The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 431 Household Registration! Land Allocation!
Amidst the chaotic yet solemn atmosphere, the work of registering the identities of the starving people began.

The next morning, a strange checkpoint appeared in front of the large pot of wheat porridge being cooked at the porridge distribution point outside Quemu Fort.

It was a table made up of two wooden crates. A Salvation Army soldier sat behind it, holding a quill pen instead of a rifle.

An account book lay open in front of him, and his face showed a look of great tension, appearing even more nervous than the soldiers on the castle.

Old Hank, standing in front of the table, was the same.

He carried the broken wooden bowl in his hand and staggered to the table, wondering what kind of show these soldiers were going to put on this time.

All he wanted to do was eat.

Seeing Hank approaching, the soldier straightened his expression and spoke in a businesslike tone.

"name?"

"Han, Hank!" Old Hank straightened up and responded as if reporting a message.

"Village?"

"Village, village?"

"That's where you used to live!"

"Wheat Field Village..."

The soldier was silent for a moment, tapped his quill on the table, and looked up at old Hank.

"...How was it written?"

Old Hank was dumbfounded.

He had lived most of his life and only knew that his name was Hank, a name he inherited from his deceased grandfather.

Nobody told him how to write this character.
"How would I know... I, anyway, this is my name!" He was sweating profusely, afraid that if he couldn't write his name, he wouldn't be able to eat the porridge.

The soldier in charge of registration also looked troubled, unsure of what to do with the anxious Hank and the restless crowd.

He only recently learned how to spell his own name, so how would he know how to spell other people's names?
The two stared at each other, one eager to eat and the other eager to complete the task, creating a stalemate.

Just then, a thin, refined-looking man squeezed to the front and whispered to them.

"Sir... um, I know how to write it."

He was probably starving and couldn't wait any longer, so he stepped forward.

Upon hearing this, the soldier felt as if he had been granted a pardon. Overjoyed, he turned the ledger around and pushed it in front of the man.

"You come!"

The refined-looking man quickly took the ledger and quill pen, finished the registration in no time, and then returned the ledger and quill pen to the soldier.

"finished……"

The soldier took the ledger and glanced at it. He saw that the handwriting was beautiful and neat, with smooth lines, and it didn't seem like a farmer's name at all. He couldn't help but look at the man with suspicion.

"Is that really his name?"

The refined man was taken aback, stumped by the question, and said with a wry smile.

"Well... how would I know what his real name is? Anyway, that's how it's spelled 'Hank'."

"My name is Hank!" Old Hank said, his face flushed, and repeated himself.

"..." The refined man didn't speak; he felt caught between a chicken and a duck.

The soldier had a sudden inspiration.

"Write me another 'sloch'."

The refined man immediately complied, writing another name on the ledger the soldier handed him.

The soldier recognized the name, as it was his own. He had only recently learned how to spell it from a caravan worker, but the illegible, scribbled mess was nothing compared to the "work of art" before him.

The soldier was so impressed with how beautiful his name looked when he wrote it that he wanted to copy it several times and imprint the strokes in his mind.

Of course, this can wait until after work is finished.

Seeing the man trying to retreat back into the group, he quickly grabbed the man's shoulder and said with a smile.

"You help me register! I'll teach you how! Don't worry about getting the porridge, just eat with us!"

The refined man was taken aback, not expecting to suddenly receive a task, and quickly and obsequiously accepted it.

"Yes Yes!"

How could he dare to say no?
However, since he had nothing else to do anyway, and this army that had changed its flag seemed to be doing quite well, he sat down in the seat that the soldiers had given up and cooperated with the registration work.

With the help of this seemingly cultured person, the team's progress finally picked up.

Old Hank, who was eager to get his porridge, finally received it and also received a wooden plaque with words engraved on it.

It was an "identity tag" that the soldier handed him after he completed the registration. It had a line of words scrawled on it, including his name, the village he lived in, and his number.

According to the soldiers, starting tomorrow, registration will no longer be required; instead, food will be distributed based on identification tags.

To be honest, he quite liked the "jewelry" with his name engraved on it.

Squatting in a corner of the camp, old Hank picked up the bowl full of wheat porridge, took a sip, and mumbled something indistinctly.

"...So my name is really good-looking."

On the other side, the registration line reached its end, and the well-mannered man finally received his food.

In addition to the porridge, there was also a piece of smoked meat as a reward for his work.

After he thanked the soldier and prepared to leave, the soldier called him back.

"Wait a minute, your name hasn't been written yet."

Upon hearing that he needed to register his name, a flicker of fear crossed the man's face. After stammering for a while, he finally spoke in a low voice.

Why are you registering this?

The soldier didn't hide anything and spoke frankly.

"This is the Holy Maiden's intention. Firstly, it's for easier management, and secondly, it's to ensure that you can return to your original villages in an orderly manner."

"……go back?"

“That’s right, staying here isn’t a solution either; the land around the castle can’t support that many people.”

Didn't you guys send us here?
This is like breaking someone's leg and then giving them a crutch.

The man muttered a curse to himself, but didn't dare say it aloud. He only expressed his other concerns.

"But what about famine?"

The soldier said with a smile.

"Her Highness is trying to solve this problem! In order to avoid missing the window of opportunity for spring planting, we must restore the abandoned farmland as soon as possible... Don't worry, we will not let you go hungry during this period, and we will guarantee the supply of food."

The man nodded, feeling slightly relieved. After much hesitation, he finally wrote his name in the ledger.

He didn't believe in those demons wearing green turbans, but as someone who helped the priest copy scriptures, he still harbored faith and reverence in his heart, believing in Saint Sith, as well as Her Highness the Saint and the divine pronouncements she spoke of.

As long as it's not about settling accounts later, he doesn't seem to have anything to be afraid of...

Let's trust them one more time.

……

Although Old Hank's registration went smoothly, not every old farmer was as lucky as him.

Apart from the neatly written ledger submitted by the Slok registration point, the vast majority of registration points submitted a scribbled mess that was even more obscure and difficult to understand than a magic book.

There will inevitably be deception in the process of reconciliation.

Faced with an impossible task assigned to them, the soldiers turned a blind eye and simply handed in their orders. The starving people queuing for porridge also just drew their names on a pen.

Incidentally, due to his quick thinking at work, the soldier named Slok has been promoted to centurion and put in charge of the hastily assembled household registration department.

There are only two people in the entire department now: one is Slok himself, and the other is a starving person who helps him copy scriptures... It is said that the person used to be a monk in the church, responsible for copying scriptures.

This monk is quite bold to step forward and help at this time. After all, just a week ago, those guys with green turbans were a group of "cannibals" who threatened to slaughter the castle and church. Their conversion to the Holy Light seems like only yesterday.

Inside the military tent, the atmosphere was a mixture of joy and sorrow.

The Salvation Army officers seemed to be divided into two factions. One faction was the "Homecoming Faction," which supported Her Highness the Saint. Most of them were from peasant backgrounds and were extremely supportive of Her Highness's decision to distribute land to everyone.

After all, they started the uprising to seize land from the nobles, but in their bloodlust and focus on plundering, they forgot their original purpose.

The other faction, however, remained loyal to Kailan's will—the "Final Battle Faction."

However, it's less about their loyalty to Kailan and more about their loyalty to reality. After all, any general with strategic vision knows that farming is meaningless until the war is over.

Three cavalrymen could charge in and set fire to the land that three hundred people had toiled and sweated to cultivate. Without stable order, production is simply out of the question.

This analogy might be a bit exaggerated, but the point is valid. When they were fighting as guerrillas, they often set fire to the granaries of nobles. And while these granaries were said to belong to nobles, they were mostly located in various villages, and the ownership couldn't be explained in a single sentence.

"This is utter nonsense!" A centurion slammed his fist on the table, spitting as he spoke. "We're here to attack the city, not to play games! What have we been doing all this time outside the castle? I bet the earl inside is laughing at us for not even being able to build siege ladders and battering rams!"

Faced with the centurion's rage, Brennan remained silent, simply waiting for Karen's reaction.

He was also very hesitant.

He actually wanted to ask about the siege at yesterday's meeting, but he didn't get a chance to bring it up until the very end.

On one hand, he thought Karen's idea was excellent; he had been thinking about the brothers' future for a long time. But to be honest, he didn't have any ideas himself. Before becoming the leader of the Green Forest Army, he was just a hunter, and even leading troops into battle was something he learned by doing. As for governing a region... he hadn't even started yet.

However, on the other hand, he felt that this couldn't go on. After all, Earl Cyron's castle was still there. Mercy could win people's hearts, but it could only win people's hearts and could not replace force.

All eyes turned to Karen, or rather, to the deity behind her.

They are awaiting a new oracle.

Karen's gaze was calmer than ever before. Everything was just as Mr. Colin had said. As their strength gradually expanded, they were no longer content to patiently wait for God's blessing. Their once dim ambitions were beginning to stir.

That's human desire.

After all, they now have an army of 100,000, and mobilizing another 100,000 cannon fodder is not a problem at all.

"The gods never promised to lead you to conquer the city; they only promised to open the castle gates and not to tamper with your wishes. Instead, you promised to listen to me until our pact is complete."

Seeing the speechless centurion, Karen continued.

"Furthermore, I bet you the same thing: the Earl in the castle is not mocking us. He is more terrified than anyone else... even more so than his soldiers."

The centurion's dissatisfaction was clearly not appeased, but he couldn't think of any rebuttal. He could only try to persuade her from another angle, attempting to make her understand that what she was doing was unrealistic.

"But... with war and chaos outside, no one will be able to settle down and farm in this situation! I just want to say that you're doing something completely pointless—"

“Then you should put their minds at ease,” Karen said calmly, looking at him. “Make them believe that the swords in your hands are not tools to enslave them, but weapons to defend them.” These words silenced the entire tent.

The centurion's throat seemed to be blocked, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Thomas, standing to the side, had a slight gleam in his eyes, as if he had seen something wonderful, though his limited vocabulary couldn't describe what it was.

Saint Sis, that sounds absolutely wonderful!
A lord's sword should not be a tool for enslaving his people, but a weapon for defending them!
He had never heard any priest or lord actually say this, but he wanted to have it written into the Book of the Word!

"...Let's talk about something more practical."

The other centurion, who had been silent all along, slowly spoke, turning his gaze to the saintess who seemed to be glowing.

“I admit that your idea is good, but it is too difficult to implement. Not to mention those starving people and my brothers, even I only recently learned how to spell my own name, not to mention the names of those villages. Some remote villages are not even called by the name on the map.”

“This is indeed a problem,” Karen nodded slightly, glancing at the people around her. “And what I want to discuss with you today is precisely how to solve this problem.”

The group exchanged glances, all looking completely at a loss.

Just then, Thomas, who had been silent all along, suddenly cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“I am a merchant from the Kingdom of Rhodes. In principle, I should not interfere in your affairs, but I am a devout believer and I cannot stand by and watch my blood relatives fall into hell.”

He paused for a moment, then quickly got to the point.

“Many of my caravan members are literate, and handling accounts is our specialty. I can assist the officers in completing the registration work, including providing the paper and pens needed for the registration process… Let’s figure something out.”

Since the soldiers had already taken his paper and pen, he would have had to swallow this loss even if he didn't hand them over.

It's better to say it now, as it can be seen as a favor, and we can ask for it back later after the war is over.

If Twilight Province can restore order, this is certainly a good place to develop.

Karen gave him a grateful look.

"Thank you. The people of Twilight Province will remember your efforts for them."

After saying that, she looked at the pragmatic centurion and continued, “Mr. Thomas can help you, and not only that, his men can teach you simple spelling. I know it’s difficult, but for our future well-being, I hope you will humbly learn from his men.”

The pragmatic centurion silently looked at Brennan, and seeing that the latter did not object, he looked back at Karen and said in a deep voice.

"I have no objection..."

Karen nodded, then turned her gaze to Slok, the “head of the household registration department”, who was standing in the corner of the tent.

Until yesterday, Mr. Slok was just a common soldier and obviously never expected to have the opportunity to stand in this tent.

"Besides Thomas's caravan, I believe there must be literate people among our starving people. They may have been innkeepers, adventurers, timber merchants for the lord, or even monks in the church..."

“Out of fear, they dare not reveal their identities, fearing that the knowledge they possess will bring them death. Our first task is to dispel their fear and convince them that we are not the destroyers of the existing order, but the builders of a new one.”

"In this way, they will naturally join our ranks one after another, just like the gentleman who helped Sergeant Slok complete the registration. From then on, we will not have to rely on others and can restore the order that we destroyed with our own hands through our own strength."

These words deeply moved Brennan, so much so that he fell into deep thought, and just like at yesterday's military conference, he didn't ask about the siege until the very end.

Just wait a little longer...

Perhaps, as this saintess said, they can take the castle without shedding a drop of blood?
Moreover, his thoughts were no longer on that castle, but had drifted to a much farther place.

He had firmly believed in the justice that Kaylan spoke of, that everything would be alright once the castle and church were destroyed, but all he seemed to see along the way was bloodshed and death.

On the contrary, he now sees colors in people's eyes that he has never seen before.

That seemed to be hope...

……

Brennan and the starving people saw hope, as did the soldiers standing on the city walls.

The siege had lasted for several months. The harsh winter had not starved the rebels outside; on the contrary, they had seen the light of Saint Sith before the rebels themselves.

That was a rumor circulating in the military.

It is said that a saint was born among the rebels, and with "truth," she transformed the ruthless thugs, making them remove their damned green headscarves and believe in Saint Sith again.

This in itself is not strange. The farmers of the Kingdom of Ryan are cunning and flexible creatures. Whoever gives them food is a saint, and the other way around is a witch.

The soldiers on the city wall were not surprised by this, but they were bothered by why Saint Sith had chosen a group of ruthless thugs.

In their view, they were of course on the side of justice. After all, they had only taken the grain that rightfully belonged to the lord from the village; they hadn't lifted the lids off the farmers' pots or picked at the chaff they had pasted on the walls.

The main problem is that they can't find the grain that the farmers have hidden at home, but those green headscarves, who are originally farmers, know very well where their neighbors' good stuff is hidden.

A suffocating atmosphere hung over every besieged soldier.

Even though the priest in the castle told them that the so-called saint was just a village girl self-proclaimed by the rebels, even the priest couldn't explain where the rebels' food came from.

It couldn't have been given by the devil, could it?
That's incredibly blasphemous.

It is worth mentioning that although the people inside the castle were separated from those outside by a moat, they were not completely cut off from each other, and the orders of officers alone could not keep them in check.

When the rebels first besieged the castle, both sides were on high alert and in a standoff. However, as time went on and the castle remained unconquered, the rebels also adopted a siege tactic, and the restrictions became less stringent.

Some soldiers would secretly throw stones wrapped in notes outside, and would secretly give their saved rations to family members, neighbors, or even old lovers who couldn't hide in the castle.

However, the situation seems to have reversed recently.

The starving people outside were no longer hungry, but the soldiers on the castle could only gnaw on cold, hard, dry bread, watching the people outside cook porridge over a fire, their mouths watering with envy.

There wasn't much firewood in the castle, so it couldn't be wasted on cooking; it was all for winter supplies.

Regardless of whether porridge or bread is more nutritious, it's definitely more appealing to eat than to eat porridge...

"Dear Camille, the Salvation Army's 'priests' have recently started teaching us to write. This letter was written for me by the priest, but I wrote my own signature at the end. Isn't it beautiful?"

Also, please don't worry about me; we're no longer going hungry. Those soldiers you call rebels have registered our names and decided to send us back to our hometowns in batches so we can start cultivating the land there again.

They also said that the land would belong to us from now on, and we would no longer have to work for the lord. As for the seeds, they would take care of that; we just needed to focus on our own lives.

I really hope the war ends soon. I miss the old days so much. Back then, we would lie together on the big haystack, basking in the sun, drinking pumpkin porridge and milky white fish soup made by my mother. Do you remember when I said I would make it for you? I've never forgotten.

—Judy, waiting for you to come home.

Sitting atop the city wall, a soldier named James was looking at a crumpled letter in his hand, his face full of complex emotions.

His name wasn't Camille, and he didn't know anyone named Judy; he just happened to know how to spell because his family had served the lord for generations.

As for the letter, he found it while on patrol. It was wrapped in a piece of hard bread and had a copper coin inside as a bribe... It seemed to be an attempt to bribe the person who found the letter.

He certainly wouldn't be bought off by a mere copper coin and risk everything to find that womanizer named Camille, but he still couldn't help feeling confused...

"A priest? How could those rebels have a priest?" he muttered to himself, reading the short letter in his hand over and over again, no longer able to tell whether he was trying to convince himself or reminiscing about the good old days.

Before the chaotic army approached Huangtong Pass, their lives had been quite good.

No one is hungry.

No one died because of another person's ambition.

At that time, he never imagined that before he fought against the demons of hell and the devils of chaos, he would one day fight against the people of his hometown.

"What are you doing?"

A dignified voice came from behind, startling James, who was engrossed in the letter.

He instinctively tried to hide the letter, but met the stern gaze of the knight commander.

Without the slightest hesitation, he immediately stood at attention and reported faithfully.

"Sir, I found a letter!"

"give it to me!"

"Yes!"

James nervously handed over the letter, silently praying for the soldier named Camille.

The knight commander finished reading the letter in his hand with a dark face, looking at the words in the letter again and again, but to James' surprise, he did not make a fuss, but silently put the letter away.

Where did you find it?

James swallowed hard and pointed to the battlements beside him. The battlements faced a rugged earthen slope covered with trees and bushes, making it difficult for the watchtower to see them.

"It's nearby...it was probably shot up by a slingshot."

The knight commander nodded and said expressionlessly.

"Continue patrolling, don't miss any movement. If you find anything else, hand it over to me immediately."

James breathed a sigh of relief and said respectfully.

"Yes!"

……

Meanwhile, Camille's letter, after several twists and turns, finally reached the hands of Commander Sir Redden.

Upon seeing the letter, the loyal knight did not hesitate and immediately went to the Lord's Hall to hand it to Earl Theron Gard, who was pacing back and forth on the red carpet.

After reading the letter in his hand, Theron was so angry that his lips turned white and his shoulders trembled.

Finally, he crumpled the letter in his hand into a ball and slammed it on the ground, roaring in fury.

"Pass down my order! Find this Camille for me!"

"My lord, you mustn't!" Leyden exclaimed in surprise, bowing his head earnestly. "This soldier named Camille has done nothing wrong. We can't punish him just because someone wrote him a letter. He didn't even find the letter! Morale in the castle is already low. If we lose our composure, we'll only give the rebels outside an opportunity!"

Although Earl Seron was not a shrewd lord, he was at least someone who listened to advice.

He was clearly aware of this as well, and it made no sense to take his anger out on an insignificant soldier.

It's even possible that this was a trick by the rebels, and that Camille might not even exist.

His heaving chest gradually subsided, and he waved his hand, signaling the guards who were preparing to move to return to their original positions.

However, the anger that had gathered in his chest did not dissipate.

He couldn't understand how the starving people outside were fed, or how several forces were sponsoring this foolish and meaningless uprising, providing them with food and weapons.

"...I never expected these rebels to be so ruthless, coming up with the idea of ​​dividing up the land."

Whether or not they ultimately fulfill their promise, this commitment alone is enough to drive their followers, the peasants, mad.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. The letter you have is probably just the tip of the iceberg. In places we haven’t discovered, the rumors have probably already spread.”

Leiden looked solemnly at the count, whose face was stiff, and continued in a serious tone.

"If this situation continues to develop, not only will those outside the castle become restless, but even those inside the castle will likely become uneasy..."

(End of this chapter)