Yvette had lunch and spent some time with her friends. Since there was another family banquet at the Aconite household in the evening—although Aconite himself had invited Yvette—she politely declined.

  It couldn’t be said that today’s outing to seek inspiration was fruitless. Combining what she had seen on the streets with what she had read in Leviathan, she felt as if she had grasped a thread of enlightenment.

  A nation’s view on something is not uniform. Thus, from a national perspective, one often sees it act in contradictory ways—such as some future major power attacking terrorism while simultaneously funding it. This is the result of backstage struggles between different interest groups within the state. Similarly, within a single person, multiple conflicting emotions—such as liking, aversion, and fear—may arise toward something. The person ruminates on the consequences of taking action, sometimes desiring to act and other times fearing it, making them seem fickle, their will swaying on a scale. This is sometimes called hesitance and other times deliberation.

  Suddenly, Yvette had a peculiar thought: perhaps she herself was a tiny kingdom, with countless ideas residing in the depths of her heart, representing countless selves. And every one of her actions was the result of these differing thoughts deliberating and compromising with one another.

  Just as everyone submits their will to the judgment of a few, forming nations and governments, she too had countless thoughts electing a single representative to unify into the sole personality—that personality being "me."

  As she thought this, she felt slightly dizzy—had she not slept for too long?

  Shaking her muddled head, she was about to board the carriage when she noticed the coachman seemed to be a different person. She looked again—the carriage was indeed the same one she had ridden before; there was no mistake.

  "My friend was suddenly called away by his wife. Before leaving, he asked me to take you home in his stead," said the man sitting in the driver’s seat, speaking before she could voice her doubts. He had a tuft of wiry brown stubble and was built with obvious strength, the muscles of his hands gripping the reins visible even beneath taut tendons—clearly someone well-trained, resembling the figures from early propaganda posters of that future red great power.

  At that moment, Yvette entered a strange daze. She suddenly felt like she had turned into some sort of gourmet, as if she could smell the sweat and internal bodily fluids exuded by the man, detecting a unique flavor—a pungent, sharp blend of coal dust and steel.

  "Have… you worked in a factory before?" she asked involuntarily.

  "I did, for a time. Who among those who come to London from elsewhere hasn’t?" The new coachman grinned, then inexplicably pulled his hat lower.

  ……

  In some unmentionable residence, a middle-aged man in a white robe resembling a doctor was speaking to a red-haired man.

  "Ledbetter, now that you’ve repented, I will proceed to the next stage of your instruction: guiding you gradually toward that one—the savior who bestows upon us supreme joy, glory, and grace. You must, through contemplation and silence, truly recognize that immortal one in the light, allowing her to lift and forgive your soul."

  "I understand, I will try," Ledbetter said stiffly.

  His once-unyielding will had blurred like drying water stains. Once the first step of wavering was taken, the rest seemed to follow naturally—so much so that even he found it odd why he had resisted so stubbornly before. He should have been smarter, pretending to agree with these madmen on the surface to spare himself needless suffering.

  Yes, I’m just humoring him for now. That’s the only way to talk to the insane, lest they do something unthinkably stupid—leaving me the one to suffer.

  So he consoled himself.

  "Your attitude is cooperative, though I must caution you on one point," the ghoul doctor nodded approvingly. "Before, when you spouted ravings, you often mentioned a ‘kindly father’ and another named Edwin, treating them as saviors—this is wrong. One cannot ride two horses or draw two bows; a servant cannot serve two masters. By honoring one, you slight the other. You are now reborn, granted the grace of the Lord of All to enter her sacred dwelling. All worldly things are past. The idols you once worshiped were false phantoms. Having escaped the chains of ignorance, why let those illusions sway you still, bending your purified heart to those beneath you yet arrogant enough to deem themselves superior? Though you seem dull among us, the Lord of All chose to redeem you, meaning you possess some measure of wisdom to set you apart from the slumbering masses."

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  This time, Ledbetter did not answer immediately.

  Kindly father… Cousin Edwin…

  How long had it been since he last thought of them?

  Memories fluttered by like dry leaves—back when he was just a child, fleeing with Cousin Edwin through the endless black forest, surrounded by the baying of pursuit. Even when his heart and lungs burned from exhaustion, his legs dared not stop, lest the hounds trained to hunt runaway slaves tear them to pieces.

  "Ledbetter? You have neglected my teachings yet again, failing to keep your heart pure. No one patches an old cloth onto a fine garment—it would ruin it. To prevent you straying further down your misguided path, I—" The doctor stood, disappointment etched on his face, absently flexing the joints of his right hand—his subconscious gesture before "surgery."

  Just as Ledbetter braced for another round of suffering, the ghoul doctor’s eyes rolled back. He swayed, then collapsed onto the table, his gaping mouth emitting a hoarse “hah” from deep in his throat before going still.

  Heart pounding, Ledbetter wondered—had the mad doctor finally snapped? If so, it was a fitting end.

  As he mulled his next move, the doctor abruptly straightened—though “nonchalantly” wasn’t quite the word. His face was awash with disbelief, tears streaming from wide eyes.

  "What… what trick is this?" Was this a test of obedience? Thank goodness he hadn’t acted out of spite earlier.

  "The master has noticed… She sensed my sincere love, my purity… Just now, I felt—for a moment—I merged with her will, that supreme joy… Oh, beloved master! That she would bestow such bounty on someone as insignificant as me!"

  "What are you saying?" Ledbetter thought the doctor now looked as devout as the apostles witnessing the Ascension in religious paintings.

  "Ledbetter, do you know? Ah… how could you understand now? For that instant, I was perfection—ineffable transcendence!!! Only the One exists! All is the One! She is whole. She is among us, and we in her. Through her, we become a single, undivided spirit—free from envy or hatred. Thus, we must shape ourselves by her will, united in thought within her eternal light… From now unto eternity."

  ……

  Yvette didn’t understand where the "flavor" she had sensed from the coachman came from. It had appeared without warning and vanished just as quickly, like a fleeting illusion.

  Setting aside Leviathan for now, her dizziness subsided slightly, and clarity returned. She suddenly realized she had never told the coachman her destination.

  Had he heard it from the previous driver? But that didn’t make sense—she had switched to this hired carriage mid-journey to spare her own overworked horse. So where exactly was he taking her?

  The carriage jolted violently. Yvette noticed they were now in a secluded alley—uneven, dilapidated, and seemingly struck recently by plague. Every door bore a mark in lime; perhaps the sick had been quarantined or died, leaving the entire lane silent and devoid of life.

  Then, the wheels stopped.

  "Get out, sir. Your destination’s here." The coachman held a short knife, eyes glinting with hatred beneath his lowered brim.

  Just an ordinary person? If he were supernatural and knew her identity, he wouldn’t waste time with threats.

  "Have we met before?" Yvette could only assume this was a robbery—but why the hostility?

  "Not to my knowledge, at least not before today. Perhaps you should be glad you never did anything for me to remember—or else this wouldn’t end with just handing over your valuables and taking a beating before leaving."

  "So you are a highwayman…" Yvette mused, intrigued. These days, London’s displaced farmers had flooded in, worsening security. During parliamentary sessions, members would even group up when traveling at night to avoid kidnappings and other dangers.

  Still, this was her first time being robbed.

  "Highwayman? That’s always what your kind calls us—branding the people as thieves. But what of yourselves? The only difference between you and me is this: the poor rob the rich to fill their stomachs, while the rich rob the poor to fill their pockets." The bearded robber spat furiously.

  He had once led a workers’ mutual aid society, inevitably dabbling in politics—petitioning for labor rights, threatening overseers with reports of abuse. Over time, factory owners labeled him a troublemaker, blacklisting him from jobs. He survived on odd jobs and the charity of comrades—until arrested for organizing a rally. He spent over a year in prison before being pardoned during the Queen’s coronation.

  Without his income, his son had grown sickly. After being beaten by other children for scavenging cherries, the boy ran home crying. Seeing his own flesh reduced to begging like a stray dog, the man snapped. He decided to teach that "pampered noble" he’d seen through the restaurant window a lesson.

  The place was reserved, with only a few carriages outside—two private ones he couldn’t intercept. So he pressured the hired coachman into lending him the vehicle, leveraging his past reputation.