The snow in the Anvil Kingdom seemed to have forgotten its exhaustion, falling continuously and wrapping the rooftops, treetops, and flagstone roads in a thick layer of white.
But today, the snow falling on people didn't feel bone-chilling—the aroma of rice from congee stalls drifted through the streets and alleys. When patrolling Soldiers saw children chasing snowballs, they would bend down to pick up their dropped gloves;
The wooden windows of the bakery were wide open, and the owner was stuffing freshly baked wheat cakes into the hands of passing beggars.
The lingering hostility of the past was gone from the wind, and even the snowflakes seemed to carry a hint of gentleness.
Doge wrapped his old, patched cloak tighter. The collar was worn shiny, and the fur along the edges had long since fallen off.
He stood in the line for relief grain, his back hunched like an old arch bridge weighed down by snow, clutching a chipped pottery bowl in his hand.
A large piece of the bowl's rim had been knocked off, revealing the dull clay color inside, but the body of the bowl had been rubbed bright with a coarse cloth, without a single stain to be seen.
"Thinking back to those years..."
He raised a hand turned purple from the cold, used his sleeve to haphazardly wipe the runny nose under his nostrils, and sighed to his old comrade beside him, who was also hunched over.
The old comrade had carried a gun alongside him back then, and now his hearing was poor; one had to lean in close for him to hear.
"When the Old King was on the throne, I was still a strong young lad, capable of lifting a tripod and walking with a swagger! During that time we went to war with The First Prince, hey—"
Doge's eyes suddenly lit up, his cloudy pupils looking as if stars had fallen into them.
"The First Prince rode a white horse, his silver armor so dazzling under the sun that one couldn't keep their eyes open, looking just like a burning fire!
That sword of his, do you still remember? With one strike, it could split three layers of iron armor stacked together!"
The old comrade coughed until he trembled, thumping his chest with his hand. After finally catching his breath, he nodded repeatedly.
"I remember! How could I not remember!" His voice was as raspy as a broken gong.
"That 'Black Crow Knights' from the enemy country, how arrogant they were! But when they saw The First Prince's sword, they stripped off their armor on the spot! Their Knight Commander knelt on one knee and said, 'To follow a prince like this, it's worth dying'! Back then, our Anvil Kingdom..."
He paused, his throat feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton, and his voice lowered.
"Back then, if you threw bread onto the street, no one would pick it up. Children used wheat cakes as balls to kick around;
When milk buckets tipped over, they could form small rivers on the flagstone roads, and even the dogs drank until their bellies were round..."
As the two spoke, the corners of their eyes turned red.
Old tears flowed down the deep, crisscrossing wrinkles on Doge's face.
The year the Old King passed away, The First Prince was suddenly gone. The palace said it was a sudden illness, but who would believe that?
Doge had secretly gone to look at night. On the windowsill of The First Prince's bedroom, there was still that bouquet of wild roses he had sent before the campaign. The petals were withered, looking as if they had been pinched.
Then Bluebeard came.
That man with a face full of thick beard had murky yellow eyes and showed a mouthful of sharp teeth when he smiled.
Exorbitant taxes flew down like snowflakes. Land taxes rose to seventy percent; if a family had a cow, they had to hand over half, and if they had a chicken, they had to hand over an egg.
Some of Doge's comrades were beheaded for resisting, their heads hung on the city gates for public display;
Some fled to neighboring countries and starved to death at the border;
The few who remained, including the old comrade, were all dragged off to dig in gold mines, returning with only half their lives left.
Doge himself couldn't count how many lashes he had received.
Once, because he couldn't pay his taxes, he was beaten by Soldiers until three of his ribs were broken. He lay in the woodshed for three days and three nights, barely hanging on by drinking water.
He had endured solely on the spiteful breath of 'I must outlive that dog,' and he never expected he actually would—a day ago, news spread through the streets that Bluebeard was dead, his heart pierced by the sword of a youth wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
The voices of those shouting the news were cracked from yelling, making it more lively than setting off firecrackers during a festival.
Now, those Soldiers who had snatched women and smashed shops had been beheaded, their heads hung before the former congee stalls;
The newly replaced Soldiers wore clean clothes, would bend down to help the elderly, and would pull candy from their pockets for the children.
Those officials who used to transport relief grain to the black market had also been stripped of their official robes and thrown into prison;
The newly appointed officials stood behind the congee stalls, sleeves rolled up as they ladled porridge, beads of sweat dripping down their cheeks and splashing into the steaming congee.
Doge always felt like he was dreaming, until he heard someone in the crowd shout,
"It's glowing over there!"
It wasn't the light of the sun; the sun was hidden behind thick layers of clouds.
Nor was it the light of torches; torchlight carried an orange-red warmth that made one's eyes dizzy.
From the direction of that broken statue in the corner of the square, a soft halo suddenly diffused. It was like melted moonlight, or like a stream thawing in early spring—clear and light, not at all dazzling, yet it dyed the surrounding snow a pale gold, and even the falling snowflakes seemed to be dusted with gold powder.
The grain-collecting line erupted into a commotion.
People forgot to queue and forgot the empty bowls in their hands, all standing on tiptoe to look over there, their necks stretched out like geese being held up.
The official distributing grain held his wooden ladle aloft, forgetting to call out the numbers, his eyes wide and round.
Doge nudged his old comrade, his voice trembling: "Old comrade, look... what is that?"
The old comrade squinted his aged eyes, peering hard in that direction, and suddenly cried out "Oh my!" as he excitedly slapped his thigh.
"Light... there are people in the halo!"
Doge looked where he was pointing—and wasn't it true! Two children were standing in the halo, both wearing wide-brimmed black hats, the brims pressed low so their faces couldn't be seen.
The edges of the boy's clothes fluttered gently in the wind, like a black bird spreading its wings;
The girl's blonde hair hung down from under the hat brim, the tips dusted with snow particles, swaying gently with her movements as she looked up.
Then, that light suddenly solidified.
It was as if someone were using invisible hands to gradually smooth out the scars on The Statue.
At the gap of the broken sword, a silvery-white light gradually diffused, and in the blink of an eye, it became whole and flawless. The blade shimmered with a cold light, reflecting the faces of the surrounding crowd;
The pitted stone surface was wrapped in a layer of soft light, slowly becoming as smooth as jade until even the finest lines disappeared;
In the hollow eye sockets, two gem-like lights suddenly lit up, blue like a midsummer sky, gentle yet sharp, as if they could see through a person's heart.
A youth dressed in silver armor stood there, his posture as upright as a pine, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The patterns on the silver armor were clearly visible, each scale shimmering with a soft light.
A faint smile played on his lips, and the corners of his eyes turned up slightly. He was exactly as Doge, the old comrade, and all the elderly of the Anvil Kingdom remembered him—The First Prince!
"The First Prince!"
Doge's voice suddenly exploded like an old crow being stepped on, incredibly raspy yet carrying a power that pierced through the wind and snow.
The pottery bowl in his hand fell to the ground with a "clatter," shattering into three or four pieces. The coarse pottery shards splashed near his feet, but he didn't notice at all. He just stared with wide eyes, his whole body shaking like a sieve, tears mixing with snot as they flowed down.
"It's The First Prince!"
Those standing close saw clearly, their voices carrying a sob, as if someone were clutching their throats.
"The First Prince has returned!"
Someone knelt on the ground, their knees hitting the frozen earth with a dull thud.
The queue completely disintegrated.
People rushed toward the halo. Some old men wept while thumping their chests, muttering, "I knew you would return."
There was an old Woman, once a young girl saved from a fire by The First Prince, who now covered her face and wept uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking like fallen leaves in the autumn wind;
Even the young Soldiers followed their elders in kneeling on one knee—they had grown up hearing legends of The First Prince, of how kind and brave he was. Seeing the man from the legends now, their eyes turned red.
Leah tugged at Gwof's hem, looking up in a daze.
That statue, which couldn't move just a moment ago, was now standing in the light. Its stone body had turned into warm flesh and blood, its silver armor glowed softly, and the broken sword had regained its edge.
The First Prince's gaze swept over the weeping crowd and finally landed on Gwof, offering a smile.
In that smile, there was excitement, the gentleness of seeing the people well, and a kind of eternal strength etched into his bones.
Looking at that smile, Doge suddenly remembered a night many years ago, before the campaign.
The First Prince had patted his shoulder, the warmth of the silver armor transferring through the fabric, his voice hearty: "Doge, when we return after winning the battle, I'll be your matchmaker and find you a good wife who can make wheat cakes!"
He could no longer hold back, looking at the figure in the light with tears streaming down his face, his lips trembling, yet unable to say a single word.
The snow began to fall again. Large flakes drifted down, melting the instant they touched the halo, turning into tiny water droplets like someone's tears.
The crying, shouting, and praying on the square blended together like a song that had arrived far too late, slowly dispersing in the wind and snow to every corner of the Anvil Kingdom.
This sound was like a ballad crumbled by the wind, swirling in the snow.
Suddenly, a crisp "Dong—" exploded. It wasn't the light sound of a pottery bowl breaking, nor the dull thud of a stonemason's hammer, but rather like the bronze bell of a church bell tower being struck hard, its resonance rippling through the clouds and making people's eardrums tingle.
Before people could recover from this sudden sound, with tears still hanging from their eyes, they saw a flash of golden-red light abruptly pierce the sky.
That light was like a red-hot sword, splitting the thick clouds and dispersing the grey mist, striking directly into the center of the square.
Sunlight poured through that rift, spreading across the snow and instantly melting it into a field of golden yellow. Even the falling snowflakes were tinged with warmth.
Immediately after, a stirring song flowed down with the light—it was a holy hymn from the church praising the Angels. The roar of a pipe organ mixed with the harmony of a choir, solemn and sacred, as if countless pairs of wings were flapping in the clouds.
Everyone instinctively looked toward the sky, forgetting to weep and forgetting to kneel. Even Doge stood with his mouth agape, the golden light reflected in his cloudy eyes.
Leah was watching in a daze when her wrist was suddenly gripped tightly by Gwof.
When she turned, she saw that The Statue in the halo had already stepped forward, his silver armor shimmering with a dazzling light under the sun.
He didn't speak, but naturally stood in front of Gwof and Leah, shielding the two children behind him. The hand holding the longsword rose slightly, the cold light of the blade aimed at the sky.
"Hum—"
The golden light in the clouds suddenly converged, gathering into a brilliant sphere of light.
The sphere of light descended slowly, coming to a stop about thirty feet above the square. When it dispersed, it revealed a figure—an Angel dressed in pure white robes, with golden curly hair falling over his shoulders. A ring of holy light floated above his head, and two pairs of wings were spread behind his back, their feathers shimmering with a pearly luster in the sunlight.
His face was blurred, only his lips could be seen pressed into a straight line, carrying an unquestionable solemnity.
The waves of the hymn grew louder. The people on the square instinctively lowered their heads, and some even knelt down, reciting prayers under their breath.
Only The Statue remained with his back straight, shielding the two children, his hand holding the sword as steady as a rock.
Leah peeked out from behind him and saw the Angel's gaze land on Gwof. The light in his halo flickered slightly, as if he were scrutinizing him.
And the wolf ears under Gwof's hat brim twitched slightly. His grip on Leah's hand tightened, the warmth of his fingers transferring through the fabric, carrying an undetectable tension.
The snow was still falling, but it turned into water vapor the moment it touched the Angel's wings.
The Angel's fingertip rose gently, the movement as elegant as plucking invisible harp strings.
The corpse of The Swallow, which Leah had placed on the pedestal in the corner of the square, suddenly seemed to be pulled by an invisible thread and floated up slowly.
The ice on its wings melted in the golden light, its stiff feathers gradually unfurled, and its grey-blue plumage regained its luster.
"Chirp?"
A clear chirp pierced the air as The Swallow suddenly flapped its wings, stumbling slightly in mid-air.
It tilted its head, looking at the crowd kneeling below, at the Angel in the light, and then at the two children protected by The First Prince. It was completely bewildered—hadn't it frozen to death on The Statue's shoulder? How was it suddenly flying?
This scene before it was even more terrifying than the time it dodged a hailstorm last year.
It flapped its wings and hovered in the air, forgetting whether it should fly south or whom it should greet, just staring with its bead-like black eyes, a look of pure confusion on its face.
The Angel paid no mind to The Swallow's daze, slowly raising his other hand.
In an instant, countless fragments of golden light flowed out from between his wings like melted gold leaf, scattering down upon everyone in the square.
Doge only felt a warmth flow from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His frozen old bones felt as if they were soaking in warm water, and his years of back pain were mostly relieved;
The Woman in the grain line who couldn't stop coughing suddenly felt her throat clear, allowing her to breathe smoothly;
Even the youngest Child no longer hunched their neck, their little face taking on a healthy flush.
When the golden light dissipated, the wings behind the Angel's back folded gently, and his gaze finally settled on Gwof.
That gaze pierced through the shadow of the wide-brimmed hat, carrying scrutiny yet also gentleness, like looking at a carefully polished gemstone.
Gwof's heart skipped a beat, nearly jumping out of his throat.
He instinctively pulled Leah behind him again, his wolf ears pressed tight against his scalp—he never imagined that simply looking at a statue would disturb a legendary being like this.
An Angel! Those were characters on church murals who would slay demons at the drop of a hat.
Especially since this was an Angel of the Fairy Tale World.
An invincible existence!
With his appearance, would he be considered an-heretic?
Just as his mind was swirling with messy thoughts, the Angel spoke.
The voice didn't sound like it came from a mortal throat, but rather like countless glass beads colliding in the clouds, solemn and clear.
"Outlander."
Gwof's whole body stiffened—He knew?
"You have done well."
The Angel's voice carried praise, and the light of his halo softened slightly.
"I see you. I see your determination, and I see your softness when protecting others. You have a pure heart, not twisted by bloodline, nor tarnished by circumstance."
Gwof opened his mouth, wanting to argue that he wasn't pure at all and was just bored, but the words died in his throat.
Facing an Angel, any rebuttal seemed to lack confidence.
"I bless you."
The Angel's fingertip pointed at him, and a soft golden light landed on Gwof's cloak like an invisible mark.
"From this day forward, no magic with malicious intent shall harm you."
The moment the golden light touched his body, Gwof felt as if a warm film had wrapped around him. Even the fuzz on his wolf ears trembled comfortably.
He stood dazed, watching the Angel's wings gradually become transparent and the light of the halo fade, only then realizing—he had... been blessed by an Angel?