At 9:30 AM on July 9, 2014, the summer sun pierced through the morning mist in the valley outside Basel, illuminating the mottled sandstone facade of Bruce Church.
This transverse church, nestled on a vineyard slope, retained the simple elegance of the post-16th-century Reformation. Its spireless, square-stone bell tower was originally a converted medieval defensive structure. The half-sloping roof was covered with dark grey slate, and there was only one stained-glass rose window depicting a saint holding an inexhaustible wine barrel.
The morning breeze swept across the cemetery on the north side of the church, startling a flock of white doves. The flapping of their wings mingled with the gurgling of a Rhine tributary, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of mown grass and the faint sourness of distant grapevines.
As ten o'clock approached, worshippers gathered from the border paths of the three countries.
Dressed in neatly ironed linen shirts, leaning on cherrywood walking sticks, their shoe heels stained with red earth, they had just arrived from their own vineyards on the slopes, their trouser cuffs still clinging to the morning dew.
Cross-border families pushed strollers, walking across the border from Alsace, France. Mothers quietly reminded their children to be quiet in a mix of German and French, their canvas bags holding freshly baked pretzel bread.
Cyclists sped along the Rhine greenway, their baskets filled with Basel University notebooks, the organ practice pieces still playing in their headphones.
At the church entrance stood Pastor Hans.
A former brewer with a bushy beard, he shook hands and exchanged greetings with everyone, his rough, calloused palms meeting the smooth skin of city visitors, like a brief touch between two civilizations.
Inside the main hall, which could accommodate 250 people, the spirit of the Protestant Reformation permeated every detail.
Oak pews fanned out facing the north-side pulpit, allowing worshippers in every corner to look directly at the Bible in the pastor's hand, rather than at an altar icon.
The Baroque carved pulpit was the only decoration; sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating its grapevine patterns, creating a warm-cool contrast with the plain wooden trusses suspended from the ridge.
The organ at the back wall played a prelude, its waves of sound crashing against the limestone walls, startling an orange cat dozing on the windowsill. It leaped down and deftly slipped into the folds of an old woman's skirt in the last row.
Precisely at ten o'clock, the church bells echoed through the vineyard valley.
All conversations ceased abruptly, and the rustling sound of over a hundred people rising was like wind sweeping through wheat fields.
Pastor Hans opened the scripture, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.
The cracked fingers of farmers in the front row traced the psalm numbers, pharmaceutical researchers made the sign of the cross on their phone's silent screen, and a refugee girl clutched her mother's sleeve, her eyelashes still beaded with sweat from her bike ride.
At this moment, the ordinary people by the Rhine condensed within the stone walls into a miniature European tableau. Faith needed no grandeur, just like this rural church, carrying the joys and sorrows of 112 individual souls in its simplicity.
Among them, one person stood out remarkably. He was wearing a light blue suit, and several other people in suits sat with him among the crowd.
A white taxi slowly pulled up outside the church. Johnny glanced at the church, then at the address on the paper strip in his hand, and got out of the car, walking towards the church.
After Johnny got out, Daniel drove the car a short distance forward, parked it in a parking space, and then turned on the car radio.
Johnny slowly approached the church. He pushed open the door, and the sounds from inside drifted out.
The sound of the door being pushed open also caught everyone's attention, and they all turned to look in the direction of the door.
It was a young man in a suit. They then turned back to face the pastor. As the pastor continued to speak, their enthusiasm gradually intensified with the changes in his tone.
Johnny's gaze quickly swept over those who looked at him, and soon locked onto one person.
That guy was Kelte, whom Frank had shown him. He was indeed here. Johnny then slowly walked step by step towards the pastor.
Since Kelte and his companions were sitting quite far forward, Johnny had no choice but to move forward.
But these few people were completely different from the fervent believers; they appeared very calm.
And Johnny also noticed that the church's background music was very strange; it was an uncomfortable sound.
He quietly took out a pair of earplugs from his pocket, put them in his ears, then opened his phone, plugged the earplug jack into the phone, and played music.
There were too many people now; it wasn't a good time to approach that guy named Kelte to inquire about the situation. He could only wait until the service ended.
Meanwhile, a middle-aged man in a full suit sitting in the very front frowned slightly, looking a bit puzzled.
"Why is Night Owl here?"
This person was Harry, wearing glasses. He had been here for a while and had listened to the pastor for some time, but he still hadn't seen the Knife Woman.
He even suspected that he might have gone to the wrong church, so he stood up, preparing to leave.
The female worshipper sitting next to him saw Harry about to leave and immediately became displeased, starting to chatter incessantly, "What are you doing? Are you trying to leave? No, you should sit down and listen more. How wonderful this doctrine is."
Harry's brows were already furrowed. This woman was truly relentless and very noisy.
"You should listen more to this doctrine. I think it's very good, and everyone else has come, so they will surely listen to this doctrine to the end."
"Leaving now is disrespectful to the Lord."
Harry was truly getting impatient. He turned to look at the woman, "Everyone has the right to choose. This doctrine does not make me feel comfortable listening to it, so I have decided to leave, and it's not for you to persuade me to stay."
His words were already very direct, but the woman still relentlessly followed him.
Meanwhile, at the back of the church, Valentine was watching the monitors, with the Knife Woman, Gazelle, standing behind him.
There were also several subordinates holding M4A1s, all staring at the screens in front of them.
"No, no, no, you can't leave. You are definitely the protagonist today," Valentine muttered, while flipping a strange button next to him, then turning the button from the minimum to the maximum.
The most obvious change was that the noise in the church instantly became much louder. These sounds continuously played from the speakers distributed throughout the church, making people feel somewhat irritated.
Harry stood up and walked towards the outside, and the woman followed him, constantly chattering behind him.
Johnny also noticed Harry, and stood up.
"Huh? Why is it this guy?"
Johnny was a bit surprised, because he recognized him. Wasn't this guy a member of the same organization as Eggsy, and the most capable fighter among them?
However, Johnny clearly noticed that his condition was a bit off. The veins on his forehead were bulging, and his eyes behind his glasses were a little bloodshot.
"Something's wrong, eight out of ten it's wrong."
Johnny clearly perceived that something was amiss. Moreover, Kingsman was not an official organization but a civilian organization for justice, so Johnny had no qualms and directly stood up and came before Harry.
Johnny looked at the woman who was still chattering behind them, walked up, and directly slapped her.
Slap!
"Shut down! Shut your mouth, bitch!"
To be honest, Johnny was also getting annoyed by the woman's incessant chatter; he could hear her voice even through the earplugs.
The woman looked at Johnny with a hint of disbelief, then an expression of anger appeared on her face.
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