When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

"Oh, that’s indeed the case, birds of a feather, flock together." Mathis responded indifferently.

Although there was nothing wrong with these words, the El Merchant still felt that something was off.

Mathis glanced at him, then at the banners filling the city, resembling the burning clouds on the horizon.

Meanwhile, all around, cheers echoed from the countless alleys because it was rumored that the vampires had invited Falan and Leia to negotiate a ceasefire.

Peace was just around the corner.

Good stuff!

That was how the Windmillers felt, as for their compatriots in Griwu City, they could only wish them luck.

The rumors of city massacres circulating in the market weren’t reported by the independent newspaper, surely they’re fake news.

Who doesn’t know that "Art Forest" and "Freedom Newspaper" are biased towards the Holy Sect?

Maybe they just killed a few more rebels and refugees, that’s been twisted into city massacres.

Did Lord Lemington say anything? Report anything?

Mathis understood.

These banners, even if he tore them for a whole day or a whole year, he wouldn’t be able to finish.

Gradually, his mouth full of reproach faded away.

He couldn’t find any words to speak.

After a while, he asked the merchant, "What do we do next?"

The merchant was taken aback, somewhat confused: "Next? What next?"

"I mean, what are you going to do next?"

"Next? We’re still going to do business with the vampires."

Without saying another word, Mathis turned and walked away.

De Keterom shouted behind him, saying he would take him home, but Mathis didn’t look back.

The street was crowded, bustling, with people looking at notices and banners.

They greeted patrolling vampire soldiers, enviously discussing the vampire banquet in Griwu City.

No one mentioned the massacre in Griwu City, no one talked about those other Windmillers who had died, as if it were all a dream.

Mathis walked very slowly, his feet feeling like they were filled with lead.

In the alley was a small attic where he had lived before when he was running the newspaper with Lemington.

Opening the door, a smell of dust hit him in the face.

On the table lay the original draft sample of the "Windmill Independent Newspaper" that he hadn’t taken away.

On it was an article written by Lemington—"When Will Windmillers Gain Confidence?"

The ink had dried, the corners curled.

Mathis walked to the table, picked up the newspaper, and suddenly felt like laughing.

So he laughed.

But as he laughed, tears welled up.

At that time, he agreed so much with Lemington’s ideas, even quarreled countless times with his brother Jill for them.

But now it seems, Jill was right, he was wrong.

He didn’t understand how Lemington could be so passionate on the newspaper,

How he wanted the Windmillers to awaken, wanted Windmill’s independence, but in the end, he conformed for power to the vampires.

Indeed, Windmillers!

Windmillers still have that cunning, opportunistic mindset, only though they are clever, they are forever weak.

The Thousand River Valley People faced with the Xiaochi City tragedy, the Blue Blood Wine incident, knew to rise up in resistance, assassinating priests on the streets.

Even though these actions were futile, they wanted to show their stance, wanted revenge.

But Windmillers?

Not only do they not assassinate, they even hang banners to welcome them, how laughable.

He thought Windmill could surpass Thousand River Valley, only lacking a Juanuo.

But now he understands, it’s lacking more than just one Juanuo, it’s lacking countless Juanuos.

Those who stand up for injustice and justice, each one is a Juanuo.

But will Windmill really have them?

Probably never again.

Windmill is beyond saving, not to mention the dream of independence.

Relying on the Holy Alliance, that’s the last hope.

He shouldered his luggage, walked out of the attic, locked the door.

He’s going to rely on his brother, go to the Black Legion, at least there people are still resisting.

But when he reached the alley’s mouth, he, inexplicably, halted.

Across the alley was the small building of "Windmill Independent Newspaper," the wooden sign still hanging on the door.

He recalled the days he spent here, Lemington sitting in the chair by the window writing articles, he helping clip newspapers beside him.

When the printing press made a "clack clack" sound, they would celebrate the publication of a new issue together.

Thinking about it now, how laughable it all was.

Mathis stood at the alley’s entrance, hesitated for a long while, and still sighed before turning around to leave.

But as he turned, he collided head-on with a courier.

Seeing him, the courier’s eyes lit up, "Mr. Mathis, perfect timing, you’re here!

There’s a letter from Lord Lemington from Griwu City, it’s the submission for tomorrow’s new issue."

Bending down, the courier took out a brown paper envelope and handed it to Mathis.

The envelope was stamped with the Royal Court Governor’s wax seal, bearing the image of a red blood cup.

Initially reaching out subconsciously to accept the letter, Mathis’s wrist trembled, and the envelope almost fell to the ground.

Lemington’s letter? He still dares to write to the newspaper?

No doubt, it’s a piece standing up for the vampires.

It’s meant to tell all the Windmill that "it’s wise to affiliate with the vampires"!

It’s meant to consolidate his position as Dam City’s mayor!

What was he thinking at that time, considering this hypocrite as "the Juanuo of the Windmillers"?

Anger burned like fire, disregarding etiquette, he grabbed the envelope and tore it open instantly.

The letter paper was specialized for the Governor’s use, bearing a faint rusty smell.

On it was Lemington’s handwriting, the most familiar to him, glaringly bright.

"I just want to see what kind of traitorous rhetoric you, hypocrite, want to publish now." Mathis made up his mind, if it truly was this kind of rhetoric, he would burn the manuscript.

Biting his teeth, he began to read softly.