays had not the slightest warmth. The thermometer beside him showed the temperature had already dropped to negative twenty degrees.
Cyren sighed and cast Holy Healing on himself.
According to his research over these two days, the effect of Holy Healing was not merely healing wounds, but "attempting to adjust a person's state to optimal." Therefore drowsiness, fatigue, and aftereffects of staying up late were also subjects of Holy Healing's treatment.
Yesterday he had slept for five hours on the icy ground before getting up. His whole body was so tired he couldn't lift a finger, but after Holy Healing, if not immediately full of energy, he was at least passable.
As for the consumption of casting divine arts, according to Cyren's calculations these past few days, all his divine will could cast Holy Healing fourteen times, and the divine will consumed by one Holy Healing could be completely replenished after three hours of rest.
Moreover, since gaining one hundred and seventy-six new believers yesterday, he clearly felt that both the total amount and recovery speed had become faster.
"Even after crossing over, I still can't get away from iced americanos..." Cyren smiled self-mockingly, turned around, and saw the two guards had also gotten up, followed by the hunched and furtive Joseph behind them.
"Sir." Logan said with a straight face, "Father Joseph says he wants to see you."
"Understood." Cyren nodded gently, "I was just about to look for you."
Father Joseph rubbed his hands, his face showing an expression that combined fawning, mournfulness, and guilt. Grasping Cyren's hand he said, "Lord Bishop, in the name of the Heavenly Father, tell me honestly, when did you receive your bishop appointment?"
"Three days ago." Cyren looked at him with interest.
Father Joseph's face showed that complex expression, then he lowered his head and made the sign of the cross on his chest, "May you forgive me, when I saw them building Spessay Cathedral, I wanted to wait here for the new bishop, get familiar with him. I abandoned my parish. I thought you..."
Cyren looked at him with a smile, "You should have realized yesterday, right? You discovered I was completely unfamiliar with this place and must have been temporarily appointed, but you didn't say anything because you wanted to see what kind of person I was."
Joseph was drenched in sweat.
"If I were a scoundrel bishop who only cared about his own pleasure, then you wouldn't need to apologize. I would most likely forgive your opportunistic behavior because you're a good dog. But you saw me caring for civilians, saw me showing concern for the poor, so you guessed I would definitely feel disgust at your abandonment of your parish, so you came to confess."
"Lord Bishop... Lord Bishop... for the Heavenly Father's sake..."
"I've read all the Church classics, but not one tells me the Heavenly Father would forgive behavior like yours." Cyren withdrew his hand. That right hand had been grasped by Joseph until it was sticky and clammy with sweat.
Joseph's expression was panicked, but the hair on Cyren's back slowly stood on end. He understood that this kind of petty person might fawn over superiors, but when backed into a corner, would be more venomous than others.
However, Cyren hadn't sought him out for a chat to back him into a corner.
"But you can atone for your crimes through merit." Cyren said, "Prove your piety and repentance to me, to God, through your actions."
Joseph breathed a sigh of relief and showed that common fawning smile, his wrinkled face twisting together.
Cyren looked at him deeply and sighed inwardly.
What he saw was a person wearing a mask, a person whose mask had merged with himself.
No one is born with a fawning posture, much less such a low-postured fawning. He must have experienced some psychological trauma.
"Father Joseph." Cyren used this more formal term, "You don't need to worry. Regardless of what you experienced before, I can guarantee that working for me is definitely much better than working for certain scoundrels."
Joseph didn't speak, only silently lowered his head.
But his fists were clenched tight, his nails almost digging into his flesh.
"How could you know what I've experienced!" He roared angrily in his heart, yet his face still maintained that stiff and twisted smile.
Cyren didn't continue. People's thoughts can't be changed with just a sentence or two. He instead asked, "Introduce me to this place."
Joseph took several deep breaths, "As you wish."