"Seeds need soil to grow, and grace needs piety to be received."
The High Sparrow looked around, nodded, and then pointed to a Faith Protector with a severed arm in the inner circle: "Look at Brother Joseph."
"Three months ago, his hand was cut off for stealing. The wound became infected, he ran a high fever, and maggots laid eggs in the rotting flesh. Even wild dogs wouldn't go near him; he could only lie in Flea Bottom and wait for death."
"But he crawled for two whole blocks to stand before the Gods. He prayed with piety, accepted the trials bestowed by the Seven to wash away his sins, and then drank the Holy Soup and applied the Holy Ointment."
"Now, he has merely lost an arm, but he has gained something far more precious."
—"Listening to the gospel of the Seven, a peaceful and clean soul!"
As the words fell, the man named Joseph puffed out his chest and raised his stump toward the sky, the smile on his face so blissful it was almost distorted.
"Impossible."
Listening to this exaggerated tale, Corleone couldn't help but analyze: "Even I might not be able to cure someone whose wound is already infected and festering with a fever, unless this guy is Jaime Lannister."
But next, the High Sparrow pointed to an old woman kneeling in the middle: "Sister Martha."
"She once lay in bed coughing blood for half a year. The doctors said it was consumption, incurable."
"But she did not give up. Every day she listened to the holy voice and prayed. Even when soaked by rain or having her skin peeled by the sun, she did not leave."
"Finally, the Seven saw her piety, forgave her sins, and granted her the grace of recovery!"
Seeing the High Sparrow mention her, the old woman also kowtowed excitedly, her forehead repeatedly striking the stone slabs.
Soon, Martha was helped up by those nearby, old tears streaming down her face as she mumbled words of gratitude incoherently.
Then, the crowd erupted in excited shouts. Many people spontaneously knelt and began to pray loudly.
But Corleone's eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed something was wrong.
The old woman's chest rose and fell very evenly. Aside from a bit of shortness of breath, there was nothing unusual—completely unlike the state a patient who had suffered from consumption should be in.
Her face showed a sickly flush, and her fingers trembled slightly.
It looked like the effects of a drug kicking in.
She's a plant...
Corleone immediately reached a conclusion. However, he had to admit the woman's name was well-chosen; if this were the universe of a certain muscle man who wears his underwear on the outside, just announcing her name could stop the destruction of the world.
"So... brothers and sisters."
Seeing that the people's attention and expectations were at their peak, the High Sparrow spread his arms, his voice full of infectious power: "Ask why you were born poor, in pain, and trampled upon!"
"Ask yourselves if you are pious. Ask your hearts if they are as pure as a glass candle before the Seven."
"Suffering is the furnace, and piety is the hammer. Only a soul tempered a thousand times can be forged into a vessel to receive grace!"
"Tell me, can your faith withstand the test!"
"It can!"
Under his instigation, more people began to respond. Crying, shouting, and praying mixed together.
A collective euphoria began to spread, infecting everyone like a plague.
"This man should have his head chopped off, then his eyes and ears poked out, and his tongue cut out too."
At this moment, Iggo beside him said coldly.
The Dothraki utterly loathed such charlatan tricks.
They believed that if an evil spellcaster were allowed to keep an intact head and features, his soul could use magic to retaliate after death.
But if the head was cut off, the eyes gouged out, the ears deafened, and the tongue removed, he could not see, hear, or speak. Even his soul would be incomplete, unable to harm anyone ever again.
Listening to this simple and crude logic, Corleone just observed calmly without offering an opinion.
As the atmosphere heated up, the High Sparrow nodded slightly to a Faith Protector below the stage.
That Faith Protector then turned and pushed out a small wooden cart from behind the terrace. On the cart were two large wooden barrels, their openings covered with cloth.
Although they couldn't see what was inside, everyone's gaze immediately shifted there. Their burning stares could almost burn holes in the wooden barrels.
"Now."
The High Sparrow's voice rang out again: "Prove your piety with actions, brothers and sisters."
"Repeat after me—"
—
He held up the seven-pointed star and began to lead the recitation.
"Born in sin, the world a cage."
"Suffering trials, temper my soul."
"Pious atonement, cleanse the filth."
"Doubt and betrayal, eternal flames."
"The Seven watch, grace like rain."
"Kneel to receive, and find release."
The crowd followed along. Their voices, initially chaotic, gradually became synchronized, growing louder and more fanatical.
Corleone watched this collective hypnosis with cold eyes. His heart felt no ripples; he even felt a bit like laughing.
He didn't know if the High Sparrow had made up this scripture himself. The general meaning was that people were born with sin, worldly suffering was a test, those who piously atoned would be rewarded, and doubters would fall into hell forever.
But how to put it...
It wasn't very professional; it wasn't smooth at all.
"So damn clunky," he scoffed under his breath. "I'd rather have 'Pity my fellow men, for their woes are many.' At least the artistic mood is there."
After reciting for about fifteen minutes, the High Sparrow raised his hand, and the chanting stopped abruptly.
"The Seven have heard your voices." For the first time, a smile appeared on the High Sparrow's face.
The smile was faint, carrying a hint of compassion for the world, yet it was indescribably eerie: "Now, let us share the blessings of the Seven together."
As his voice fell, the cloth covers of the wooden barrels were pulled away.
Only then did Corleone see clearly: one barrel contained black bread cut into pieces of varying sizes, and the other contained a dark brown medicinal soup, steaming hot. One didn't even need to think to know what it was.
Under the burning gazes of the people, the distribution began.
The Faith Protectors maintained order as people lined up to come forward in turn.
Everyone who reached the front had to first bow to the High Sparrow and say, "Thank the Seven for their grace." Then his deputy, after consulting with a Faith Protector, would decide how much "blessing" to give.
Everyone would receive a piece of bread, regardless of their piety.
However, how much effort they had put into praying and chanting earlier determined the size of the bread.
When some people cast their eyes toward the barrel containing the medicinal soup, they were immediately scolded and driven away, told bluntly that only those who "piously atoned" could receive that blessing.
The first to receive the "blessing" was the old woman named Martha.
She took the wooden bowl almost by snatching it and downed the brown medicinal soup without hesitation.
A few seconds later, the look of anxiety on her face began to relax, and a vacant, hollow smile surfaced at the corners of her mouth.
Then she staggered back into the crowd, her eyes unfocused, as if she had already left this world of suffering and truly attained "atonement."
Then, sparsely, one after another followed.
Corleone silently counted, analyzed, and evaluated.
The frequency of people receiving the soup was much lower than what Rorge had reported before.
Perhaps these guys were short on raw materials, or perhaps they had run out of money?
The line continued to move forward.
Then, it was a woman's turn.
She was about thirty years old, her face haggard, yet one could still see she was very beautiful.
In her arms, she held a little girl about five or six years old. The child's face was pale; she was likely seriously ill.
Unlike the others, the woman did not wait impatiently to receive bread. Instead, she knelt with a thud before the High Sparrow while holding the child.
"Please save my daughter, Lord Septon. She has had a fever for three days. Several Maesters have seen her and were helpless. I heard that there are messengers of the Seven here who give..."
"
"I am no Lord, Sister."
The High Sparrow interrupted her tearful plea and slowly opened his half-closed eyes.
But he did not immediately treat the girl. Instead, he carefully scrutinized the woman before him, his gaze eventually falling on her clothes.
"The fabric of your clothes is quite good."
"A poor sister from Flea Bottom could not afford such clothes."
As soon as these words were spoken, the woman's body froze. She looked up at him helplessly, but the High Sparrow just continued indifferently: "You must be a prostitute."
His tone was not a question at all, but a certain statement of fact.
Everyone's attention was drawn. Many women showed looks of disdain, yet a hidden trace of envy for her clothes was tucked away in their eyes.
Some men scrutinized her with unscrupulous gazes, having no interest in the fabric at all, but rather looking as if they wanted to tear it off to see what was underneath.
Sympathy?
Virtually none.
Under the gaze of the people, the woman trembled and finally lowered her head, biting her lip as she replied: "...Yes!"
"Shame!"
At this moment, the assistant beside the High Sparrow shouted a loud reprimand without warning: "Exchanging your body for gold dragons, using the organs given by God to perform acts of desecration."
"Every transaction you make is an accumulation of sin!"
"Shame!"
"Whore!"
"Get out of here!"
Under his lead, a chaotic outcry erupted from the crowd.
The people seemed to have found an outlet for their own suffering, unscrupulously venting their emotions on this impure prostitute.
"I... I needed money!"
Under the pointing fingers of a thousand people, the woman flusteredly tried to explain: "My man is dead, and my daughter needs food!"
"So you fed her with sin?"
The assistant's voice rose sharply as he pointed at the girl in her arms: "Look at her!"
"This is retribution. The Seven will not bless a child raised with filthy money!"
His words seemed to make great sense, and even more intense accusations erupted from the crowd.
The people seemed to have finally found a 'rational' explanation for the girl's illness; it all stemmed from the mother's'sin'.
Only Corleone silently observed the little girl's symptoms.
Rapid breathing accompanied by intercostal retractions—typical of a severe respiratory infection, likely progressed to pneumonia.
In this world without antibiotics, the mortality rate exceeded sixty percent.
But at this moment, not a single person tried to think rationally. They were certain that the prostitute mother's actions had incurred divine punishment.
"Get out!"
"We don't harbor whores here!"
"Your sin has contaminated her soul!"
They cursed and shouted, their eyes bloodshot and their expressions incredibly frenzied.
The woman began to cry, her shoulders shaking violently.
But she did not argue; she only buried her head and held the child tighter. That was the only clean thing she had, and now even it had been declared a product of 'contamination'.
"The Seven... are merciful!"
But just as the people's condemnation almost reached its climax, the High Sparrow's voice rang out suddenly.
The scene fell silent instantly. Everyone stopped talking, quietly listening to how this avatar of the Seven would judge her.
He was seen slowly stepping forward to the woman, reaching out to stroke the top of her head. The expression on his face was incredibly pious, as if he were beyond the touch of the mortal world.
"Illness is but a symptom. The true source of the disease lies in your fall, in the filth flowing through her veins."
"But... as long as you sincerely repent and accept purification, grace may still descend."
Hearing this, the woman snapped her head up, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes as she hurriedly cried out: "I repent!"
"I am willing to do anything, as long as my little Lisha can get better..."
"
As soon as these words were spoken, the corner of the assistant's mouth beside the High Sparrow curled up slightly, almost imperceptibly, but a certain someone caught it very clearly.
"Then, prove your piety."
The High Sparrow patted the top of her head: "Before the Seven and all your brothers and sisters, confess your sins."
"Thoroughly... and without reservation."