Bishop Salomon just looked at him, slowly revealing a gentle yet distant smile, as if observing prey that finally realized it had no way out.
The Holy Certificate completely collapsed on the same day.
Without the backing of gold, those counterfeit coins adorned with thorn patterns became worthless.
In the morning, they could still buy an apple, by noon just a grape, and by evening, too stiff even to wipe one's behind.
Civilians piled up mountains of money in the streets, setting fire to these holy tokens for warmth.
The firelight reflected on gaunt and numb faces.
Beyond the disappearance of money, the greater horror was the absence of food—under the manipulation of the deceased old Duke, sunken ships in the canal severed the western grain route.
The grain stores, opened for public display, contained nothing but sand mixed with moldy husks, most of the grain had been taken by the Church Court.
