After being forced to step down, the once-annoying nun eloped with me.

He risked his entire fortune to rise above his station and become a person of high status. A month ago, he could only kneel on the ground eating moss, but a month later, he could use the money he won to sleep with nuns, socialites, and demon girls that he never dared to dream of before, and eat fresh meat that even nobles in the capital might not be able to afford.

The allure of the Demon Race to the lower classes was simply too great. It was already showing signs of exceeding the diocese's control. But looking at the gleaming gold coins in his accounts, Bishop Stephen's initial anxieties were swayed by the promise of profit, ultimately transforming into—

"Happy."

Bishop Stephen was genuinely delighted, for he had created the strongest economic revenue in the diocese's history. And it wasn't just monetary income; those untouchables, blinded by gambling, would almost always choose to borrow money from banks run by the church.

Once they borrow money and then lose it, those lowly people will face the prospect of becoming serfs—something even the saints and ascetics in the underground cannot refute, because it is legal and reasonable. Therefore, the parish not only makes money but also gains people; it's an absolute windfall!

But then again...

"Recently, with the increase in the number of people, food is becoming increasingly scarce."

Bishop Stephen muttered to himself, and his attendant handed him a new ledger at just the right moment.

Those are the Redemption Army's accounts.

Originally, the Redemption Army was established to wear down the parish's manpower while capturing demons to satisfy the need for demon-fighting. From its inception, Bishop Stephen believed that the Redemption Army could, while ensuring its own food supply, conversely provide enough food for the newly established Demon City in the parish.

But now... with more and more people joining the Redemption Army, and with the elves shooting fewer and fewer arrows at the Redemption Army patrols, the Redemption Army itself is facing food shortages...

...

"Um..."

Bishop Stephen frowned, pondering how to obtain food more quickly.

His attendant stepped forward at just the right moment and offered a devilish suggestion that no one else would dare to even consider:

“My lord, since the Redemption Army isn’t part of the Northern Expeditionary Force anyway—and since the demons and elves aren’t actively killing their patrols, why can’t the Guardians of the Faith do it, and then pretend it’s all done by the demons?”

"Oh?"

"This will not only ignite the Redemption Army's desire for revenge, but also ensure the Redemption Army's own food supply. More importantly, the extra food can be fed back to the Demon City, which will then attract more refugees. And those refugees, when they have nowhere else to turn, will choose to join the Redemption Army... In this way, a stable internal cycle will be established, which should be able to sustain us until the day when the 30 Northern Expeditionary Forces complete their training and head north."

"Isn't this... a bit too bad?"

Originally, Bishop Stephen was somewhat worried.

After all, the equipment of the Guardians of the Faith is somewhat different from that of the demons and elves; the damage caused by those warhammers and chain hammers is something only the Guardians of the Faith can sustain.

But then I thought—why don't we just kill off all the people who know the truth?

Using the reasons of "questioning superiors" and "undermining morale"—this not only eliminates unstable factors within the Redemption Army in advance but also further increases food reserves.

Not to mention that the Redemption Army was originally a last resort for a group of desperate people. If even the Redemption Army wouldn't accept them, then those scum would have nowhere to go in the Roman Empire.

In this situation, would anyone really oppose the parish's various policies? Even if they knew the truth, they would just keep quiet. They would choose to numb themselves, and those who couldn't numb themselves would just add more addictive herbs to the food.

Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!

Bishop Stephen admired his own wisdom. He took a sip of expensive imported coastal wine, then a bite of lamb from the western pastoral regions, when suddenly something occurred to him:

"Speaking of which, the previous council of bishops already said that we need more people to die... After all, the more people die, the more property they have in the bank will belong to us."

"Then send them all to the Redemption Army, or use them as reserves for the Northern Expeditionary Force. Anyway, as long as enough people die, we win. If we can take down the Elf Forest, it will be an even more glorious victory—my lord, please remember, for this Northern Expedition, victory is secondary. Our core objective is money, and eliminating the excess population!"

"I remember, of course I remember... Hahaha, it's so good to be rich! At least while the nobles outside can only eat ordinary pork, we can eat the finest lamb..."

"You're right, but I prefer salmon."

"Hey! Fish is good too, it just doesn't pair well with wine..."

The bishop and his servants exchanged smiles. But in the prosperous Demon City, a different scene unfolded.

Snow the werewolf was originally a native of the werewolf tribe in the Monster Forest.

As the strongest race among the primitive tribes of the Demon Forest, werewolves possess unparalleled combat power. They can smell blood from a great distance and judge the health of others through their noses, which are magical organs. Their limbs are incredibly agile, and they can even crawl quickly upside down on the ceiling.

Even such a powerful demon race could only become humiliating prisoners after being surrounded by the Redemption Army.

Because of their beautiful figures and wild aura, the women were sent to the underground courthouse of the Demon City after their nails were cut and their mouths were bound.

Strong, undisabled men were bound by divine magic. Unable to even commit suicide, they were forced to fight arduously in the arena under the control of priests, and were compelled to engage in bloody battles with other demons.

Just two days ago, Snow had used his claws to kill a cat-man. The cat-man's agile but fragile body was ripped open by his claws, but Snow felt no joy of victory or relief at surviving. Kneeling on the ground, he could only weep as he watched the cat-man in front of him show a relieved expression.

Today, Snow's enemy is his own kind, another werewolf.

The werewolf seemed to have undergone some strange modifications. It's unclear which gambler gave him the nickname "Iron Dog," but it's unclear.

The werewolf known as Iron Dog lost his left hand, and the parish deacon forced him to replace it with a metal spear as a prosthetic. Those spears were not intended to function as prosthetics; attaching them to the werewolf only caused him intense pain, and the parish wanted to inflict even more suffering on its gladiators.

Because when provoked by pain, they lose their rationality even without divine magic—not to mention that werewolves are demons who are prone to bloodlust and mania.

Even so, Ironhide was no match for Snow. Snow used his claws to disembowel his kin, using his teeth to deliver the quickest possible release. All around him were the excited cheers and pitiful cries of humans, while Snow could only stare blankly down at it all.

He longed to return to his home in the monster forest. But for the rest of his life, he would be imprisoned in a human city, his cheap life controlled by humans as he fought and killed his fellow human beings.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but burst into tears.

Seeing this, the audience on the surrounding walls started to jeer and shout:

"Merciful werewolf! Merciful werewolf! So even demons understand the emotions of 'mercy' and 'being carried'?"

"Maybe he's just drooling with excitement! Don't mistake drool for tears!"

"That cruel beast! Since he's so merciful, let Iron Dog rip him open! Stop pretending to be a merciful big bad wolf!"

Those who placed their bets on Snow were either simply there to watch the competition, or those who lost their bets were either praising and expressing their feelings, simply cheering, or gritting their teeth in anger.

The only thing they had in common was that they didn't consider demons as human beings—no, perhaps in the underground courtroom, they did consider those beautiful demons, who compared to humans only had some strange organs, as human, but they were merely high-end products for venting their desires. Who would consider a mute lump of flesh used to vent their desires as a human being?

They might look beautiful after being dressed up, but to those noble lords, they are ultimately just meat to be vented on. Just like the beautiful girls who were abducted from their mansions, these demons are not much different from those girls in essence—perhaps they are tighter, perhaps more comfortable and sensitive, but in the end, they are just meat to be vented on, to be enjoyed, and who knows, they might end up being eaten by someone.

Demons are such useful creatures.

After the day's battle, Snow was simply thrown into front of the pig trough where the demon gladiators ate.

He and the demons inside exchanged silent glances. Perhaps they spoke different languages, or perhaps they didn't understand writing, but they could all see the despair between each other.

Whether they were agile cat-people, burly bear-people, or werewolves like Snow, they had all lost hope.

A bear-man was weeping uncontrollably. Snow wanted to comfort him, but then he saw a cat-man gesturing something to him.

From the gestures, Snow roughly understood: the bear-man's child seemed to have been divided up. Literally. The meat was eaten, the organs were openly used to make medicinal wine, and the skin was hung on a wooden board for processing, pre-ordered by a human nobleman as a high-end shawl for two months later.

Snow had heard as a child that bear-men's skin could block spells cast by dangerous magical beasts—perhaps humans also need such things to protect themselves.

He opened his mouth, but could only let out a low wolf howl. They couldn't even commit suicide here, because divine magic would prevent them, simply because they were the parish's most precious treasure.

He could only bow his head and eat the vomit-like food over the pig trough. Even in desperate situations, biological instincts still compel them to eat.

But what happens after they eat? Do they eat only to fight their own kind and please those humans? They are captured for no reason, their families are killed and consumed, all to satisfy the desires of these humans?

They have lived in the forest for generations and have never even been to the edge of the forest—what did they do wrong to be hated by humans like this?

Despair and exhaustion permeated the bodies and minds of these demons. They lay sprawled on the damp ground. The entire room was dark, with only light leaking from the outside through two latticed windows used for ventilation.

All the demons were sighing, lamenting their fate, the terrible news they had suffered, and the mistreatment of their people. They pleaded with the gods to spare their people who had not yet been captured.

And just then—I don't know if it was my imagination.

Snow suddenly saw a faint light appear before him. It was a weak, almost invisible white light, unlike the golden light emanating from the priests. This white light did not give off an aggressive, intimidating aura; instead, it possessed a gentle warmth.

It was so small it was almost invisible. But in Snow's eyes, it seemed incredibly dazzling.

He got up from the ground. Then he realized that everyone else had gotten up too.

They both gazed at one spot. There, a faint white light floated, like phosphorescence.

Pray.

The white light emitted a faint sound.

Pray for your future, pray for a better future.

If you pray, I will answer you.

A tiny light, it's just a ray of light.

But for some reason, Snow still knelt before the light.

Tears streamed down his face as he prayed that his people could escape. Even knowing that this ray of light would only bring him solace, he was willing to pray.

Not only him, but all the other demons were kneeling and praying. Not only the demons here, but all the demons in the demon city who were still able to move, the women tied to beds and treated like prostitutes by the fat pigs on their bodies, the weak and frail old and sick who were about to be executed, skinned and dismembered, the dying demon gladiators, and the demons who had just been captured.

A ray of light appeared before them. They prayed in their hearts, and those who had the strength knelt on the ground to understand the highest plea of ​​their people.

But the light doesn't need them to do that. He said, "You should stand up; you are praying for your own future, not for the light."

You should pray for a better future for yourselves.

Not for a god who is about to pass away.

..........

After finishing her prayers, Mother Teresa rose wearily and left the church that the elves had built for her.

This small chapel is located within the Fingal Green Courtyard in the Hanging Gardens. It was built specifically for the "Light," so Teresa would no longer have to perform all her worship services in her room—she would have her own place to pray for the Lord, and more importantly, she would finally have a chapel again.

For clergy, the church is another home. And for [Light], each additional church means a greater possibility of [Light]'s revival.

In order for the Light that Teresa believed in to be revived—although she didn't expect this useless fellow to bring her any great divine revelation, Teresa at least hoped that the Light could live as an ordinary minor religious deity, rather than be completely dead.

...With trepidation, as Yang Hao busied himself dealing with new elven tactics, improvements to the golems, the various changes within the elves, frontline reports, and preparations for the upcoming arrival of the black dragon in Ysgard, Sister Teresa grabbed his sleeve and cautiously made a capricious request:

“Could you let Naruja and me handle those demons? They seem very uneasy. Although the elves have protected them, their mental state still needs to be stabilized. And... this will also make it easier for you and Gaparia to integrate these demons.”

"Actually, Teresa, you feel sorry for them and want to help them, even if your strength is very weak, right?"

The man, who was discussing important matters with Finn, simply turned around and bluntly struck a nerve with Theresa. Caught off guard, she blushed and stammered, unsure what to do. Finally, she could only whisper, "Isn't it terrible that I'm being so willful?"

His Majesty the Regent simply smiled and embraced his nun.

"Theresa, you have accepted so much of my willfulness."

As he spoke, he gently stroked Theresa's back and kissed her forehead and cheeks, finally pressing his own forehead lightly against her rosy cheeks.

"So I'm willing to accept your willfulness, it's what you deserve... But Teresa, promise me you won't get hurt because of it, okay? You are my heart, I know you are a true saint who can't bear to see good people suffer, but I don't want my saint to get hurt because of it."

"...Fen is still here, don't say such embarrassing things—anyway, you agreed, right?"

"Yes. So go ahead and do it, I will fully support you."

"...Who knows, one day I might inadvertently lead those demons to believe in the Light? Then I'll become the religious person you hate the most, won't I?"

"You talk as if you're not a nun now."