Today, the iron gates of Salem Third Prison would witness their most anticipated moment since their construction.
Behind the gates, the warden was personally adjusting Lacey's collar, his movements cautious and meticulous, terrified of showing any disrespect.
"Mr. Lacey, there's quite a crowd outside. Uh... please bear with it."
"Thank you for your hard work, Warden." Lacey's tone was calm. "I appreciate you looking after me these past three months."
"Not at all, not at all!" The warden waved his hands repeatedly, nearly knocking his own hat off. "It has been our honor to have you stay with us!"
He himself found the words absurd as he said them.
A prisoner staying in prison had become the prison's honor.
But that was the reality of the situation.
For the past three months, the guards of the Third Prison walked with their heads held high, and even their salaries had inexplicably increased.
The higher-ups had allocated funds to renovate the cells and improve the food, ostensibly to "raise human rights standards," but everyone knew it was all thanks to the gentleman standing before them.
The prison guard John followed behind, carrying a small bag containing Lacey's discarded prison uniform and a few books.
The autograph his son had received was now framed and hung in the most prominent spot in his home.
The iron gates groaned as they slowly swung inward.
Light from the outside flooded in, somewhat blinding.
And with it poured in a roar of voices like a mountain tsunami.
When Lacey's figure appeared in the gateway, those voices merged into a single song:
"...Across the hills of piled corpses,
The hero's medal shines in blood..."
Among the singers were workers in oil-stained overalls, farmers with skin tanned dark by the sun, vendors pushing their small carts, white-haired elders, and children perched on their parents' shoulders.
They packed the entire street in front of the prison, stretching to the horizon.
Their gazes burned like fire.
Lacey stood on the steps, quietly watching the sea of people.
He saw the flame in their eyes, now focused on him.
His gaze passed through the crowd, and he saw Serafina standing at the back, her eyes slightly red.
Lacey gave a reassuring smile in her direction.
He raised a hand and pressed it down gently.
The singing gradually subsided, and thousands of pairs of eyes focused on him alone.
"I'm back."
He only said those two words.
Yet the crowd erupted once more.
"Lacey!"
"Lacey!"
"Lacey!"
Taylor the blacksmith wiped his eyes with a hand as large as a cattail fan and broke into a wide grin.
Along with several members of the picket team, he pushed with all his might to clear a path through the throng.
Lacey walked down the steps, and the crowd parted to either side like the Red Sea for Moses.
People reached out, wanting to touch him, yet drew their hands back at the last moment, their reverent gazes simply following his every move.
They offered him their homemade bread, wheat cakes, and even a few eggs still dotted with soil.
Lacey didn't refuse. He accepted a loaf of black bread, still warm from a child's hands, and thanked him.
He walked over to Serafina, split the bread in half for her, and said with a smile, "See? I told you I'd be fine."
Serafina took the bread, her fingertips lightly brushing his hand, feeling its steady warmth.
She didn't speak, only nodding as the moisture in her eyes finally gave way, turning into a single crystalline drop that rolled down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away.
"Chief, welcome home!" Taylor said in his booming voice. He wanted to give Lacey a bear hug, but seeing the crowd around them, he just scratched his head shyly.
...
On the way back to the slums, Lacey noticed a distinct change.
The once muddy roads had been paved with gravel, making them much smoother.
Along the sides of the road, the foul-smelling garbage heaps had vanished, replaced by rows of newly planted saplings.
Some dilapidated houses were being demolished, and next to them, the foundations for new brick houses had already been laid, with workers bustling about energetically.
He saw the Workers' Picket Team patrolling in uniform. Though their equipment was simple, their spirits were high as they maintained order.
Children on the street were loudly reciting the alphabet after an old teacher.
Something called "hope" now existed here.
When their group arrived at the Workers' Party headquarters, hundreds of members were already waiting in formation at the entrance.
Upon seeing Lacey, they all straightened their backs in unison, raised their arms, and saluted their leader.
Lacey returned the gesture in kind.
...
"...In the first week after you were imprisoned, the number of membership applications in Salem tripled."
"We reorganized according to your previous plan, forming small groups of ten and branches of one hundred."
"Currently, in Salem alone, our registered core members have reached three thousand seven hundred, with countless more peripheral supporters."
"Taylor's Workers' Picket Team has expanded to three hundred members and has completely taken over security in the slums."
"We've established three public canteens and one basic clinic, and the number of students in our literacy classes exceeds five hundred..."
In the Workers' Party headquarters office, Serafina was delivering her report with perfect clarity.
Taylor added from the side, "Nowadays in the slums, if a family has a fight, they don't go to the City Guard anymore, they come to the Picket Team."
"We also caught a dozen thieves and swindlers and dealt with them according to Party rules. It's way more effective than those guards who only know how to take money!"
His dark face was filled with pride.
Lacey nodded, his gaze turning to Serafina, gesturing for her to continue.
"On the external front, the impact of the public trial exceeded our expectations."
"In some of the surrounding towns, organizations imitating us have appeared, like workers' brotherhoods and mutual aid societies."
"They are secretly circulating the contents of your speech and see you as their spiritual leader. I have already sent people to establish initial contact with several of the larger organizations."
"At the same time, quite a few people have approached us on their own initiative."
"There are small workshop owners on the verge of bankruptcy from the pressure of large factories. They hope we can organize workers to boycott their competitors."
"There are low-level tax collectors disgusted with their superiors' exploitation who are willing to provide us with evidence of tax evasion by certain nobles."
"And there are some opportunistic merchants who want to sponsor us to get a piece of the pie in the new order that may be coming."
"What do you make of these people?" Lacey asked.
"Most are opportunists, but a few among them are genuinely dissatisfied with the current order and could become our temporary allies."
"My ability helps me distinguish the genuine from the false. I've already recorded those with ulterior motives, and they can be purged at any time."
"Well done," Lacey said approvingly.
"The United Front is about uniting all forces that can be united."
"Their demands, as long as they don't conflict with our core principles, are negotiable. We need their resources and information to buy us time."
He paused for a moment, then looked at Serafina. "Anything else?"
Serafina pulled a letter from her files and handed it to Lacey.
"This is a secret letter that was delivered to headquarters half a month ago."
Lacey took the letter and glanced over it.
"Miss Gertrude Strollo of Wischeim wishes to have a secret meeting with the leader of the Workers' Party," Serafina explained.
"Wischeim is a major city near the capital. The lord of the Strollo family, the old Count, was branded a remnant of the Witch King during the recent purge and died under mysterious circumstances."
"The right of inheritance for the family has now fallen to this Miss Gertrude and her incompetent older brother."
Lacey nodded. "A plea for help from a fallen noble."
Serafina continued, "She is a clever woman, but her inheritance rights are her biggest obstacle."
"The Elector and the Empresses would obviously prefer an incompetent fool to inherit the title, making him easier to control."
"So she came to us," Lacey said with a small smile.
"In their eyes, we are rebels more dangerous than the Witch King's remnants, the perfect tool to do their dirty work."
"Use us to deal with her brother, and after it's done, kick us aside while claiming credit for avenging him."
"Killing two birds with one stone. A fine calculation."
Taylor was utterly confused by the talk, but he grasped the main point and grumbled, "Not a single noble is any good! Chief, this woman definitely wants to use us, we can't trust her!"
"Taylor, you're right, of course she wants to use us." Lacey put the letter down. "But the question is, why can't we use her in return?"
He stood up, walked to the map, and his eyes fell on Wischeim's location.
"Right now, we're just a local power in Salem. No matter how loud we shout, our influence is confined to a small area."
"If we want all of Leithanien to hear our voice, we must plunge a dagger into the heart of power."
"And this Miss Gertrude has just given us a fine opportunity."
"Her people are very sincere," Serafina said. "Or rather, very desperate."
"Her attendant, a man named Heinrich, arrived early this morning."
"He knew you were being released today and is now waiting in the guest room next door."
"Guest room?" Lacey was taken aback for a second.
A light blush appeared on Serafina's cheeks as she pointed next door sheepishly. "It was the tool storage room. I had someone clean it up..."
Lacey shook his head with a chuckle.
"Then let's not keep our guest waiting."
He adjusted his collar and strode toward the door.
"Taylor, you stand guard outside. Serafina, you're with me."
________________________________________
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