Let go of that monster girl!

The cardinal sneered and finally raised his red eyes to glance at Morren.

“I built countless of these camps during the Eastern Expeditions when they were massacring heretics.”

Molen dared not speak.

He was afraid that she would suddenly invite him to convert to a religion.

I'm afraid of both homophones and non-homophones.

Outside the camp, a knight golem of the Exterminator was crouching on the ground, its merciless iron hand, skilled in killing, carefully picking up a tent pole and slowly inserting it into the soil.

Several short mouse girls surrounded the tall golem, squeaking and squeaking.

"Left, left." "Passed, passed." "That's it!"

The golem firmly erected the pillars, and the mice cheered, picked up the canvas and the frame, and soon set up a cute little tent.

Another knight golem was digging up the soil with its iron palms, creating a trench with each scoop, and the excavated soil could be used to build a low wall with each swipe of its palm. The rat girls followed behind, smoothing the wall surface with their small shovels.

At the top of the makeshift watchtower, several fox-girl nuns dressed in white robes stood on a wooden platform, their vertical pupils scanning the dark wilderness surrounding the camp with vigilance.

Below the tower, several mice looked up curiously at the older sisters above. One of them, being bold, started climbing the tower pillar. When it reached the top, a nun flicked it on the head, causing its companions to burst into laughter.

This scene is strangely harmonious and peaceful.

Molen didn't know how to react.

He had to admit that, as a believer, he had never trusted these charlatans.

Adding to the various suspicious points surrounding the Holy Dragon, he had long been somewhat paranoid, placing the State Religion and the Exterminator Army in the position of potential future enemies.

Moreover, the ill-tempered cardinal before him was clearly a vampire who didn't even bother to act; that identity alone was enough for Moran to write a 100,000-word essay in his head.

Please, how many novels depict the Papacy not as a mid-game boss?

He felt that his distrust was justified.

So much so that when the cardinal appeared, his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

According to the usual course of events, shouldn't they pretend to be there to help, but actually harbor malicious intentions, and then, after leaving, stroke their chin and say, "This child must not be allowed to live"?

This situation has actually made him completely unable to handle it.

No, you guys are actually here to provide disaster relief...

"Why are you staring at me? Give me that pen over there."

At this moment, a million life-or-death questions were about to pop into Morren's mind.

Why did you help us? What is your relationship with that dragon? Do you sleep in a coffin or a cross at night? Do you prefer garlic or silver?

But the thought of that dragon-slaying red lightning made him hold back, and in the end, he said nothing and obediently handed over a piece of chalk mixed with red.

There are 70 cardinals in the Church of England. Morren doesn't care much about religious affairs and only knows a few of them. He can barely tell from her clothing that she is a priest.

Let's wait until Jimmy arrives and ask her about the cardinal's public information first.

The map in front of the cardinal had been almost entirely redrawn.

The dense red, blue, and green marking lines covered the original rudimentary layout, making the defense design clear and professional, with each route and each node clearly marked with its purpose and priority.

She finally raised her head with satisfaction, dropped the chalk, and wiped the colored powder off her cheeks with the back of her hand, not caring at all that she had smeared herself with a gaudy mess.

"If we don't come to help, are you just going to dump them in the wilderness like this?"

Molen straightened up, his posture neither humble nor arrogant.

“Your Excellency, we have our own ideas on this matter.”

As soon as he finished speaking, a cheer from the ratgirls rang out from the watchtower on the north side of the camp.

"Look, it's a caravan!"

"So many lights, squeaking!"

"It's a caravan! It's a caravan!"

In the darkness in the distance, a string of fluorite lanterns is gradually approaching.

Leading the way were several enormous cargo rats, their backs laden with crates and cloth bags, their short, chubby paws moving with steady steps.

In the center of the caravan, a three-story-tall white unicorn strode gracefully, its blade-like horn adorned with colorful ribbons, its expression utterly relaxed.

On the back of the unicorn, a catgirl stood up and waved her little hand vigorously in the direction of Moren.

"Baron—my lord—the cat's here—it's here, meow—meow—!"

Jimmy's voice could be heard from a great distance.

Behind her, there seemed to be a fox that looked somewhat familiar.

The rats in the camp poured out of their tents, dropped their tools, and ran swiftly towards the caravan.

Chapter 130 (4k) The Budding of a New Order

Molen does not need to rebuild the market.

The market will rebuild itself.

Benefits, wonderful benefits.

There's a reason why those cunning merchants, whose whereabouts are now unknown, chose this place as the market location.

This plain, located just a few dozen kilometers to the north of the still-orderly Bright Zone, is fertile and productive.

To the south, there used to be a dozen or so remaining settlements, but now they have been almost entirely integrated by low mountains, with a large population and thriving demand.

Heading east, through the mountain pass controlled by wolves, and across the mountains, lies a treacherous yet convenient trade route that bypasses the plateau and leads to the eastern kingdom.

To the west, the shimmering, navigable sea constantly yields all sorts of rare and precious treasures that merchants covet.

It is not that people wanted to create markets, and therefore business acumen arose.

Rather, it was because business routes converged here that the market came into being.

It could be said that Molen only needed to draw a circle on the ground, and caravans would be eager to build the market on it.

The caravan didn't need Moren to contact them himself; he only needed to send a message to a waiting cat via the communication stone, and the greedy, meowing, and barking merchants would automatically gather around.

The wicked Baron Morren set up all the caravan rental sites on the outskirts of the camp, so that the caravan guards could effectively defend against harassment from small groups of chimeras.

Therefore, there is no need for knight golems or even highly specialized camp design.

Just like planting a mushroom forest, you scatter the mushroom blocks, mark the boundaries, and wait for it to grow on its own.

For several days, caravans have been thronging the area. Those who dare to trade in the dark zone are all ruthless characters, each afraid of arriving late and missing out on a share of the profits.

The area around the camp was already bustling with activity, with the areas designated for the caravans marked out neatly with wooden stakes and hemp ropes.

The catgirl merchants deftly set up makeshift shops. A few planks placed on top of the crates served as counters, and colorful cloth curtains painted with words were pulled up to two poles to become signs.

Arrange rows of small bottles on the shelf, write the prices on the wooden board with chalk, and add a pink cat paw, and you have a beautiful cat shop.

The snake-woman merchants simply set up tents and casually spread out various exotic goods from the East on the ground in front of the giant lizard.

Next to those shack-like shops, many permanent buildings have been erected.

The rat women dug a deep moat, cut the large stones they dug up into neat squares, and sold them cheaply to the caravans. They built neat walls with stone bricks and hung brand-new wooden signs at the entrance, the paint not even fully dry yet.

Inside the tavern, cats dressed in maid outfits scurried about, meowing softly.

The mouse girls, changing shifts, sat on high stools, swinging their short legs. In front of them was ale from the north, mixed with honey. Their round ears were slightly red from drinking, and their tails swayed back and forth behind the stools.

"Waaah, how come you have six ears? Squeak..."

The first floor was already piled with mouse ears, but the second floor was still under construction. Several female mouse craftswomen squatted on the scaffolding, hammering nails with all their might. The hammers were bigger than their heads, and they had to swing them with both hands with each blow.

Clang, clang, clang.

Next to the tavern, the mouse girl squeezed in front of a stall, pointing at a wooden comb inlaid with broken fluorite on the shelf, her round eyes sparkling.

"We have no money, only candy. Can we trade candy for this little comb?"

The brown-haired fox-woman merchant smiled as she took the comb off and handed it over, casually patting their little heads.

"Of course, nine candies will do, pretty girls."

"So expensive!"

"But it's so beautiful."

"Give me one too."

"Your sister looks so familiar..."

"You must have mistaken me for someone else, little one."

The wooden signs hanging on the caravans depicted the goods in simple and clear designs. Hair clips were represented by a circle with a few lines, and fabrics by a square with wavy patterns. Most of them were fancy but impractical trinkets that were very popular with the mouse girls.

The quantity of copper coins and sugar cubes was marked next to it, with the exchange rate roughly 1:2.

Fox Seventeen, a cunning fox-woman who used to be in charge of the old market, smiled as she held up the collected sugar cubes under the fluorite lamp, squinting one of her amber eyes to carefully observe the color of the sugar cubes' cut surfaces.

The sugar crystals are clear, neatly cut, and extremely pure.

In sunny areas, a kilogram of pure sugar is worth as much as 4 silver coins! There's absolutely no need to worry about not being able to sell it!

If they were transported to the west and exchanged for black bread and wheat flour from those octopus girls, there would be even greater profits to be made.

This guy named Morren is really interesting.

"Seventeenth Sister, I'll have one too—"

The yellow-haired fox-girl came over, reached out and picked up a piece of candy, about to throw it into her mouth.

Fox Seventeen twisted its rear end, and its bushy tail lashed precisely at the waiter's hand. The candy flew out, spun a few times in the air, and was caught steadily by Fox Seventeen's other hand.

"Seventeenth Sister, it's just a piece of candy!"

The guy covered his hands, looking aggrieved.

Fox Seventeen twisted its rear end again, and its big tail slapped the waiter twice, causing the waiter to whimper while clutching its buttocks.

Too lazy to bother with the shop assistant anymore, she put the candy into the cash box and stacked it neatly with the other candies.

That clueless fellow is even dumber than White Dragon Girl. He deserves to be left among the dogs in Wolf Castle. If she hadn't rescued him, he would probably have been chewed up by Big Dog Girl.

"When I'm at work, I'm addressed by my job title; outside, you should call me 'Boss's Wife'!"

Fox Seventeen's short life was full of ups and downs.

From an uncared-for little brown fox to a shrewd accountant, and then to the manager of the old market.

Although we're down on our luck now, and most of our staff have left.

But Fox Seventeen knows that in this world, the most important thing is to have good eyesight. A slight miscalculation could cost you your life, while a good one can lead to a comeback.

As she sorted the boxes, she categorized each candy by quality, carefully wrapped them in oil paper, stacked them in the tin money box, closed the lid, hung a small, enchanted lock on it, and hid it in the innermost layer of the box, padding it with cloth.

She picked up a sugar cube with her slender fingers, held it in front of the waiter, and slowly waved it around, showing off for a while, before speaking in a profound tone:

"Look, this candy is candy, no wonder you've always been the waiter."

The fox-girl's assistant scratched his head and explained in a low voice:

"Actually, I was a nun for a period of time..."

"I don't think this candy is candy, so I'm the boss."

"You play with foxes too?"

Fox Seventeen didn't know what fox fighting was, so he didn't continue the conversation.

She turned around and pulled a small cloth bag from a hidden compartment in the cargo box. Inside were small bottles of rouge and eyebrow pencil that she had saved from the old market.

She stood before a small bronze mirror, dipped a little rouge in her fingertip, rubbed it evenly, and gently patted it onto her cheeks. Then, she used a fine brush to apply eyebrow ink and carefully drew two delicate, arched eyebrows.

Pretty.

She carefully placed the precious little bottle back into the hidden compartment of the box and hid it well.

Fox Seventeen didn't care what Molen used to pay the rats' wages, whether it was sugar cubes or powdered sugar.

But she knew what would happen if things continued like this.

The right to mint coins.