I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 412 The Iron Fist Rises
The simple carriage creaked along the increasingly wide and flat road, carrying the sorrowful priest Crawford, and finally approached the heart of the Kingdom of Bagnia...Waltradnoy.

During the Republic of Baghnia, although the city was the capital, it was more like a bloated giant. The maximum permanent population was less than 300,000. The city was overcrowded inside the city walls, while outside the walls were scattered slums and farmland. The streets were narrow and muddy, and the air was filled with all sorts of indescribable smells.

After Chris took over, he carried out sweeping changes to the city, ruthlessly clearing out and killing the city's thugs, and then violently demolishing the city's illegal buildings.

People in later generations can be holdouts, and so can the Bagnian thugs and unscrupulous tycoons in this world. It's just a pity that Chris, who was far away at Anvil Fortress and busy with the war, didn't tolerate them at all.

He didn't use any drastic measures; he just had the tax bureau officials come to his door once.

Those who are "visited at home" either beg for mercy and move away with the compensation money, or they are arrested by the police, their family property is confiscated by the tax officials, and they end up bankrupt and their families are destroyed.

Because of these swift and decisive measures, the transformation of Waterloo went very smoothly, and its changes were rapid. Crawford felt a great sense of alienation in the city after being away for less than half a year.

The first thing that struck Crawford's senses was the breathtaking scale; the city's boundaries were expanding wildly outward like an inflated balloon.

The old stone walls that once surrounded the core area still stand, but they have long been submerged in a vast ocean of new urban areas constructed of brick, wood, and new prefabricated panels, waiting in line for the demolition team to arrive.

As far as Crawford could see, the densely packed houses stretched into the distance like a forest, extending to the newly erected, taller watchtowers and the vague outlines of industry on the horizon.

Crawford had heard about the upheavals in Waterladnoy while he was preaching in the countryside and providing free medical care to poor farmers.

But hearing about it is just hearing about it. When he witnessed the earth-shattering scene with his own eyes, the impact was so great that even this priest, who was used to seeing human suffering, felt dizzy.

The city is indeed expanding rapidly, with new roads wide and straight, and neatly planned residential areas spreading out like a chessboard.

Pedestrians on the street hurried along, their faces beaming with joy. In the streets and alleys, people were busy with something, hanging wheat ear decorations symbolizing joy and celebration on the streetlights.

Oh, is it going to be a holiday?
Crawford thought for a moment and remembered that Bagnia's harvest festival was just around the corner.

As the carriage entered the capital, it was immediately engulfed in an atmosphere of almost frenzied festival preparations. This atmosphere formed a strange contrast with the cold expansion he had just witnessed outside the city, yet they blended together in a wonderful way.

Crawford witnessed the purest and most genuine joy at the farmers' markets near the city's outskirts and on the roads leading to large collective farms.

Horse-drawn carts laden with golden ears of wheat, heavy pumpkins, plump corn, and all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables formed a long line, and the farmers' faces were filled with heartfelt smiles.

This year has been blessed with favorable weather, and the kingdom's agricultural reforms seem to be showing initial results. In addition, Chris exempted the entire country from agricultural taxes during the war, allowing many farmers to truly experience the taste of a bountiful harvest.

They are now happily talking and exchanging their joys.

"The wheat is growing really well this year; the granary in our village is overflowing."

"Yes, I heard that on the day His Majesty ascends the throne, he will be giving away free white bread with honey in the square. My son is really looking forward to that day."

"And there's a wedding. I heard the new queen is incredibly beautiful; she's a noblewoman from the Kingdom of Minicia in the south... I hope she and His Majesty will bring even more blessings to the kingdom, just like bountiful land!"

Some older farmers would respectfully offer a few grains of their best when passing by small roadside shrines dedicated to the Earth Mother or the Goddess of Agriculture, whispering prayers of thanks for the gods' grace and asking the new king and queen to continue to bless the land with abundance.

As you pass through the city’s new districts and industrial areas, you can see that the festival preparations here bear a strong “Crawford-style” mark…efficient, orderly, and serving the celebration itself.

On the street, workers dressed in uniform gray overalls, under the direction of foremen and supervisors, are building the grandstand, triumphal arch, and huge stage for the celebration at an astonishing speed.

The scaffolding was erected like a steel jungle, and the prefabricated decorative components were precisely hoisted into place by large cranes.

The lampposts along the street were freshly painted and adorned with wreaths of wheat ears symbolizing a bountiful harvest and royal double-headed eagle flags.

Firefighters pushing two-wheeled spray trucks used high-pressure water guns to wash the main streets spotless, while black sewage flowed in the drains, washing away the city's filth.

During this period, the Wotradnoy factory did not stop production; on the contrary, it operated at full capacity.

Textile factories were rushing to produce colorful flags, curtains, and new uniforms for the celebration; printing plants were printing the celebration program, portraits of the king, and blessing slogans day and night; and metalworking plants were clanging and forging gleaming emblems, gears, and float frames for decoration and ceremonial purposes.

The most eye-catching were undoubtedly the soldiers patrolling the streets and alleys or conducting intensive drills in specific areas.

They wore impeccably pressed, dark green formal suits, their gleaming leather boots making a uniform, resounding clang on the cobblestones. Their helmets and bayonets gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

In the streets and alleys, children often chase after the patrolling soldiers, imitating their steps, laughing and learning their every move.

The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, the slight spiciness of paint, the fragrance of flowers, and the faint rumble of steam from the distant factory area... all of which blended together to create a unique "celebration march" atmosphere.

The windows of official supply and marketing cooperatives and private shops were polished to a shine, and signs were hung up that read "Celebrating the harvest, congratulating the new king, and blessing the newlyweds." Many goods were discounted for the holiday.

Performers, acrobatic troupes, and bards from all over the kingdom and even abroad have begun to warm up the streets, attracting crowds to stop and watch.

The officially organized celebratory parade is also intensifying its rehearsals, especially the "Blessed Carriage of the God of Machines" from the Cult of Machines, which is said to spew steam and is covered with gears and glowing tubes, becoming the focus of everyone's curiosity and discussion.

Crawford rode in the carriage through the vast and bustling festive torrent woven from the gratitude of farmers, the sweat of workers, the glory of soldiers, and the expectations of the entire nation.

The earth-colored holy emblem on his chest appeared dull and lifeless in the sunlight.

The Church of Mother Earth, a traditional faith that should play a central role in the Harvest Festival, seems to have been completely marginalized in the face of this triple celebration of national jubilation and a vision for the future.

When people talk about a bountiful harvest, they give thanks for favorable weather and "His Majesty the King's good policies"; when they talk about a coronation, they look forward to a stronger kingdom brought by the new king; and when they talk about a wedding, they focus on political alliances and the succession of the royal family.

Gaia, the Earth Mother Goddess?

Demeter, the goddess of agriculture?

Their names were barely heard amidst the bustling preparations for the celebration.

Crawford's heart sank to the bottom.

His journey to plead for the church and try to preserve its old status seemed so out of place, so... out of place, in this sweeping, vibrant wave of celebration.

Every newly laid slate, every fluttering flag, and every hopeful smile in Wotradnoi silently proclaims the arrival of a new era.

Can he and the church he represents still find their place in this new era?
The carriage carried him slowly toward the solemn palace, a symbol of the pinnacle of royal power, now adorned with festive ribbons, as if heading toward the final judgment seat of the old era.

People's joys and sorrows are not shared. The people behind him are celebrating the upcoming harvest festival, while Crawford is on his way to the "execution platform".

The Earth Mother Priestess was mentally prepared for her request to meet with the Earth Mother to be rejected.

He sat listlessly on the cold bench in the palace's external affairs office, his fingers unconsciously twisting the rough hem of his linen robe, the heaviness in his heart making it hard for him to breathe.

Time ticked by, and the clamor of celebration preparations outside seeped through the thick glass, making the deathly silence inside the room all the more oppressive.

Just as he was about to give up hope and get up to leave, a series of hurried but steady footsteps approached from afar.

A guard in a dark blue Imperial Guard uniform, with a stern expression, stopped in front of him, his voice devoid of any emotion.

“Priest Crawford? Come with me, His Highness summons you.”

Crawford's heart skipped a beat, not with surprise, but with a sudden surge of fear.

He hurriedly got up, his round, plump body appearing somewhat clumsy due to nervousness. He quickly straightened his faded robe, took a deep breath, and followed behind the guard who was like a moving iceberg.

They walked through the magnificent yet cold corridors inside the palace.

A huge double-headed eagle banner hangs on the wall, and the cold stone sculpture looks down on the tiny visitors. The air is filled with the smell of disinfectant and paraffin.

Just as he was about to reach the corner of the reception room, Crawford bumped into a woman who was walking out of it.

It was Lydia, the young high priestess of the Church of the Goddess of Agriculture.

At this moment, Lydia's face was frighteningly pale, her eyes were sunken, and her once bright eyes were filled with bloodshot veins and a sense of despair and fear that was almost unbearable.

She didn't even notice Crawford brushing past her; she just hugged her arms, looking lost and unsteady, and hurried away as if a demon were chasing her.

The pale green sacrificial robe she wore now appeared so dull and lifeless in the dim light of the corridor, like a withered leaf.

Lydia's condition struck Crawford like a thunderbolt!
His last shred of hope was instantly crushed. Even the high priest of the Church of the Goddess of Agriculture was so distraught. What did Prince Chris say to them?
What have you done?
An ominous premonition made his heart beat faster.

The guard pushed open the heavy door to the reception room with a blank expression and gestured for the guest to enter.

Crawford practically shuffled in, each step feeling like walking on burning coals.

The reception room was smaller than he had imagined, and the furnishings were extremely simple, even cold and austere.

There were no ornate decorations, only a huge, gleaming hardwood desk, several equally sturdy high-backed chairs, and a massive new map of the Kingdom of Bagnia hanging on the wall, densely marked with symbols and lines. Prince Chris sat behind the desk, not in formal attire, but in his usual impeccably tailored casual clothes.

When Crawford came in, Chris was looking down at a document. He only slowly raised his eyes when he heard footsteps.

That gaze, like an icicle pulled from a frozen pond in the dead of winter, instantly pierced the last bit of warmth that Crawford was trying to build up.

"Priest Crawford, are you here about Byron?"

"Yes...yes, Your Highness."

Crawford bowed deeply, feeling his voice tremble. He tried to project a priestly composure, but under Chris's emotionless gaze, all his pretense seemed pale and laughable.

Chris didn't tell him to get up, nor did he gesture for him to sit down. He simply tapped a file lying on the table with his fingertip... Crawford, with his sharp eyes, noticed what appeared to be Byron's name on it.

"Regarding High Priest Byron."

Chris got straight to the point, his tone as calm as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

"And what is the plan for the Holy Expeditionary Army that he proposed in conjunction with the Church of the Goddess of Agriculture? What did the church leadership hope to salvage by sending you here?"
"Keep him in his position?"

Crawford opened his mouth, trying to organize his thoughts to explain Byron's original intentions, the church's "concerns," and that they had been misled... but under Chris's cold gaze, he felt all his prepared words stuck in his throat, appearing so pale and powerless.

"Your Highness...we..."

He managed to squeeze out a few words.

"No need to explain."

Chris interrupted him.

"Byron severely lacked political judgment, acted recklessly, and overstepped his bounds. The plan he proposed was essentially a blatant usurpation of the kingdom's military power and right to declare war. Even more serious was..."

Chris's gaze turned into a bayonet, piercing straight into Crawford's heart.

“I have just obtained conclusive evidence that he secretly contacted Fisher, a spy from the Church of Neptune, who was lurking in Omdur, before and after making the proposal. Although the specific details of the transaction have not yet been fully ascertained, his actions constitute serious dereliction of duty and are suspected of treason.”

The words "treason" struck Crawford's heart like a heavy hammer!

His vision went black, and he almost lost his balance.

This crime is a hundred times more serious than mere usurpation, enough to bring Byron, and even the entire Church of Mother Earth, to utter ruin!

"therefore……"

Chris's voice was firm and unwavering, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Byron must resign from his position as High Priest of the Church of Mother Earth immediately!"

Crawford's heart sank to the bottom of a cold abyss, his last glimmer of hope extinguished, and he closed his eyes in despair.

However, Chris's next words made him widen his eyes in disbelief and astonishment.

"As for you, Priest Crawford..."

Chris's gaze lingered for a moment on his faded linen robe and the simple, earth-colored holy emblem on his chest.

"The kingdom is not unaware of your deeds of providing free medical care to farmers in the countryside of Tradnoy, spreading your doctrines, and your stance of reducing or waiving rent for disaster-stricken farmers when managing church lands."

Crawford was stunned. He never expected that his insignificant actions in the fields would reach the ears of the high and mighty regent.

"The church needs to return to its proper role."

Chris's voice returned to its icy tone.

“We need to truly take root in the land and serve our believers, rather than indulging in the pursuit of worldly power and getting caught up in dangerous vortexes. Therefore…”

Chris tapped his finger lightly on the table, as if delivering a final verdict.

"You, Priest Crawford, will succeed Byron Thorne as the new High Priest of the Church of Mother Earth."

Boom!

Crawford felt as if a thunderbolt had exploded in his mind; shock, confusion, disbelief... all sorts of emotions overwhelmed him in an instant.

he?
A fat priest from the countryside?

To succeed as High Priest?
This...this is impossible!?
"at the same time."

Chris's next words instantly pulled him back from the clouds of shock to the cold reality.

Byron Thorne and his core followers must be held accountable for their mistakes.

The Kingdom has approved the formation of a Holy Crusade by the Mechanicus to purify the Serpent People's corruption in the Suvana region. Byron Thorne and his confidants are required to join this Holy Crusade as 'Redeemers,' departing with the army after winter and under the command of Minister 'Dournerem.'

Crawford understood completely.

This is not a promotion; it's a cold, forced transaction.

A complete transformation and incorporation of the Church of Mother Earth.

Crawford, the human mouthpiece pushed out by the higher-ups to communicate with Prince Chris, became a pawn in Chris's hands to appease, divide, and ultimately control the church.

His ascension to the throne symbolized the church's complete submission to royal power and its "return to its proper place."

Byron's faction, on the other hand, was exiled to a dangerous battlefield as sinners, which served as punishment, a purge of dissidents, and a demonstration of the church's repentance to the kingdom.

As for the Mechanicus... that's just a tool Chris uses to criticize, or even replace, the traditional church.

Sending Byron to join the Holy Crusade was tantamount to announcing to everyone that the clergy of the Church of Mother Earth Goddess were now also subject to the "new god" supported by the kingdom.

A profound sense of desolation and powerlessness swept over Crawford.

He looked at the cold and resolute face of the young monarch behind the desk, as if he were seeing an unstoppable torrent.

The expansion of Waltradnoy, the celebrations of the harvest festival, the glory of the coronation, and now his personal promotion... all of this is under the cold, efficient, and unquestionable iron-fisted rule of Prince Chris.

The Church of Mother Earth was like an ancient tree that the prince had uprooted, its roots severed, its branches pruned, and then forcibly planted in the garden that Chris had planned, called "Kingdom Order".

And he, Crawford, was the gardener chosen to take care of this ancient tree.

What else could he say?
What else could he do?
reject?

That means the church may face a more thorough purge.

accept?

That would mean the church would completely lose its independence and dignity, becoming a vassal of the monarchy.

Crawford lowered his head deeply, concealing the complex emotions surging in his eyes.

He trembled, using all his strength to keep his voice from breaking down.

"We respectfully obey Your Highness's decree. The Church of Mother Earth Goddess... thanks Your Highness for your magnanimity and guidance."

He heard the emptiness and bitterness in his own voice.

Outside the window, the faint sounds of preparations for the celebration drifted in, filled with hope and new beginnings.

In this cold reception room, an old-fashioned belief is being molded by an iron fist into a docile servant under the new order.

Under Chris's icy gaze, the earthen-colored holy emblem on Crawford's chest seemed to lose its last trace of warmth.

His trial was over, and the fate of the church was completely rewritten at that moment.

(End of this chapter)