Chapter 473 - 433: Carving up the Feast

Chapter 473: Chapter 433: Carving up the Feast

The Court of Silence.

The estate of Prince Willandar Orange sat on an isolated island in the southwestern corner of the Royal Capital, like a great beast that had long been dormant, now slowly opening its eyes.

This once-forgotten island had now become the eye of a political storm once more.

On the stone bridge connecting the island to the mainland, the once-overgrown moss had been scrubbed spotlessly clean. In its place were the heavy, orderly footsteps of the black-armored guards on patrol. The sound of metal boots striking the stone surface echoed over the canal like a cold, relentless rhythm.

The long conference table in the council hall of the Prince’s estate was packed with people.

Those seated were all minor and mid-level nobles—not just Baron Valen, but also dozens of Viscounts, Barons, and powerful Knights with wealthy fiefdoms from the Sea Province and the areas surrounding the Royal Capital.

At this moment, these nobles were on pins and needles.

Their fiefs were all near the Royal Capital, leaving them nowhere to run. They dared not directly confront the formidable True Origin Sect, nor did they dare offend the deeply entrenched and powerful Church. They could only hunker down in their territories, playing deaf and dumb, struggling to maintain a teetering sense of order.

No matter how fiercely the two sides fought in private, they could only pretend not to see it, having become "orphans" abandoned amidst the conflict.

The hall doors opened.

Prince Willandar walked in.

He wore simple black attire, devoid of any medals, but his innate, oppressive aura made everyone rise to their feet.

Following behind him was a young man in a dark gray scholar’s robe.

The Count of the White Tower—Velin Klein.

The name was not unfamiliar in recent noble circles. He was that "freak" from Gray Bay.

Velin walked to the end of the long table, placed a thick stack of parchment on it, and then sat down unhurriedly.

"Everyone."

Willandar sat in the seat of honor. Without any pleasantries, he cut straight to the point. "The Church has withdrawn."

A commotion rippled through the hall.

Although there had long been rumors, hearing it confirmed by the Prince himself was still terrifying.

"They’ve taken all the gold, the holy relics, and their core technical personnel." Willandar’s voice was as calm as if he were reading an autopsy report. "What they’ve left you is a city full of chaos, and... those little things currently incubating in your stomachs."

"Your Highness!"

A Viscount whose fief was on the outskirts of the city couldn’t help but stand up, his voice filled with terror. "Save us! We don’t want to die! Since you’ve summoned us here, you must have a solution, right? Whether it’s a doctor or an Alchemist, as long as they can get this damned thing out of my stomach, I’m willing to offer up my fief’s entire tax revenue for the year!"

Willandar didn’t answer directly. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, looking toward the young man at the end of the long table.

"Velin, tell them the plan."

"A remedy, of course, exists."

Velin stood up, acknowledging the Prince’s gesture.

He pulled a sheet from the stack of documents and posted it on the blackboard behind him.

It wasn’t a prescription.

It was a map of property distribution in the Sea Province. Though not finely detailed, it was enough to see the big picture.

On the map, a large area where the southern Sea Province and the northern Forest Sea Province met was circled in bright red ink.

"But before we talk about the remedy, let’s first talk about ’justice’."

Velin held a pointer and tapped the red areas.

"These are the properties held by the Holy Radiance Cathedral in these two provinces. They include three large wineries in the southern Sea Province, twelve logging camps in the northern Forest Sea Province, shops along the coastal trade routes, and... the most fertile ’Holy Fields’ on your own lands."

Baron Valen, who was from the southern Sea Province, felt his eyelid twitch.

He saw an area within his own territory that had been circled in red.

That was land his grandfather had donated to the Church, supposedly for blessings. It turned out to be the plot with the best water source in his territory, producing enough grain each year to feed a quarter of the town, yet all of it went into the Church’s granaries.

"According to the accounts I have here."

Velin pulled out another chart. The numbers crammed onto it were dense and shocking.

"Over the past ten years, the total ’Holy Meal Tax,’ ’indulgences,’ and various other donations you have all paid to the Church is... three and a half times the amount you paid in taxes to the Royal Family."

The hall fell silent.

This was an accounting that no one had ever thought to calculate, nor dared to.

Because it was an offering to God.

But now that Velin had ripped away this fig leaf and thrown a string of numbers in their faces, the nature of it had changed.

"They took three times your money."

Velin’s voice struck a chord in the heart of every noble present.

"To give you Holy Water."

"To wage heretical wars on your lands."

"And to do it with your money."

Velin put down the pointer, leaned forward slightly with both hands on the table, and his wine-red eyes swept over everyone present.

"That is what you call—a scam."

"It’s more than just a scam!"

Baron Valen slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet, his face flushed red. "This is murder! It’s treason!"

Many others voiced their agreement.

A furious rage at being fooled rose in the hearts of most, along with... an unmistakable glint of greed in their eyes as they looked at the map.

The Church had fled.

The land was still there.

The shops were still there.

The mills were still there.

"Well said. It is treason."

Prince Willandar picked up the conversation at the perfect moment.

He pulled a long-since-stamped parliamentary decree from his coat—with the Imperial Faction having evacuated, the parliament under the Prince’s control was proving to be unspeakably loyal.

"According to the laws of the kingdom, all property of traitors is not protected by law and shall be confiscated."

The Prince paused, his gaze profound as he looked at the greedy nobles.

"However, the Royal Family lacks the manpower to manage so many scattered properties. Therefore..."

He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Everyone present was sharp.

The meaning couldn’t be clearer—finders, keepers.

As long as you pick a side, the Royal Family will back you and legalize this plunder.

"But..."

A cautious Viscount spoke up hesitantly. "What about the True Origin Sect... they control the Lower City District now. If we go to take over the Church’s properties, will we come into conflict with them?"

"You won’t."

The side door of the conference room opened.

Seras walked in.

He was still dressed in his simple gray robe, and he even carried the distinct smell of smoke and life from the Lower City District.

Facing a room full of nobles, the young leader of the True Origin Sect showed not the slightest bit of stage fright.

He walked to Velin’s side and gave a slight bow to the crowd.

"The True Origin Sect is only responsible for saving people and spreading the True Origin Sacred Law."

Seras’s voice was gentle yet firm. "We do not collect a Holy Meal tax, we do not operate wineries, nor do we need vast tracts of land to build magnificent cathedrals. Because the True Origin is in the heart, not in bricks and mortar."

These words were like the music of the heavens.

The nobles could hardly believe their ears.

’A sect that doesn’t want money or land, only to spread its teachings?’

’How is this heresy?’

’This is more orthodox than the orthodoxy!’

"You mean..." The Viscount swallowed. "If we go to take over the Church’s shops, you... won’t interfere?"

"That is ill-gotten wealth."

Seras said lightly, "As long as you can guarantee you will treat the workers there well and stop selling that harmful Holy Water, the True Origin Sect will not only refrain from obstructing you, but will also call upon our followers to cooperate with your lordships’ ’righteous actions’."

The deal was struck.

No contract, no signatures.

However, a modicum of decorum was still maintained in the hall.

Although flames of greed burned in everyone’s eyes, and some were already gripping their armrests, eager to act, not a single person dared to rise without permission. They were like a pack of savage dogs awaiting the command to feed, their eyes fixed unblinkingly on the man in the seat of honor.

Prince Willandar leisurely lifted his teacup, gently blew away the foam, took a sip, and only then raised his eyes, revealing a meaningful smile.

"Meeting adjourned," he said softly. "Go and take back the... justice that belongs to you."

Half an hour later, the Royal Capital of Zelheim was in an uproar.

This time, it wasn’t the smashing, looting, and arson of a mob.

It was an organized, disciplined, and legally endorsed "Great Reckoning."

Baron Valen, riding a tall horse and leading his household guards, charged menacingly toward the Holy Radiance Mill on the west side of the city.

A few low-ranking Priests who had stayed behind tried to stop them.

"Stop! This is Church property! This is blasphemy—"

"Blasphemy my ass!"

Baron Valen cracked his whip across the Priest’s face, sending him spinning.

"By order of the Prince! We are seizing the assets of traitors!"

The Baron waved his hand. "Charge! Kill anyone who resists!"

The household retainers smashed open the main gate like a pack of wolves.

Similar scenes were playing out all over the city.

The once-untouchable properties of the Church had now become ownerless slabs of fat meat, ripe for the taking.

The followers of the True Origin Sect did not participate in the looting.

They simply stood by the roadside, watching it all unfold in silence, occasionally handing a bowl of water to the private soldiers charging into the fray or pointing out where a warehouse’s hidden door was located.

This tacit cooperation made the reckoning exceptionally efficient.

Even some neutral parties who had been watching from the sidelines, upon seeing this scene of "everyone pushing a falling wall," rushed to join the feast of plunder.

After all, there is safety in numbers.

Besides, who doesn’t want to get rich?

...

「Dusk.」

The Upper City District, Chalk Highlands.

The viewing promenade here, located at the highest point in the city, was once the exclusive domain of the Church’s upper echelons to look down upon the masses. Now, it was deserted, save for the figures of Velin and Seras.

The two stood side by side, leaning on the cold marble railing, watching the city below as it changed masters.

The Holy Cross Banners that had once covered the entire city were now being taken down, one by one.

In their place rose the heraldic banners of the various noble families, interspersed with the "chained teardrop" flag of the True Origin Sect.

"How does it feel?"

Velin asked.

Seras watched a church in the distance where the cross was being dismantled, a complicated look in his eyes.

"It’s ironic."

Seras said softly, "We’ve preached reason for so long and saved so many people, yet none of it was as effective as handing them a land deed."

"That’s human nature."

Velin turned, leaning his back against the railing and letting the evening wind tousle his dark hair. "Faith solves the problems of the soul. Greed solves the problems of the flesh. To topple a behemoth, passion alone is not enough. You also have to make it profitable for those who push the wall."

He reached out and clenched his fist in the empty air.

As if he had seized the very pulse of the city.

"Now, the Church’s foundation has been severed."

Velin said, "Without money, without land, without the support of the middle class, even if Edmond holds all the core technology, he’s nothing more than a beggar guarding a mountain of gold."

"What’s next?" Seras asked. "They won’t take this lying down."

"Of course not."

Velin looked toward the distant Holy Radiance Cathedral fortress, still brightly lit, like an isolated island.

Its defensive barrier was still impregnable, its ballistae still aimed at the city.

But it was already a dead city.

"Next, we wait them out."

The corners of Velin’s mouth turned up slightly. "We wait until their ammunition and food run out. We wait until internal strife erupts. We wait until... that Archbishop has no choice but to step down from his divine altar and beg us for a way out."

Just then, Xiaolan’s figure appeared silently behind Velin.

"My lord."

The young woman’s voice was cool and clear as she handed him a newly arrived intelligence report.

"Urgent report from Gray Bay."

Velin took the report and glanced at it.

His previously relaxed expression instantly froze.

The report was short, its few lines carrying the suffocating stench of blood:

[The Empire has been informed of the upheaval in the Royal Capital and is enraged by the Duchy’s act of "expelling the holy church and harboring heretics." The Imperial Chancellor has just signed a Supreme Embargo Order, immediately blockading all trade routes and shipping lanes to the coastal territories. All materials are strictly forbidden from entering, and the first item on the embargo list is—food.]

Velin crumpled the paper in his hand.

"It seems the Empire couldn’t sit still any longer."

He tore the note to shreds and tossed them into the wind.

The pieces of paper scattered in the air, drifting down into the bottomless, dark alleys below.

"Round two has begun."