novelraw Chapter 114: A Dilemma
Chapter 114: A Dilemma
After that elderly republican finished his fervent, idealistic speech full of the reckless courage of the uninformed, the back room of the Gaelic Lion antique shop resounded with his and Finn’s voices as they loudly sang ancient revolutionary songs in Gaelic, heroic and tragic.
They raised whiskey glasses high, convinced that after tomorrow’s “sacred assembly,” all the people of Ireland would take up arms and overthrow English tyranny, driven by the rebel spirit summoned by Blind Tarlough’s lament.
They were immersed in a collective hallucination woven from alcohol, nationalism, and vain hopes.
Amid that sea of passion and fanaticism, only Lin Jie and Julian felt like two reefs out of place among the surrounding waves.
Although their faces wore feigned smiles of “admiration” and “agreement,” inside they were already drowning in helplessness and shock.
The truth had been revealed in an absurd way.
They had found the lost Silver-Stringed Harp and they had found the performer who would soon play it, but the outcome was worse than any of the possibilities they had imagined.
This was not an extermination battle against a concrete enemy, nor a third-party murder that could be stopped.
This was about to become a collective suicide carried out by a group of “patriots” who had been kept in the dark, their noble revolutionary ideals deceiving them into serving both the O’Connor family and every participant’s doom.
Lin Jie could not bring himself to imagine the horrific scene that might unfold tomorrow night in the abandoned quarry.Whether the Blood-Tear Dirge, carrying the Druidic curse, would affect the assembled listeners when it was fully played on the Silver-Stringed Harp — which had absorbed centuries of resentment — was unknown.
But given the fate of the three pilgrims who had died unexpectedly out of “cowardice,” their souls were likely to be torn apart by this indiscriminate curse attack.
Just thinking about that consequence sent chills down his spine.
After another round of hypocritical “revolutionary camaraderie” pleasantries and mutual flattery, Lin Jie and Julian finally managed to slip out of the fervent antique shop.
They stepped back into the wet, noisy alleyways of the Temple Bar District.
Night came late and snow threatened;
a cold sleet began to fall from the sky, stinging their faces with bitter chill.
Neither spoke. They walked quickly in silence toward the carriage still waiting at the alley entrance.
Only after they climbed into the enclosed carriage, shutting out the clamor outside, did Julian rub his nose wearily with his hand.
“Lin…” his voice was drained, “this is beyond our original contingency. This is a damned dead end.”
“Yes, a dead end.” Lin Jie confirmed.
His mind had already begun simulating and running through scenarios during that fake, conciliatory gathering, and every simulation pointed toward a despairing cul-de-sac.
“We can’t simply use force,” Lin Jie said calmly.
“Those republican members are ignorant fanatics, but they are not our enemies;
their motivations deserve a certain respect.”
“If we choose to seize the Silver-Stringed Harp by force or sabotage their secret assembly, we will transform from ‘trustworthy international friends’ into the ‘secret police’ and ‘saboteurs’ of the hated English government in their eyes.”
“The consequences won’t stop at a vendetta from the Fenian Brotherhood, a semi-militarized organization with an extensive underground network in Dublin. Worse, we would likely inflame local nationalist tensions and potentially spark an armed uprising across Dublin.”
“Such a diplomatic incident would give the big shots back at Geneva Headquarters far more headaches than even an UMA disaster,” Lin Jie said coldly.
Julian nodded in pained agreement;
Lin Jie’s analysis hit the mark.
This was the hunters’ deepest sorrow: they had to face the nameless terrors of the dark world, while sometimes having to wrestle with the unsolvable puzzles of the surface world — full of lies, conspiracies, and dirty politics.
“There is another option,” Julian said, clinging to hope. “We can tell them the truth, inform them that the harp is cursed and could trigger dangerous consequences.”
“You think they’ll believe that?” Lin Jie’s icy counterquestion shattered his naive fantasy.
“Julian, put yourself in their shoes: if you’ve spent your life fighting for a noble ideal, even prepared to give your life for it, and suddenly two unknown foreigners come and tell you that the relic your group finally found to awaken the nation’s soul is actually a devilish instrument, and that your sacred ceremony of mission is in truth an evil sacrifice—”
“What would you think?” Lin Jie’s gaze sharpened. “You’d only believe this is an enemy’s political lie meant to stop your revolution!”
“They won’t just refuse to believe us;
they’ll become hostile and suspicious. By then, we’ll have lost any chance to prevent the disaster.”
That reasoning doused the flames of idealism in Julian’s heart.
Yes, impossible.
He, a madman for knowledge and historical ideals, understood all too well how revolutionaries driven by patriotism and independence had become equally fanatical;
a mind already occupied by passion and faith had no room for doubt or reason.
Violent assault was a dead end.
Honest confession was equally unreliable.
Silence returned to the carriage, broken only by the irritating clop of the wheels over cobblestones.
“So…” after a long pause Julian whispered, “are we really going to stand by and watch the ‘sacrifice’ take place tomorrow night?”
“No.” Lin Jie’s answer was concise and strong.
He lifted his head.
“If conventional thinking won’t work, then we must solve this in an unconventional and extremely ‘indecent’ way.”
“Julian, let’s reassess the situation. We cannot stop them from holding the assembly, nor can we stop them from bringing out the harp. We cannot prevent that fervent leader from placing his fingers on the strings.”
Lin Jie extended a finger. His black eyes shone under the gaslight. “The ultimate goal of all our efforts is one thing: to stop the Blood-Tear Dirge from being performed in its entirety and normally.”
A cold smile curled at Lin Jie’s mouth. “If we can’t target the ‘performer’ or the ‘venue,’ why can’t we go straight for the instrument itself?”
Julian stared at him, then asked hesitantly, “You mean sneak in before the assembly and damage the harp? That would be difficult. They’ll guard that relic like their own eyes;
we won’t get a chance to strike.”
Lin Jie slowly shook his head. “No, that’s too crude and too low-level. We don’t need to ‘break’ it physically — that kind of damage is easily discovered and will only enrage them.”
“What we need to do is make the Silver-Stringed Harp, at tomorrow night’s much-anticipated premiere…”
Lin Jie paused, then said with a mischievous tone, “make it, in front of all its most fanatical followers, play out a noise so atrocious even the worst street busker in Dublin would scoff at it.”