When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 747 - 703: The Hidden Ember of Windmill Land

As Armand, the designated successor of the Holy Axis civil servant, has been stationed in Dam City for two weeks, it seems that nothing has happened.

The laborers continue to transport wooden boxes, carrying the bone china cushioned with straw into the ship's hold, and then unloading the silk from the hold to the dock.

The newspaper seller, leading a donkey, stuffs newspapers into the gaps of doorways or in front of windows in each household, while the teahouses and taverns remain filled with idle citizens and speculators.

The oligarchs continue to attack the "Artsy" newspaper, and the editor-in-chief of the "Artsy" continues to call for people not to hoard white sugar.

But in places they cannot see, everything is quietly changing.

On a desolate street near the docks, three men dressed in coarse monk robes walk slowly, occasionally stopping to pretend to tidy their clothes, but in fact, secretly looking around.

The three stopped beside an abandoned green-walled chapel, knocking on the large door covered with copper-rusted nails. After about ten seconds, a gap in the door shows an eye.

After confirming that it was just the three of them, an emaciated old priest inside opened the door and gestured behind him: "Hurry inside, we've been waiting for you."

This chapel, covered in vines and climbing plants, looks desolate on the outside but is tidy and clean inside.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, the monk giving a sermon immediately looked up and gripped the crossbow under the lectern with his right hand.

Seeing the three men, he released his grip on the crossbow: "So it's the three brothers of the Orange family. You're late today."

"That damned devil bishop, if we don't clean the chimney, they won't let us go," the oldest of the Orange brothers extended his hands, showing the others the soot in his nails, "and the chimney isn't even my responsibility, I missed dinner because of it."

Dozens of low-level monks and helpers in the chapel collectively shouted with condemnation.

They rolled up their sleeves, revealing hair stuck to their arms with sweat, almost using all their strength to curse their abbots or workshop masters.

Although they live in Windmill Land, a place envied for its wealth, the lives of these ordinary people are not as good as imagined.

The remnants of the Church and feudal system still weigh heavily on the heads of low-level monks and laborers, leaving them with no time to even look up at the sky.

Although Windmill Land is semi-autonomous, there are still many religious landlords and feudal nobles loyal to the Church and the Leia Kingdom within it.

The citizens and artisans, though detesting them, had no choice but to rely on them for survival, as only these high-ranking clergy and nobles have sufficient purchasing power.

"Alright, alright, save your complaints for later." The monk knocked on the table, "Where were we... Oh right, we mentioned earlier that the Holy Father has granted humans the right to freedom from birth, endowed them with wisdom and reason in His image, so your free choices are what the Holy Father expects you to make..."

Finding a row of seats, an Orange brother took out a notebook and raised his hand: "But if that's the case, does it mean the Church isn't necessary? If so, why is there a need for the Holy Axis?"

"No, no, no." The Saint Father Order monk immediately denied, "Our Holy Path sect denies the legitimacy of the Holy Seat City Church, not the necessity of religious organizations, just like we do not deny the necessity of confession but deny the legitimacy of indulgences..."

"I understand, you mean the organization of the Holy Father's shepherds should unite the believers, guide them towards goodness, protect them from devils, and be representatives elected by the believers collectively." Another low-level monk, his eyes glinting, immediately asked.

"Yes, very clever, you are indeed smart." The monk of the Saint Father's Association couldn't help but look with admiration at these individuals.

Perhaps due to the differences in education and economic levels, the low-level monks of Windmill Land grasped the various ideologies of the Holy Path sect much faster than those in the Thousand River Valley.

"... The difference between the Holy Alliance and the Church lies in that the Church appears to only govern the spiritual world of believers yet controls everything about them, while the Holy Alliance seems to only govern the believers' real-world, never restricting your freedom unless you violate a commonly established covenant..."

"... So what does the Holy Father encourage? Labor, freedom, equality... We love every individual..."

"... When we speak of devils, it is based on actions, not intentions; if one acts like a devil, regardless of his appearance, how is he any different from a devil..."

In the desolate little chapel with a stench of decay, a bean-sized lamp was kindled. Beyond the voice of the missionary's sermon, only the rustling of pens across paper filled the ears of monks and helpers.

However, this flicker of light was not just kindled beside the abandoned chapel by the canal banks.

In the attic of luxurious residences in the city center, missionaries talked to citizens about the preciousness of freedom and the absurdity of indulgences.

On the outskirts' manors and autonomous village communities, Saint Path sect missionaries who had worked all day were surrounded by circles of young farmhands.

Across the deep, dark plains of Windmill Land, countless points of light flickered as though they might be extinguished by the next gust of wind, but the cold December sea wind could not blow them out; instead, they burned brighter and brighter.

Slowly, slowly, these flames would only multiply, becoming hot enough to eventually ignite and pierce the darkness covering the sky.

...

Under the bright but dim whale oil lamp, Armand sat by the fireplace, his freshly washed hair damp, emitting faint wisps of steam under the fireplace's warmth.

For the past month, Armand sometimes hid in a riverside villa engrossed in writing, while at other times he wandered the streets or fields chatting idly. What started as a thin page of the investigation report was now as thick as a forefinger.

Horn had reasons for deciding to send Armand to Windmill Land; his background was well-suited for this job.

Though Armand was a central monk, he constantly performed large amounts of local grassroots work, whether uniting people or developing local organizations.

During the Autumn Dusk Island training period, Armand was responsible for developing loyalists at Joan of Arc Castle.

During the Jinhe Town campaign, Armand worked in Kasha County to win over local monks and priests.

After the Battle of Rapids City, Armand was once again managing the organization of the Saint Father Order in Hotam County and Upper and Lower Reif Counties.

Armand and René had a good relationship, not without reason; they had worked together countless times on the secret frontlines.

His mission in Windmill Land was even more effortlessly handled; the atmosphere here was much more open than the closed and conservative Thousand River Valley.

Putting down his pen, looking at the Saint Father's Association's list in front of him, Armand's face involuntarily revealed a satisfied smile.

And the monks and observing cultivators of the Saint Father's Association in Dam City, Windmill Land had already reached about 300 people, mainly poor citizens, independent farmers, laborers, and low-level monks.

Although there were only more than 30 true core members outside the teachers from the Thousand River Valley, they were actively participating in social life. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

From the disorganized pamphlets on the table, Armand casually picked one up and leafed through it for probably the nth time.

Unlike the veiled reprints and criticisms in the "Artsy," these pamphlets covered topics that were taboo to even touch.

The metaphysical ones include classical theodicy and freedom rights, while the more concrete ones expose monks' absurd corrupt practices, and numerous jokes about the Inquisition and the Holy Seat.

Among them were a substantial amount of reports and records from the grassroots, such as a day in the life of a porter, a ceramic worker, a farmer, etc...

The next step was to start printing theological pamphlets of the Holy Path, using these members as the core to broadly evangelize.

Whenever he thought of this, Armand's previously weary spirit would improve significantly.

"Bang!"

The door was kicked open with a loud noise, startling Armand out of his concentration, causing the pamphlet in his hand to drop to the ground.

"Armand!" With deerskin boots thudding on the solid wooden floor, Lupher dashed over to face Armand, slamming his hands on the table, "I ask you, I ask you, when exactly is the sugar coming?!"