The next morning, they set off again.
The wind and snow were no different from yesterday, but the alcohol thermometer showed that the temperature had dropped to -15°C, three degrees lower than yesterday.
"I hope it won't stay cold for long..." Xiren prayed in his heart.
The railway tracks, which served as landmarks, were buried half a meter deep in snow, which continuously slowed their progress—they had to determine the direction in which the tracks extended before they could continue.
Fortunately, after walking four miles, a village began to appear in the distance.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Mathilde excitedly dragged the sled forward, and Siren quickened his pace.
It was a typical northern-style village, with houses built of dark gray sandstone and thatched roofs scattered haphazardly on the ground. Thick snow covered the doors and even caused the roofs of several houses to collapse.
There was not a sound in the village.
Xiren pulled open a half-closed door, and then a completely frozen corpse slammed into him, its terrified face and bluish-black skin hitting Xiren's neck.
He was so frightened that he forgot to scream and fell to the ground with a thud, the stiff corpse of the villager landing right in his arms.
"What's wrong?" Aldridge approached upon hearing the voice, and Siren forced down his trembling voice: "Dead."
It was the body of a middle-aged man, wearing only a thin summer linen shirt, his body bluish-black from the cold.
He struggled to climb to the door, trying to leave home, but he froze to death the instant he grabbed the door, his body stiff as ice.
Siren placed the body on the ground and made the sign of the cross on his chest.
"They're dead over here too." Kyle's voice came from afar. The young man, who had witnessed death many times, sat on the ground with a blank look in his eyes, clutching the cross that Xiren had given him. It seemed that only this thing could bring him a little bit of security.
Xiren sighed and continued walking forward.
Mathilde had already run to the front. This girl had always been a woman of action. Judging from her hair color, she was probably a Western Hebrew, whose hair color was mostly red. She was also a great whiskey maker.
"The numbers don't match." She opened door after door. "There are fewer dead people than houses, and all the doors are open, which means that many villagers did not freeze to death, but simply left this place."
Everyone else agreed with this conclusion, and Logan also found some footprints and tire tracks in the snow nearby.
The group continued walking for a while and heard some sounds coming from the wind.
"I don't..."
"You must..."
"Too late…"
Their spirits lifted, and they quickened their pace toward the direction of the sound.
A dark figure gradually emerged from the wind and snow, accompanied by a cacophony of voices, seemingly hurling insults at each other.
"My cow is dead! All because you stopped me! If we had left earlier, we would have reached Speyside much sooner!"
"Sorry, but if this continues, you'll die on the road too."
"You have to compensate me for my cow!"
"That's right, it's one thing if they won't let us bring chickens, but how are cows supposed to survive if they don't bring them either..."
"My geese!"
A group of villagers surrounded a young soldier, hurling insults and accusations at him.
In the crowd, a mother holding her child knelt on the ground to keep warm, a lonely child held hands, a hunchbacked old man was leaning on a man's back, and an old man leading a dead cow was angrily cursing the soldiers.
There were probably more than forty people there, their eyes filled with anger or confusion, but mostly with fear and anxiety.
"What are you doing?" Siron asked, holding a pastor's staff. Little angels singing hymns appeared behind him, and soothing music filled the air. People turned to look.
"Lord!" People knelt down in prayer, but the young soldier remained standing, looking somewhat embarrassed.
"I am the Bishop of Speyside." Siren looked at the soldier. "What's going on?"
The soldier punched his chest with his right fist and saluted: "Sir Bishop, I have been sent here by Governor Spesse to guide the villagers to safety."
"I see." Xiren looked around. "You're not letting them bring the cattle, is that right?"
The soldier was somewhat embarrassed: "We can't take the livestock that far. It's an order from above, so we can only send people."
Siren nodded: "Are there any kinds of livestock in Naspese?"
"Of course, sir, and there are actually villages closer where you can bring livestock, but this place is four miles from Speyside…"
Siren nodded, then said to the villagers, "You have seen it—the end times have come, just as the scriptures foretold. Have you not heard the words, 'Bring two of every kind of living creature, male and female, into the ark, and keep them alive with you'? Speyer was the ark set up under God's prophecy, but livestock were not allowed to enter freely except for believers. Otherwise, wouldn't that be taking up the place of the believers? And which of God's children would you allow to freeze in the snow?"
As soon as the words were spoken, the kneeling villagers cried out, "Have mercy, Your Excellency Bishop! Forgive us! Your words are like the words of God. We were wrong, we were all wrong. We are willing to do everything we can to atone for our sins. Please lead us!"
Faced with the crowd kneeling on the ground, Xiren remained silent, but a shocking sense of unease and vigilance welled up in his heart.
So, this is the kind of power I hold in my hands?
He recalled Mathilde's words: he was a bishop, and having taken up the staff, he was bound by such responsibilities and destiny.
He could make people weep with just a word, and he could even make people kneel down simply by appearing in public. That kind of unreserved trust mixed with ignorance put Xiren under immense pressure.
"Get up," he said. "Now, let's go to Speyside."
The young soldier looked at Xilun, a sense of terror lingering within him.
I spent so much time explaining, and the bishop resolved it with just one sentence. Is this divine authority?
Siren distributed the extra winter clothes and food on the sled to the people and told them to put their heavier personal belongings on the sled. Then he selected several strong men to take turns pulling the sled.
So the group of fifty men set off for Speyside.
On the way, Xiren asked the soldiers some questions about the city.
The soldier had only recently arrived in Speyside; he was originally a bodyguard of Rein Hoffman, an imperial general who had been appointed governor of Speyside by the Queen two months prior and was now the local leader.
Centuries ago, bishops were powerful local figures who could even be elected emperors, but that's no longer the case. At least within the Albion Empire, the real power of a local bishop is far less than that of a local governor.
More importantly, according to the soldiers, Ryan had a guard of more than seventy men, and Speyer's more than two hundred militiamen were also under his command.
The church also provided him with a guard, but unfortunately, only Logan and Kyle remained.
Behold, I have made you a fortified city, an iron pillar, and a bronze wall.
—Jeremiah
-----------------
Speyside was once an ordinary northern town, ten miles from the nearest coastline, missing out on the Age of Exploration and lacking the vast plains that brought thriving agriculture.
Its specialties were pasture and coal mines, but after large-scale coal mining and the establishment of factories, the pasture also declined.
On the way, Sam and Celion, whose injuries had healed somewhat, started talking about Speyside, recounting how it used to be covered with cattle and sheep, hardy rye and white clover, coal miners, and smoke that filled the sky.
He was from Spesce and had wandered south due to famine, where he settled down and became a carpenter. Because he knew the conductor of the Northern Holy See train, the conductor secretly gave him a ride.
As he spoke of his memories of Spesse, the young soldier beside him kept glancing at him, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.
Finally, the tyrannical blizzard suddenly subsided at a certain moment, and a huge black shadow appeared nearby. The snowflakes flew haphazardly and collided with the black steel before falling to the ground, helplessly gazing at the only heretic on the snow.
The majestic city walls and buildings came into view, and Sam rubbed his eyes for a long time, unable to believe that this was the Speyside he remembered.
The massive, dark gray granite blocks formed a 20-meter-high, sloping rock wall, like an insurmountable chasm. Brass pipes and decorations were scattered on it, and white gas lamps, shining with intense light, dotted the middle section of the wall like stars. A huge steel gate stood not far in front of them.
This may be the last high-walled fortress of modern times—as early as the last century, the use of artillery had already turned newly built castles into bastions with earthen ramparts and low walls, which facilitated crossfire and penetrating fire. However, the designers of the Speyside Refuge did not know what they were about to face.
So, following the principle that "bigger is better and thicker is more beautiful," they built an enlarged version of the bastion, preserving its slope and constructing massive high walls.
At this time, many villagers from the surrounding area were also near the gate. They were wearing tattered winter clothes and leading their livestock, gathering at the gate like refugees.
Four guards stood at the gate checking the villagers coming and going, but the process was slow, resulting in a large crowd crowding the gate.
Siren was squeezed into the crowd, his dark purple bishop's robes hidden by his coat, and his shepherd's staff was no different from a shepherd's cane, so no one recognized him.
"Don't push! Don't push! Everyone has to be checked before they can go in!" the guard shouted.
"Please, sir, please have mercy... my child is too young and will freeze to death..." A woman knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly, holding a little girl's hand in her right hand.
"Get to the back of the line! Don't sneak into the city!" The guard kicked her.
It is understandable that one must be checked and screened before entering the city, but Xilun clearly saw a farmer leading two pigs and a cow secretly slip a silver shilling to a guard and enter the city directly, while others had to undergo a long and arduous inspection and questioning.
Xilun's face darkened. The sky was getting dark, and the outside temperature had reached -18°C, with a wind chill of around -30°C. Many civilians didn't even have a winter coat stuffed with cotton or wool, and the tears were patched up with linen.
He grabbed the sled, pulled it, and went inside.
"Hey you! Stop right there! Submit for inspection!" the guard immediately shouted.
Siren stopped and took out a gold pound from his pocket, handing it to the guard.
Under the golden light, the guards, their faces filled with shock and greed, reached out their hands towards it.
"ah!!!!"
But the moment he touched the gold pound, he screamed in agony. The pound was as hot as a red-hot iron, and Siron pressed it directly into his palm.
The guard knelt down, clutching his right hand. In the palm of his hand, the image of Queen Victoria branded on his hand was clearly visible, surrounded by a ring.
"Halt!" The other three guards, startled by the sudden change, immediately drew their three rifles and aimed them at Xilun.
Xilun coldly looked at the guard kneeling on the ground, clutching his hand: "Will you accept even a bribe from God?"
The shepherd's staff was planted in the snow, the sacred fire burned brightly, and the gold pound fell on the snow, immediately making a "hissing" sound, the scalding gold melting the surrounding snow.
"You…" The guard wanted to say something, but Xilun had already turned his back to them.
"People suffering from the cold!" he cried out, "Come with me into the city!"
Three guns were pointed at his back, but no one dared to fire. Xiren turned around and walked straight into the city. Kyle and Logan immediately ran over to protect him on both sides, while Aldridge and Matilda pulled the sled and followed closely behind. The people behind them roared to follow.
This was his first time facing a gun barrel. Was he afraid? Of course he was. Although Xilun secretly chanted the spell "Stop," he wasn't sure if the transparent wall could stop the bullets.
But since you have extraordinary power, you should do things that ordinary people dare not do. Otherwise, what is the point of being extraordinary? To oppress others?
In his previous life as a psychoanalyst, he had seen too many cases of depression, anxiety, hysteria... Some had their desire for life drained by their work, while others had been disciplined into obsessive-compulsive disorder and phobias by feudal remnants.
He might be able to cure one, two, or three cases, but the capitalist structure and feudal remnants are structurally producing these patients!
Whenever a patient painfully asks, "What do I need to do to be satisfied?", that accusation against the social Other makes Xilun feel deeply powerless. It's not the patient's problem, it's society's problem, but he is powerless to do anything about it. He can only try again and again to make the patient and his symptoms coexist.
Now he finally had the power—though not much—but he chose to fulfill his previously suppressed desires.
Once the root cause of the problem is addressed, there will be no more patients.
The crowd surged into the doorway like a river, their dark, tattered clothes forming a black torrent, while golden holy light shone ahead, and a raised shepherd's staff guided the flock.
Mathilde smiled as she looked at him. From her perspective, Siron's left hand, which was behind his back, was trembling, but his right hand was as steady as a rock. She murmured in a voice only she could hear, "Go, don't be afraid."
-----------------
"Really? You're not dead." The man stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray.
This was a man weathered by life's hardships, his posture upright like an oak tree even when seated. His silver-gray hair was combed back, revealing a weathered and scarred face, with deep-set eyes filled with shadows.
He wore a black military uniform with gold epaulettes, a sword, a belt, and medals. A deep red sash was draped across his upper body, and a crown symbol indicated his identity.
That was the governor of Speyer, an imperial general appointed by the Queen herself.
Ryan Hoffman.
"Yes, he just arrived in Speyside, and our men were beaten up by him at the door."
Renn scoffed, "You got beaten by a priest and you still have the nerve to complain? Make him hand over all the money he embezzled, then go get twenty lashes. Go ahead."
The messenger stood by, sweating profusely.
"I know everything." Renn rubbed his right hand, where the amputation had reached the elbow, leaving only a mechanical prosthetic hand with rotating gears and flashing lightning. "I just didn't care."
"...yes."
"But the bishop caused this mess as soon as he arrived, which doesn't match the information." Renn frowned as he held a bag of documents. The information on the documents stated that he was a good-for-nothing, a parasite of Lundin, whose best skill was using his seemingly learned mind and handsome face to sleep with noblewomen.
The messenger kept his head down and remained silent.
"Did you really fight? Where are you injured?" Renn asked.
"...He shoved a red-hot gold pound into Oliver's hand, branding him." The messenger was drenched in sweat.
Ryan laughed: "Pretty creative, isn't it?"
The messenger dared not answer.
"Are those refugees with their livestock still in the church?"
"Yes...yes."
"Have someone keep an eye on it."
"yes."
"Also, that guy, whether his name is Orifen or Oredo—get him to work in the coal mine."
"Yes… yes!"
"Go."
"yes!"
Ryan opened the metal casing of the lighter, flicked the flint wheel, and the flame illuminated a shadowy area, lighting a newly drawn cigar.
Soon, the office was filled with smoke.
——————
Xiren led the refugees into the city, but suddenly realized a problem: he was completely unfamiliar with the place and didn't know where to take them.
He stood on black steel plates and wooden planks, the heat of the steam preventing the snow from accumulating. Before him were rows of iron-gray barracks and watchtowers, their bright gas lamps shining on the tops like lighthouses, yet flickering in the wind and snow.
There isn't even a road sign here.
Just as Siren was awkwardly pondering this, an aged voice rang out: "Ah! Your Excellency, God help you, you have finally arrived!"
He was an old priest dressed in a black robe, with short silver hair combed to the sides, wearing a black woolen cap, and small round glasses perched on his nose.
He jogged up to Xiren, took his hand, and kissed his ring.
Xilun was still a little unaccustomed to it and shivered.
"Ah—I am Father Joseph, the parish priest of the Xilin Church," he said. "I have been waiting for you here for two months. The Northern Throne has not yet arrived, and I have been praying for you all this time… Merciful Lord! Thank you, Almighty Lord, for bringing you back to me. The journey must have been arduous. I have cooked some beef stew in red wine at home, using beef from the Fischer region. If you do not mind…"
"Wait, wait, wait—" Siren interrupted him, "Take me to my cathedral first."
Joseph chuckled sheepishly and stood up. "Ah, it was my oversight. I'll lead the way now."
On the way, Joseph would occasionally turn his head and look at him with a resentful look, which gave Xilen goosebumps.
He remembered the church in Syllenhaal, which was actually not close to Speyside. This meant that Father Joseph had abandoned his parish two months ago and come to Speyside to wait for him.
He had only received the bishop's appointment the day before yesterday, but Joseph was unaware of this. All he could be sure of was that since Spesse had built a cathedral, there must be a bishop.
Having seen through these sycophantic tricks, Siren didn't expose them. After all, Joseph was currently the only member of the church's influence in the city, and his feelings had to be considered.
On the way, Xiren admired the magnificent city and casually asked, "How have things been these past two days?"
At this point, Joseph sighed with a worried expression: "What can we do? Speyside was never finished. Last week, the engineers said that it was planned to be completed before winter, but they froze to death outside early yesterday morning... The city has been in chaos these past two days. Governor Hoffman is a capable man. He quickly suppressed the situation and ordered the gathering of nearby civilians to provide shelter, but he also took the opportunity to control all the militia, engineers, and mechanics in the city..."
Siren didn't interrupt, listening quietly to his complaints, gradually sketching out Speyer's character.
According to the conjectures of the Church and the Empire, the "disaster" should begin as early as this winter, so all the major shelters must be completed before winter arrives.
But the cold snap struck suddenly at the end of summer, and the world temperature instantly dropped to below -10°C. Construction in Speyside came to a standstill, countless people died, and the city was in chaos.
Governor Ryan Hoffman used an iron fist to mobilize his own guards to suppress the riots in the city. At the same time, he conscripted all the militia under the pretext of "emergency". On the one hand, he controlled the highly educated people such as engineers, mechanics and clerks, and on the other hand, he won over the nearby civilians to stabilize the people's hearts.
This is undoubtedly a good thing; otherwise, if the chaos were allowed to spread, people would face even greater danger.
However, the execution of the order resulted in numerous casualties, and it is an undeniable fact that Ryan seized the opportunity to monopolize power in Speyer.
"He not only disregarded the church's rights, but also made all the villagers with livestock stay in the cathedral, saying that they 'might be carrying diseases and must be observed and monitored,' and refused to allocate them houses…" Joseph said with a mournful face, "You must do us justice!"
"Isn't there any other space to put the livestock and villagers?" Siron asked.
"Of course there are!" Joseph raised his voice. "Speyer is more than a hundred meters underground, with 18 levels and eleven sections. Why put people in the cathedral when there are no other places to put them? It's an insult to you!"
Xilun nodded, neither confirming nor denying.
Soon they passed through the houses and fortresses on the ground and arrived in front of the cathedral.
It was a greyish-white Romanesque church—no wonder Xilun had never seen the church's spire, because it was low yet magnificent, like a crouching rock behemoth, supported by thick arches and pillars. It lacked the complexity of Gothic architecture, only the solemnity of antiquity. Although it was a newly built cathedral, it seemed to have come from the Middle Ages, a solemn fortress that had withstood the test of time and war.
The most popular style of church today is Gothic, which features soaring spires supported by flying buttresses and slender columns. However, the designers considered that Speyside might face unknown enemies and cold storms, so they adopted an older design.
Romanesque churches are the precursor to Gothic architecture. Their first impression is one of heaviness, with walls made of granite up to two meters thick, which could even be used as city walls.
Pushing open the thick oak doors of the church, Siron entered his cathedral.
But he did not see the magnificent murals and ceiling decorations, nor his own bishop's seat, nor the choir, clergy, or those who came to greet him.
There was only cow dung, horse dung, and pig dung scattered everywhere, and chickens, ducks, and geese running around on the ground. People were leading their livestock in fear and sitting in the empty and cold church.
Chapter 12 Campfire
Joseph's face instantly turned awkward. He hadn't expected the place to be so dirty and messy. He froze, unsure how to explain. He could even feel the bishop's breathing become heavy behind him.
"I…" He wanted to explain further, but Xilun's right hand pressed down on his shoulder.
It was very powerful.
He watched as the bishop stepped forward, took off his brown woolen overcoat, leaving only a dark purple robe. His thin shoulders looked so frail, as if he were weak and vulnerable in the cold winter.
The church's spacious interior was freezing cold; although it had sheltered us from the wind and snow, we were still shivering from the cold.
Xilun sniffed and felt a chill coming from all directions, as if it were about to penetrate his bones, but most of the people around him were only wearing thin clothes.
The people in the church saw him the moment he entered, but when the young man took off his coat, revealing his bishop's robes, their eyes suddenly showed a look of dependence and surprise.
But just a moment later, their eyes turned ashamed, embarrassed, and fearful.
Because the church was already covered in excrement.
A farmer was trying to catch his geese and stop the unruly creatures from running around in front of the bishop, but his geese didn't seem to listen to him.
Mathilde and her group followed behind Siren, and the forty-odd villagers also rushed in, looking blankly at the chaotic church.
Siren looked around, then suddenly drew the hand axe from Aldridge's waist and chopped off the back of the church pew.
"Crack—" The piercing sound echoed between the arcades and the dome, and people stared at Siron in disbelief.
"B-Bishop?" Joseph's voice trembled as he looked at him blankly.
Xilun roared, "What are you all standing there for? Can't you see how cold it is in here?! Take all the chairs down and start a fire!"
The command left those around him stunned for a moment before they finally understood.
"But…" Kyle held his sword, but didn't know how to begin. Chopping down a church chair would be such a blasphemy.
Siron slammed his axe into the chair again: "The church is for people, not for people to create the church."
After he finished speaking, no one around him questioned him anymore—the bishop had already taken the first step, so what else could they say? Let's do it!
So they started to act in twos and threes. The villagers still didn't dare to cut down the chairs, but the companions who had come all the way with Xilun were not so disciplined and quickly dismantled two or three chairs.
Although Sam the carpenter couldn't stand up, he was an expert in the craft. He had Aldridge move a chair next to him, and with a few nails removed, he dismantled the chair.
An eerie silence fell over the church, broken only by the sounds of chairs being dismantled and the occasional crowing of roosters.
During this time, Siren quietly asked Joseph to find some paper and pen.
After dismantling the chairs, Siron divided them into six bonfires, which were arranged along the central axis of the church.
While they were building a bonfire, a boy suddenly stood up and said, "Your Excellency, Bishop!"
His parents grabbed him abruptly and covered his mouth, but Xiren had already heard them, so he went over and said, "What's wrong? Let him talk."
The farmer who had grabbed the boy had no choice but to let go.
With an encouraging look from Siren, the boy said nervously in a low voice, "Your Excellency, there's a lot of dung on the ground... Cow dung and horse dung are good for burning, but pig dung isn't so good..."
Xilun chuckled and patted his head: "Thank you, I understand."
He shouted, "Everyone, go collect cow dung and horse dung. If you don't know what animal it is, ask the farmers next to you."
After doing all this, he squatted down and looked at the boy gently: "You are very brave and smart. What do you want to be when you grow up?"
The boy stared blankly at Xilun.
No one ever asked him, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" A farmer grows up to be a farmer, and a noble grows up to be a noble; it's hereditary and unchanging, that's all.
When Xilun asked him, he seemed confused, as if he couldn't understand the meaning of the words combined.
"What kind of person do you want to be in the future? What kind of job do you want to do?" Xilun repeated, asking in more detail.
The boy blushed. Images of horse manure, cow manure, rye, pigs, eggs, and autumn flooded his mind, but he couldn't come up with a single word: "job."
His parents watched nervously from the sidelines, wishing they could give their son a good whack on the head, while the people around them craned their necks in curiosity to watch.
Finally, as the boy was about to suffocate, he looked at Siren and said, "I...I want to be a priest."
Xilun laughed, and the people around him laughed too.
But they weren't laughing at the same thing.
Xiren reached behind his neck and removed a solid gold collar button.
That's a common accessory for Roman collars, responsible for securing the crossover points of the white Roman collar at the back.
"This is for you. I hope you can use it someday." Xiren placed it in the boy's hand and then made the sign of the cross on his forehead.
Silence fell over the crowd.
Then Joseph rushed in through the side door, carrying an ink bottle, a quill pen, and a stack of papers.
Xilun took it, then walked up to a farmer and asked, "What's your name?"
"Sir... my name is Nico..."
Where did you come from?
"The village of Sobek to the west..."
"Do you have any livestock with you? Show me."
"Yes, yes, there is a cow and two chickens, but one of the chickens is dead... It's here, sir."
Xilun quickly wrote on the paper and then said, "I understand. Go to the fire closest to the door, tie the cow to the post, and tie the chicken's feet up and put it next to it."
He quickly wrote on the paper: "Nico, a Sobek man, with short brown hair, blue eyes, wearing a gray shirt and black overcoat, black cloth boots, with a cow and two chickens, one dead. The cow is female, pale yellow, with a notch below her right ear, white hooves, and a straight back. The chicken is white and under the cow."
"But sir…" Nico couldn't understand what Siren was writing, "What if my cow gets lost…"
"I've written it all down for you." Xiren shook the paper in his hand. "I'm making sure I don't mistake your property. My soldiers will guard the gates, and no one will run away with your things. I swear on God."
"Well…" Nico was still a little uneasy, but since the bishop had assured him, he gritted his teeth, reluctantly loosened the cow rope, and walked to the campfire.
After making three notes, Siron handed the paper and pens to Mathilde, Aldridge, and Joseph: "Write it this way, is it alright?"
"Your Excellency is so thoughtful!" Joseph exclaimed first, slapping his forehead. "This will prevent a lot of disputes!"
Xilun ignored the old man's acting skills and looked at the other two.
Mathilde thought for a moment: "These cows all look quite similar... How do I record their characteristics?"
"Is there anyone skilled in herding, who can expertly identify the characteristics of livestock? Come before me!" Xilun shouted.
There was a brief commotion, but nothing happened.
Xiren called out again, and the crowd began to whisper among themselves.
Siren reiterated, "I need some herders to help me. Is anyone willing?"
Finally, a woman stepped forward: "May I... give it a try?"
Xilun was somewhat surprised.
She seemed uneasy, rubbing her hands on the dirty hem of her skirt: "I...I used to herd sheep for a while, and I also used oxen to plow the fields."
"Of course, brave lady," Celen readily agreed. "Come to me, I need two more."
Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted, "She's a witch!"
A commotion broke out, and someone shouted, "She's a widow! She killed her husband!"
"She doesn't get married; she stays at home every day studying witchcraft!"
"She used the cattle and sheep left by her husband as materials for witchcraft!"
Xiren frowned, and the peasant woman's face instantly turned pale. She kept apologizing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'll leave right away..."
"God said, 'Let there be light.'" Siron held his shepherd's staff, and a dazzling ball of holy light fell on the peasant woman, making her feel warm.
People quieted down.
"There are no witches in God's church," Celen said coldly.
The restless crowd quieted down, and the few who had been talking tried to hide behind the crowd, but Xilun had already memorized their faces and made a mental note of them; these people were not first-time offenders.
He asked several more times, and a couple, both shepherds, came up.
So the three of them were assigned to help Mathilde and the others, and four quill pens quickly recorded and wrote under the frescoes on the church's dome.
Those who had finished recording hurried to the lit fire, enjoying the hard-won warmth. They took off their boots, revealing their toes, which were blue and bruised from the cold. The stench and the smell of blood filled the church, and painful groans and cries echoed through the air.
The burning campfire seemed to symbolize the end of their wandering, but they had lost their homes, their families, and little property. Many of the livestock and poultry they had brought with them had died, and some people's feet were frozen and rotten, and it looked like they would have to be amputated.
They dared not cry before; the immense pressure made these numb people obey orders. But when the flames were lit, their defenses crumbled and tears streamed down their faces.
Siren tirelessly walked between the campfires, continuously performing "holy healing" until his divine power was exhausted.
Mathilde stood to the side, her eyes filled with hesitation and conflict.
Exhausted, Xilun slumped down beside the campfire and said, "There are still a few people with frostbite. I really don't have the strength anymore. Can you help them?"
Mathilde walked over to the group of wounded men who were groaning and rubbing their numb feet.
Seeing the nun approaching, they seemed to find hope and rushed over to kneel down: "Please, save us! For God's sake, save us..."
Mathilde lowered her head and sighed.
She raised the cross and, seemingly resigned, murmured, "Jehovah... Rapha."
In an instant, a dazzling golden light burst forth from the church, spreading behind her and revealing some blurry images. It seemed to depict countless heads thronging together, or perhaps cheers and a brawl, but it was not very clear.
The foot of an injured person in front of me was recovering rapidly. He began to writhe on the ground in pain, but for someone with frostbite and necrosis, feeling pain meant there was still hope.
Mathilde stared at the man for a moment, then turned and gave Siren a thumbs up.
Xilun smiled slightly and put away the cross she had just been holding: "As expected of the Abbess, the first holy relic is about to materialize."
Mathilde quickly healed the remaining people, and a wave of exhaustion and drowsiness washed over her. She sat down next to Xilun in a daze and saw Xilun organizing the villager information she had just recorded.
"Aren't you sleepy?" she asked.
"I'll watch for a little longer," Xilun said softly, his voice heavy with weariness.
"Are these… really that important?" Mathilde looked at the papers, her eyes slowly closing with sleep. "Isn't it just to prevent them from mistaking property…"
Xilun smiled and looked up.
The smoke from the six bonfires blackened the pristine white walls of the cathedral's exquisite murals—a truly blasphemous act. The Assumption of Mary and the Last Judgment on the dome were completely obscured by the smoke, and the works of those artistic giants would never again be admired by posterity.
However, compared to the loss to the art world, Siren felt that the lives at hand were more important. If these masters knew that their paintings had to give way to hundreds of lives, they would probably agree.
"One hundred and seventy-six people," Xiren said softly, "from all over the world, who placed their faith in me and entrusted their lives to me."
Mathilde was fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder, while Siron was also drowsy, the "St. Lawrence on Wealth" painting above his head shimmering in the smoke.
"Have you heard that story?" Sirren recounted softly. "Legend has it that Lawrence was in charge of helping the poor and managing church property—I think that's the effect of redistribution, but the emperor at the time ordered Lawrence to hand over all the treasures."
"Lawrence asked him to give him three days to prepare. Three days later, he brought the poor, sick, disabled and orphans supported by the church to the emperor and said that this was the church's greatest wealth."
Mathilde was already asleep, only making faint humming sounds, as if responding to him.
"Human thought creates knowledge and scholarship, human labor creates cities and machines, human ideas create churches and nations. As long as there are people, there is hope; without people, there is nothing."
"What is the Church? Is it the Iron Angel Knights, or Florence and the Cardinals? But what use is a pile of steel shells if there are no believers left in the Church?"
"I only have two guards left, the militia is under Ryan's control, and the intellectuals, the people, and the resources are all in his hands," Siren murmured. "But as long as I have these 176 men, I can stand here, and the church will still have a pillar."
"It is the believers who uphold the church, just as it is the people who build the church."
He closed his eyes in a daze, and suddenly saw a letter fall from Mathilde's arms, bearing the sealing wax seal of the College of Cardinals.
"Having carefully examined and witnessed her piety, virtue, and talent, the College of Cardinals and the Pastoral Sisters confirm that Madam Mathilde de Clermont is of noble birth, steadfast in her faith, adheres to the precepts of St. Benedict in her monastic life, and possesses exceptional administrative wisdom. Therefore, in this holy year (1901 AD), in accordance with the canon law and tradition, she is hereby appointed as the Abbey of the Speyside Convent, in charge of the convent's spiritual and secular affairs..."
Siren paused for a moment, then tucked it back into Mathilde's arms.
"Did he do that?" Ryan stubbed out his cigar in the silver ashtray.
"Yes, Your Excellency, our spies were in the crowd and witnessed the whole thing," the soldier said.
"He dismantled the cathedral chairs to provide warmth for people, gave the gold collar button to the boy who made the suggestion, had women step forward to help him record the believers' information and wealth, rejected accusations of witchcraft, and even cured people's frostbite..."
"Now we can say that everyone is his faithful follower."
Raine smiled, a laugh that sent a chill down the spine of the soldier.
"Isn't it ridiculous?" Ryan lit a new cigar. "We stabilized the situation, we gathered the refugees, we provided food, shelter and refuge, we did so much, but all we get in return is people's resentment, while those charlatans only need to shout the name of God to make people weep and give willingly."
"What did he do? Sing a few prayers? The people in the cathedral won't remember that we brought them into the city; they'll only remember the lies of that clown under the cross."
"Isn't that ridiculous?" Renn stubbed out the cigar he had just lit.
"Governor...Governor..."
"I remember he brought a rune craftsman with him?"
"Uh, yes, let me see…" The soldier quickly flipped through the documents. "Eldridge Kain, a Florentine, was awarded the Order of the Mountains and was a Level 3 Runemaster. For some reason, he later went into seclusion in Lundinia and was recently transferred to Speyside as the Chief Engineer of the Rune Department."
Ryan hooked his left hand fingers together and unconsciously tapped the table with his large knuckles, one tap after another, in the silent, smoke-filled room.
After a long pause, he said, "Let Schneider go and talk to that charlatan. We can make some concessions, but the runemaster must be in our hands."
"yes."
——————
Sunlight streamed through the cathedral's stained-glass windows, casting dreamlike golden light that shone on people's weary faces and on the busy figures of Xilun.
He woke up early in the morning. Since he transmigrated here, he hadn't had a good night's sleep. Memories, death, apocalypse, cold... countless disasters rushed towards him.
People relied on him for comfort, but he was all alone.
He left through the small door of the church. The dark clouds of yesterday had largely dissipated, revealing a gentle sun. The light shone on the thick snow, reflecting a hopeful glow, as if everything had passed and things would be alright.
But the ice-blue "moon" still hung in the sky, the sun's rays had no warmth, and the thermometer next to me showed that the temperature had dropped to minus twenty degrees Celsius.
Xiren sighed and cast Holy Light on himself.
According to his research over the past two days, the effect of Holy Healing is not only to treat wounds, but also to "try to adjust a person's state to its best." Therefore, drowsiness, fatigue, and the aftereffects of staying up late are also considered targets of Holy Healing.
He slept for five hours on the cold ground yesterday and got up, so tired that he couldn't lift a finger. After the Holy Healing, he was not immediately refreshed, but he was just so-so.
As for the consumption of divine spells, according to Xilun's estimates over the past few days, all his divine sense can be used to cast Holy Heal fourteen times, and the divine sense consumed by one Holy Heal can be fully restored after three hours of rest.
Moreover, since the addition of 176 new believers yesterday, he has clearly felt that both the total number and the recovery speed have become faster.
"Even after time-traveling, I still can't live without an iced Americano…" Xiren chuckled self-deprecatingly, turned around, and saw that two guards had also gotten up, followed by Joseph, who was hunched over and acting suspiciously.
"Sir," Logan said sternly, "Father Joseph wants to see you."
"Understood." Xiren nodded gently. "I was just about to come find you."
Father Joseph rubbed his hands together, his face showing a mixture of obsequiousness, mourning, and guilt. He grabbed Siron's hand and said, "Your Excellency, in the name of the Father, tell me the truth: when did you receive your bishop's appointment?"
"Three days ago." Xilun looked at him with amusement.
Father Joseph's face showed a complex expression, then he bowed his head and made the sign of the cross: "Please forgive me—I saw them building Speyside Cathedral and wanted to wait here for the new bishop, to make an impression. I abandoned my parish, I thought it was for you..."
Xilun looked at him with a smile: "You should have realized it yesterday, right? You found that I was completely unfamiliar with this place and must have been temporarily appointed, but you didn't say anything because you wanted to see what kind of person I was."
Joseph was sweating profusely.
"If I were a scoundrel bishop who only cared about his own pleasure, then you wouldn't need to apologize, and I would most likely forgive your opportunistic behavior because you're a good dog. But you've seen me take care of the common people and care for the poor, so you guess I'm definitely disgusted by your abandonment of the parish, so you've come to repent."
"Your Excellency Bishop... Your Excellency Bishop... For the sake of the Father..."
"I've read all the church scriptures, but none of them tell me that the Father would forgive your behavior." Siron pulled his hand away; his right hand, which Joseph had gripped, was sticky and sweaty.
Joseph looked terrified, but Siren felt a chill run down his spine. He knew that such a scoundrel might fawn over his superiors, but when cornered, he would be far more resentful than others.
However, Xilun's conversation with him wasn't meant to corner him.
"But you can make amends," Siron said. "Prove your piety and repentance to me and to God through your actions."
Joseph breathed a sigh of relief and flashed his usual obsequious smile, his wrinkled face contorted in pain.
Xilun gave him a deep look and sighed inwardly.
What he saw was a person wearing a mask, a person whose mask had become one with him.
No one is born with a fawning attitude, let alone such a humble one; one must have experienced some kind of psychological trauma.
"Priest Joseph," Sirren used the more formal term, "you need not worry. Whatever you've been through before, I can assure you that working for me is far better than working for some bastard."
Joseph didn't speak, but simply lowered his head silently.
But his fists were clenched so tightly that his nails almost dug into his flesh.
"How could you possibly know what I've been through!" he roared inwardly, but his face maintained that stiff, distorted smile.
Xilun didn't continue speaking; people's thoughts can't be changed in a few words. Instead, he asked, "Tell me about this place."
Joseph took a few deep breaths: "As you wish."