Chapter 474 The Distance Between Faith and Legend
The court is the king's accomplice.
Edward wasn't the only one to have this epiphany; a nobody in the distant Sparrowwood Territory also couldn't help but have the same thought in his mind.
His name is Hank.
However, unlike Archduke Edward, the Archduke knew, of course, that it was just a statement, something said to outsiders.
But Old Hank genuinely felt that way—
Saint Sith is probably really dead.
"By order of Lord Hagmer Devalo, the 'Knight of Radiance,' and His Excellency Grand Inquisitor Jiménez! To demonstrate the King's and the Holy City's benevolence and to relieve the starving compatriots of the Twilight Province, Sparrowwood Territory, as a model of piety, now requires your Lord to offer your harvest! All grain will be allocated and distributed to those in need! This is an unparalleled act of merit, and my Lord will bear witness to your devotion..."
In the square of Maitian Village.
A cavalryman on a tall horse came before the villagers, cleared his throat, and read out the court's decision in a loud voice.
The autumn sun should have been warm, but when it fell on the villagers of Maitian Village, it only made them feel a chill that went straight to their bones.
Just yesterday, these same people walked into the village with friendly faces, praising them as the most devout citizens of the entire Twilight Province and the most faithful lambs of Saint Sith.
But upon seeing the grain that exuded the aroma of wheat, these "shepherds" immediately put on a completely different face, demanding that they hand over the still-warm grain for the greater good.
It must be said that Jiménez is a shrewd referee, and his expertise certainly extends beyond just killing.
He would also use a conciliatory approach with devout believers, the so-called "carrot and stick" strategy.
For example, villages that cooperated with the court's "procedural justice" would be provided with food and clothing, while those villages that resisted the court's purges would be regarded as heretics and subjected to targeted "purging".
Children who have lost their fathers will naturally hate the Papacy, but these undevout orphans may first have to face the hostility of the other villagers. With just a slight adjustment to the distribution of food, they can transform the villagers' hatred for the Papacy into hatred among the villagers themselves.
The entire Twilight Province is starving, except for the farmers of Sparrowwood Territory who have food, so this food must come from there.
The king, however, was a shrewd man who pretended to be asleep. After waking up, he waved his hand and sent the order to the count.
Looking at the menacing courtroom and thinking about the dagger under his pillow, Count Theron pondered again and again. He realized his own strength, weighing only a hundred pounds, wouldn't be enough for them to cut off. Finally, he gritted his teeth and decided not to take sides, letting these guys, each with gods backing them, fight it out.
Now he has become the most devout man, spending all his time in the castle chapel humbly learning theological knowledge from the priest.
The tribunal knew he was a fool and couldn't be bothered with him. The Salvation Army certainly wouldn't force him to his death; after all, wouldn't it be more troublesome to replace him with someone who curried favor with the Vatican?
It's just tough on the farmers of Maitian Village.
"...This is our grain! Why should we hand it over?!"
Before the cavalryman could finish speaking, a suppressed roar of anger erupted from the crowd.
That was Hank's neighbor, a burly man known for his fiery temper. His face was flushed red with anger, and he spoke for all the villagers.
Soon, voices echoed in response to him.
"That's right!"
"Not a single priest in Sparrowwood Territory has died! Isn't that enough to prove our piety? When the Green Forest Army came here, it was we who were protecting them!"
"We don't object to helping the citizens of Twilight City, just as we took in refugees before... At least let them buy things with money! They're not without options!"
This clear and logical explanation was not something the farmers of Wheat Field Village could have come up with; it was mostly the outsiders who had been resettled here thanks to Her Highness the Holy Maiden.
Some of them came from as far away as Graystone Town, while others came from as close as Dusk City. Now that they have all started a new life here, they naturally have to speak up for their new hometown.
Seeing the group of farmers who wouldn't listen to reason, the cavalryman frowned, about to reprimand them for not forgetting their place.
However, at that moment, a hand wearing a black glove gently rose, stopping his attempt to urge someone to pull back from the brink.
A judge in a black robe slowly walked out from the procession.
He was tall and thin, and his face, hidden beneath his hood, was framed by only a pair of cold eyes that stared like snakes at the roaring farmer.
“Because…this is the Earl’s land.” The judge’s voice was flat and hoarse, devoid of any warmth. “The crops that grow on this land belong first to the lord, and only then to you.”
The burly man's imposing manner immediately diminished.
Under the laws of the Kingdom of Ryan, this statement is an indisputable ironclad rule. The grain grown by the serfs must first be handed over to the Earl, and then the steward appointed by the Earl will distribute the porridge to them.
In fact, the Salvation Army did fulfill this obligation, cooking for them while they farmed, which was the biggest reason why they were willing to go and clear land.
Although the saint promised that all the crops would belong to them once they grew, she had been driven away by the court and did not even live to see the harvest.
Reason told the burly man not to bring it up, but he still harbored a sliver of resentment and forced out a hesitant explanation through gritted teeth.
"But...but the Earl didn't say anything!"
Upon hearing this, a playful smile crept onto the referee's lips, which were hidden in the shadows.
"Oh? How do you know he didn't say anything? He said he was loyal to the king, and we have the king's edict. You mean... you want to rebel against your lord?"
These words were like a stone that smashed the roof of a barn, instantly causing a commotion and uproar among the surrounding farmers.
They couldn't believe that the lord they had welcomed back to the castle was so spineless!
However, faced with those gleaming swords and the dark muzzles of muskets, they were not much braver than the lord, and not a single one dared to resist.
In fact, not all villagers wanted to rebel.
Many were indignant, but the majority chose to settle things quietly.
Many people comforted themselves, thinking that after the Papacy took the food, they would surely still receive some; at least they had praised Quemuling and said they were devout.
That's not wrong either.
Even if they are behind the citizens of Twilight City, they are definitely ahead of the villagers of Griffin Cliff Territory; hunger will not kill them.
The land here is unexpectedly fertile, and the court is counting on them to continue their efforts to sow seeds for a bountiful harvest next year.
Just then, a young voice rang out from behind, its anger seemingly about to burst forth.
"This is our land! The Earl has no right to do this!"
All eyes were drawn to him; he was a young man not yet twenty years old, clearly unaccustomed to the harsh realities of feudalism.
He is too young.
The referee had been waiting for this sentence, and sure enough, a smile appeared on his tense lips.
He slowly turned to the young man, his eyes under the hood full of mockery, like a cat teasing a mouse that had fallen into its paws.
"Oh? Where's the evidence?"
The young man was taken aback by the question and was about to speak when someone next to him suddenly pulled him back, making him realize that it was a trap.
However, being watched by the courtroom, remaining silent is more terrifying than speaking.
His face flushed red, and he finally gave a stammering answer, trying to bluff his way out.
"...Yes, it was Saint Sis who said it. He...He gave us these lands."
This statement would have been acceptable in the past.
However, speaking of this in a land once ravaged by chaos would be a grave taboo, especially in the face of a tribunal determined to have zero tolerance for it.
The referee said no more, and simply waved his hand.
“He is a follower of the ‘witch,’ take him away.”
Two ruthless enforcers immediately stepped forward and roughly dragged the young man out of the crowd, ignoring his family's pleas and cries for mercy.
The cavalrymen loyal to the king watched this scene, their lips moved as if they wanted to say something, but under the judge's cold gaze, they ultimately chose to remain silent.
The rest of the people remained silent, trembling with fear.
Including old Hank, whose eyes were wide open.
Fear is the best form of persuasion.
The young man was thrown onto a cart, along with the livestock that the villagers had just bought from the dwarf brothers.
The villagers could only watch helplessly as their harvest, which they had worked so hard for half a year, was sacked up and loaded onto horse-drawn carts and transported to an unknown distance.
Only after the church and kingdom's armies had completely gone far away and disappeared on the horizon did sporadic sobs and curses rise from the oppressive village.
"They are not servants of Saint Sith at all! Saint Sith would never issue such an absurd order!"
"Didn't the saint say... that everyone is fighting in His name, but no one truly holds Him in their hearts? I didn't understand before, but now I do. She was talking about the people of the Inquisition!"
"These guys... they're even more unreasonable than the undead!" someone muttered, a comment that resonated with everyone.
Everyone deeply misses that "disappeared" figure.
Including Hank.
It wasn't like this when Princess Karen was around...
It wasn't just the villagers of Wheatfield Village who felt lost about their faith; even a man sitting at the entrance of the Rock Inn had a hint of bewilderment on his resolute face.
He supported the saintess's choice to lay down her weapons.
He even felt that the innocent girl gave up her power partly because of his persuasion.
And now—
He began to doubt whether he had done the right thing.
All the beauty that had appeared and the peace that was about to arrive vanished the moment the judges arrived...
“Master…” Yurien walked up behind him, looked at the rolling dust in the distance, and whispered his name.
He had many questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't know where to begin.
Back in Graystone Town, when he looked at those thugs, he had only one thought in his mind: to pray that the Holy See would take action against them.
When the Vatican arrived, it was different from what he had imagined.
Gunter shook his head.
“Eurien, my child… I can tell you how to wield a sword, but there are some things I don’t understand either. Perhaps you need to find the answers yourself.”
Having won countless battles on the battlefield, he had never felt so powerless as he did today. That mental weakness was more painful to him than the loss of his physical strength.
Even when he was injured by Kalmandes' Chosen at Brass Pass, he had never doubted things like this...
Not far away, the referee glanced at the man sitting in front of the hotel and a cold, mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth... until the man looked up at him.
The referee's upturned lips curled slightly, and he snorted coldly, hiding his disdainful gaze under the shadow of his hood as he led the last group away.
...
In the northern part of the Twilight Province, in the continuous forests bordering the Kingdom of Rhodes, a caravan laden with goods is setting up camp and resting in a clearing in the woods.
The afterglow of the setting sun shines through layers of red leaves, casting dappled golden light.
It is now late autumn.
Thomas, a merchant, leaned against a wagon loaded with cloth and exotic goods, stroking the heavy money bag at his waist.
This business trip brought him great profits and an unforgettable adventure, making it a truly worthwhile experience.
However, besides the joy of the harvest, Thomas also felt a complex emotion that was hard to describe.
It felt as if a magnificent epic was laid out before him, but he had to close it after only reading the prologue.
certainly--
Maybe they're just not satisfied.
After all, just half a month ago, he was Her Highness the Holy Maiden's personal merchant, and the people he negotiated deals with were all prominent dwarves on Shattered Rock Peak... His status was much higher than that of a traveling merchant.
His investment seemed to be a success, but it also seemed to be a failure.
Thomas hesitated for a long time before finally walking toward the simple but clean carriage in the center of the caravan.
"Your Highness...are we leaving just like that?" he asked respectfully, standing by the car window.
Ever since witnessing Mr. Colin's extraordinary abilities to "turn the world upside down," he has unconsciously changed his address for Saint Karen to "Your Highness."
Inside the carriage, Karen was quietly flipping through the books that Prince Benlin had left for her, bathed in the afterglow of the twilight.
She looked up at the sound, smiled slightly, and her elegance and piety were somewhat similar to those of the gentleman who had sat in this carriage before.
“We never left, Mr. Thomas,” she said in a gentle and calm voice. “Sometimes, retreat is a form of advance.”
Everything is proceeding according to Mr. Colin's plan.
Brennan and Redden have already led the Saviors' most elite warriors secretly into the depths of the Ten Thousand Mountains.
With the help of their dwarven friends, they will undergo the most rigorous training, transforming themselves from a rabble into a valiant army capable of standing up to the kingdom.
The power of a demigod is indeed not to be underestimated, but it is all only temporary.
As Saint Sith's influence wanes, so too does the power of the demigods. As long as they persist in the long struggle, one day they will be able to secure a future of their own.
Karen, carrying the New Testament bestowed upon her by the "Gods," returned to the place where she first heard the "oracle"—the northern border of the Kingdom of Rhodes.
Although this area is also within the Church's sphere of influence, it is far from the Court of Justice's view because the corruption of chaos has not yet descended upon it.
The people here are even more devout than the Rhine people, yet they are currently enduring blasphemy no less severe than what the Rhine people are suffering.
Just as His Highness Colin said, the corrupt aristocracy is turning men into turtles and women into prostitutes, and all of this is done in the name of holiness.
She herself was once a victim.
Now, "Saint Karen" will answer the prayers in people's hearts and, in place of the high and mighty gods, correct all of this!
Just as Karen was immersed in the world of the book, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from afar.
Five cavalrymen galloped out from the other end of the forest path, their appearance instantly shattering the tranquility of the camp.
The caravan's young men all stood up, nervously watching the uninvited guests, including the mercenaries escorting the caravan and Hogg, who was still serving as the mercenary captain.
He recognized the men; they were Sir Richter's soldiers.
But seeing how fat and robust they were, unable to even fasten their standard armor, Hogg knew that Sir Richter, like Earl Theron Gard, had probably long been a puppet figurehead.
They didn't even realize that they had patrolled onto their neighbor's land.
Even if the local lords are preoccupied with their own problems, they have seriously violated the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Ryan, and if they are caught, they will be hanged!
While the foolish knight and the foolish earl are equally undeserving of sympathy, these villains who force women into prostitution are truly despicable.
Thomas clenched his fists involuntarily, and sweat seeped from his palms.
Five cavalrymen patrolled the edge of the camp, surrounding the caravan. Two of them were old acquaintances who had stopped them before.
These cavalrymen on the border of the Kingdom of Rhodes had clearly never heard of any legend of the "Holy Maiden".
They felt the caravan looked familiar, and the saintess sitting in the carriage looked even more familiar, almost exactly like the escaped "cargo" they had been chasing before, and even seemed... to be more holy and lovely.
Perhaps he was trained by a powerful figure.
That would be even better.
The cavalrymen exchanged glances, their faces revealing greedy, sinister smiles.
The leader, Cornish, dismounted and became an infantryman, swaggering over with a riding whip in his hand.
"Oh, isn't this our nun? What, you've... returned from your pilgrimage to the Holy City?"
Karen, sitting in the carriage, ignored him, her face still bearing that serene smile. Her fair, jade-like index finger gently turned another page of the book, as if in prayer, yet also as if slicing across the throat of the rude man.
"Holy Holy Spirits, please punish these blasphemers."
That was a "spell" taught to her by her god.
As long as one prays with a sincere heart, His servants will naturally receive the "task" and carry it out without hesitation.
Cornish frowned, and seeing that the girl was ignoring him, his smile became even more sinister.
He vowed to show this idiot what a soldier could do!
However, the moment he took a step forward, the surrounding air suddenly turned icy cold, as if frozen by a cold wind blowing from somewhere unknown.
In the shadows of the woods, something seemed to be wriggling, and pairs of eerie green flames suddenly lit up, like will-o'-the-wisps that only exist in hell.
A chill ran down his spine and up to the top of his head. Before he could react, he heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground behind him.
"Thump—"
He turned around abruptly and saw that all four of his companions had fallen off their horses!
They didn't even have time to let out a scream, and their expressions remained as ferocious as before.
Lines of blood appeared from their throats, followed by an increasingly rapid flow of blood, which covered the ground in just a few breaths.
"Whoa—!"
Five frightened warhorses neighed and fled into the depths of the forest, leaving Cornish alone, standing in the deathly silence.
Hogg, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, swallowed hard, staring wide-eyed at the four corpses, not even able to discern what kind of undead had attacked him.
"Don't kill me!!"
The instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. Konis threw down his weapon with a clang, his legs buckled, and he knelt on the ground.
He begged for mercy, tears streaming down his face.
He knew all too well how much weight he had; his swaggering armor was only good for bullying unarmed civilians.
However, the saint in the carriage did not speak, nor did she even lift her eyelids, as if what was lying there was just an insignificant fly.
She is no longer the weak and helpless girl she once was, and there is no one here who deserves her to show such weakness.
A monk in a gray cloak stepped down from the wagon, his steps light and silent, like a weightless ghost.
He stretched out a hand, as thin as a withered branch, and gently placed it on the soldier's shoulder.
Cornish shuddered, but found himself unable to move an inch. He could only hear a hoarse, deep voice whispering in his ear.
"Go to sleep."
The Demon King may not care about the offenses of mortals, but the Demon King's servants will not pretend not to hear them.
No one can offend the Demon King's pawn.
The voice seemed to possess some kind of magic, gently blowing away that ordinary soul.
The light in Cornish's pupils quickly dissipated until it went out completely.
His body was still kneeling there, looking no different from before, but in reality, he had become a ghoul that could be manipulated at will.
Seeing this bizarre and terrifying scene before him, Thomas swallowed hard, while Hogg pretended not to see it.
Although he had long suspected that the saintess was abnormal, and that Mr. Colin was even more abnormal, now…
They seem to be making less and less of a cover-up.
...
It wasn't just the saintess who made no attempt to conceal her actions, but also the tribunal that ravaged the lands of the Twilight Province.
Although the villagers of Sparrowwood Territory lost the crops they had worked so hard to grow, the citizens of Twilight City received "generous" relief from the court.
Steaming hot porridge stalls were set up throughout the city, replacing the place where Campbell's army had recently distributed porridge.
For the citizens who had been starving for too long, having food was a great blessing, and they didn't care where the food came from.
They have no right to care.
When Grand Inquisitor Jiménez learned from his subordinates that many citizens attributed the "angel's descent" to an unknown "divine child" and expressed their gratitude to the vanished "Saint Karen," he did not fly into a rage as many had expected.
Instead, he adopted a more conciliatory approach than he had ever done before, sending the theologians who had accompanied the court to every porridge distribution point.
Speaking with perfect, standard Holy City accents, they distributed food to the starving people while explaining the truth about the "angel's descent" to them again and again in the simplest and most understandable language—
It was not a miracle performed by some unknown "divine child," but rather the result of His Holiness the Pope in the Holy City, out of compassion, summoning the "Angel of Power" who served Saint Sith.
The priests spoke until their throats were dry, and the citizens listened attentively, nodding repeatedly, their faces mostly filled with admiration and "I see" expressions.
They seemed convinced, but also not entirely.
After all, people have preconceived notions, and even if these priests preach again and again, it won't change the fact that the people of this city all remember—
When the citizens of Twilight City needed help the most, it was not the church or the king who stood by their side, but the Salvation Army of Saint Karen.
The cunning citizens, of course, dared not refute these courts, but they could keep their gratitude for the saint and the son of God buried in their hearts.
The New Testament has become an invisible and indestructible specter.
The Twilight City Cathedral has been requisitioned by the Court of Justice as its temporary headquarters.
Beneath that towering dome, Jiménez listened quietly to his subordinates' "optimistic" report on the correction of rumors circulating in the city.
"...The people are very enthusiastic. They are grateful for His Holiness the Pope's kindness and thankful for the order and food you have brought. In just a while, those rumors about the witch Karen will disappear."
“Very good.” Jiménez nodded; he was fairly satisfied with the renovations to Twilight City.
The only flaw is the Campbell people.
The subordinate swallowed hard and added cautiously.
"However... the army of the Duchy of Campbell does not seem to have done its best to wipe out the remnants of the 'Saviour Army'. According to the evidence we have gathered, it was because of the Campbell people and the Sword Saint's leniency that Karen and her servants were able to escape into the Ten Thousand Mountains."
Jiménez nodded expressionlessly, this time without speaking, his unfathomable eyes revealing neither joy nor anger.
The Sword Saint is not easy to deal with.
His legend has been propagated by the Church as a positive example, which in itself is an affirmation of the piety of the people of the Kingdom of Rhodes by the Holy City.
Moreover, they needed this watchdog to guard the Bronze Pass, a place few nobles wanted to go to.
As for the Campbell family...
That was the Holy City's affirmation of the piety of the people of Leon. The Tribunal was not in a good position to deal with it. To deny the Light of Praise was to deny the holiness of fighting the Demon King, and at the same time, it was to deny themselves.
The court's sword is invincible when facing "rootless duckweed," but it must be extremely cautious when facing people within the same system.
They are all on the same vine; if they are not careful, they may cut their own artery and cause unexpected trouble.
They're here to cut the Gordian knot, not to cause trouble.
The subordinate dared not say anything more and bowed to take his leave.
Seemingly having finally gotten his chance to take the stage, the court steward, Skeller, walked over from the side corridor as he watched the departing black-robed warrior.
He first bowed respectfully to Jiménez, then casually mentioned the king's worries in a concerned tone.
"Your Excellency, if I may be so bold, I have a feeling that... the Campbell family's devotion to the gods seems to have faded somewhat."
Seeing that the referee ignored him, Sclele paused, gritted his teeth, and increased his strength.
“I don’t want to assume the worst about our heroes, but some people seem to have forgotten whose servants they are. Take this war, for example. I heard the Campbells boasting about their bravery, attributing their victory to their Princess Irene and Prince Edward… but I didn’t hear the names of the King and the Papacy!”
“I didn’t say they have to thank us, but they have lost the respect they deserve for the king. It’s as if their power is not bestowed by the king and the holy light, but by their own people… This is utterly upside down!”
This made Jiménez frown.
Seeing his expression, Mr. Skelle felt a surge of secret delight.
Once the court has its eye on the Campbell family, those increasingly arrogant nouveau riche will likely lose all interest in coveting the title of king.
Just then, a crisp clanging sound of armor clashing came from the entrance of the hall, and Eileen Campbell walked in, looking travel-worn.
She had previously left Twilight City for the Stillwater Beach territory, which was now under Campbell's control, and had only just returned to this city, which was once again bathed in holy light.
Ignoring Skeller's loyal but pedantic old dog, she walked straight up to Jiménez, her emerald eyes burning with rage.
"Your Excellency the Grand Judge! I demand an explanation!"
"How dare you!" The black-robed guard beside her glared at her, his hand already on his sword.
Jiménez raised his hand, indicating to the guards not to worry, then turned to face Eileen and said in a cold voice.
What explanation do you need?
Eileen stared at him without flinching and said through gritted teeth.
"I don't object to your search and arrest of the remnants of the Green Forest Army, but why involve innocent villagers?! Do you know what you're doing?!"
"Of course we know that we are cleaning away the corruption of chaos."
Faced with Eileen's questioning, Jiménez's voice remained as cold as ever, without the slightest wavering.
"Moreover, we have not implicated any innocent people, and your accusations are baseless. Every person we have arrested has evidence proving their involvement in the Green Forest Army, and every death sentence has been approved by the court. I admit that there must be innocent people among them, but sometimes we must go to extremes to correct wrongs, otherwise chaos will return... This is the necessary evil permitted by the Book of the Word."
“The locals may be afraid now, but soon they will thank us for the real peace we bring.” He made the sign of the cross on his chest, as if thanking himself on behalf of the locals.
Or perhaps, he did it on purpose to provoke someone.
Eileen's eyes widened, and for a moment she was speechless at this cold and twisted logic, her shoulders trembling slightly with anger.
She simply couldn't believe it...
This priest from the holy city actually said such a thing!
Compared to Prince Colin, who also came from the Holy City, this hypocritical fellow was like a maggot born in the hellish city!
Skeller, standing to the side, lowered his head, unable to meet Eileen's gaze; his conscience was fiercely battling with his loyalty to the king.
At that moment, Jiménez suddenly narrowed his eyes, his murky gaze falling on the top of Eileen's head.
If he remembered correctly, the Campbell family should have blond hair.
This image appears not only in widely circulated epics, but also in a corner of the frescoes in St. Clement's Cathedral.
His presbyopia had prevented him from seeing clearly before, but now he could see it clearly—it was unmistakably a head of silvery-white hair, as pure as the moon.
What happened to your hair?
(End of this chapter)
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