When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

With a mechanical buzz and rumble, the spring locomotive slowly rolled into the field, just as Great Monarch Sibangqi was clutching his heart and his wallet, his face ashen.

Not far away under the viewing platform, Madlan, Harbin, and Theodora were gathered together.

The viewing platform was held up by a row of Aier-Renaissance-style coltsfoot stone pillars, and the shadow beneath the pillars happened to cover the three of them.

"Do we really have to do this?" Rubbing the back of his neck, Harbin’s scalp tingled as he wrung his hands.

Standing beside him, Theodora looked even worse; she clenched the hem of her dress. "Kissing in public... this is way too outrageous, isn’t it?"

Realizing her voice was a bit loud, she sneaked a glance around.

Seeing that no one was paying attention to them, she dared to go on: "What, do I look like some shameless vagrant woman? We haven’t even really done much in private..."

It was true she and Harbin were in a love match, but they were both people of standing, and this era was about as conservative as it got.

Just holding hands and sneaking a kiss or two in a place like this already counted as over the line.

Kissing? And in front of thirty or forty thousand people? Just thinking about it made her want to crawl into a hole.

Madlan stood opposite the two of them, his face endlessly kindly. "You have to go, you know."

He stuck out a finger and pointed toward the crowd over there. "People just love scenes like this, they can’t get enough.

The Appointment of the Galloping Horses, the Lovers’ Kiss—what a perfectly classic moment.

We’re just giving Crisson and Eugenie the proper happy ending it was missing, isn’t that good?"

"But that play was never about the two of us!" Harbin couldn’t help raising his voice a little, then hurriedly lowered it again, his tone full of disgust. "Have you seen what it even says? When I was getting beaten up by the debt collectors, it was the Saint’s Grandson who saved me."

He was thick‑skinned, so kissing in public wasn’t about being embarrassed; it was mainly that that stupid play made his skin crawl.

And now he had to go along and help act it out? He was a man on the path of officialdom, with his sights set on becoming a Cardinal.

If this chunk of black history came out, everyone would look at him through some ’romantic poor-boy’ filter. Where would his gravitas be?

Theodora nodded along. "Exactly, the Eugenie in that play isn’t me at all. When did I ever lose my memory?"

"I know it’s not you two, I understand how you feel, and you’ve expressed it very clearly." Madlan was still smiling.

"Then can we just hug?"

"No."

"Uncle Madlan..."

"You can call me grandpa and it’s still no." Madlan straightened up. "The Holy Alliance’s public opinion waits for no one. You don’t like it, the believers do—who do you think you are? It’s not even some difficult thing!"

The two exchanged a look and saw the same helplessness in each other’s eyes.

Harbin sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "Fine."

Theodora pulled a long face, and after a long time finally buzzed out an answer like a mosquito: "All... alright then."

The smile on Madlan’s face finally turned genuine. He chuckled, patting both of them on the shoulder. "That’s more like it. I’ll give you the signal later, don’t panic."

With that, he straightened his collar and headed toward the ladder up to the viewing platform, his steps light.

Harbin and Theodora were still standing in the shadows, both embarrassed and resigned.

Theodora saw him scratching his head too and couldn’t help a wry smile. "You, later..."

Harbin coughed twice. "Relax, it’s just a kiss, not being eaten alive."

"It’s not that, mainly I’m worried about my father. He’s getting on in years—if he sees that scene, I’m afraid he’ll keel over on the spot."

"That’s true." Harbin nodded. "I’ll go say something and tell the physicians to be ready."

"Ughhh." Great Monarch Sibangqi already felt like he was about to keel over on the spot.

Thinking of all that pocket money, thinking of his daughter falling into the clutches of a Dwarf, his heart was bleeding.

A whole month’s allowance, all bet on the locomotive not showing up, and now not only had the locomotive shown up, ten of them had shown up at once!

Thank goodness it wasn’t a matched wager, or how would he ever pay back tenfold?

"Axent! You excuse for an engineer!" Gripping the armrest, the Great Monarch clenched his teeth and could only curse in his heart.

He took a few deep breaths, and Sibangqi settled back into his seat again.

By now he’d already realized that they’d only brought the locomotives out; they hadn’t actually beaten the galloping horses yet. Wasn’t this champagne a bit premature?

The atmosphere just now had been too heated—he’d even overlooked that.

The Falans had run locomotive trials before; the thing hadn’t even gone a hundred steps before it stalled, couldn’t even outrun a donkey by the roadside.

This Holy Alliance locomotive might look solid, but for all he knew it just looked good and didn’t work—run a few steps and it might fall to pieces.

Yes, that had to be it.

Thinking of it that way, Sibangqi finally felt a little more at ease.

He lifted his head and looked toward the tracks below.

At that sight, he couldn’t help clicking his tongue again.

The workers were bustling around the locomotives, colorful ribbons wrapped around the spring compartments—red, blue, yellow, a riot of colors.

The Norn people are famed for their barbarism, but even the Great Monarch Sibangqi found this gaudiness a bit much—well, it was aimed at common folk after all.

Behind the streamers, a bright red banner stretched from the front of the vehicle to the rear, printed with the five great slogans of the Holy Sect: "Civilization, Charity, Freedom, Equality, Labor."

The characters were bold enough to be seen from far away, not to mention that huge black-and-red crest of the Holy Alliance flag.

"All bells and whistles." Sibangqi curled his lip, but his eyes didn’t move away.

The huge spring chamber was like a steel heart, with pipes and drive shafts extending from the housing, glinting coldly.

At first glance, it really did look like the veins and tendons of a giant god from myth.

This steel giant, at the moment, was like it had been laid sideways across the rails.

Even livelier was the side area, where a band came marching over with brass and drums on their shoulders.

The musicians wore white shirts and silk brocade vests, with long and short brass tubes, snare drums and batons, looking quite the part.

Except this lot had been brought in from the Dawn Federation; there simply wasn’t a suitable band in the Holy Alliance itself.

Sibangqi’s gaze shifted over to the carriage lane.

A man in a brown leather jerkin was leading a horse back and forth; on the carriage behind him were emblazoned the crests of Falan and Leia.

Standing beside them was a Notary in an Aier robe—should be an Aier judge sent by the Imperial Council to supervise fairness.

He had some impression of that driver; seemed to be a famous Falan racing coachman named Heber.

Last year he’d taken the championship at the race meet in Huaqiu City.

Right now Heber was stroking the horse’s neck, but his eyes were locked on the spring locomotive, his lips tilted in what looked like disdain.

No draft animals, no porters pushing—could a hunk of iron that heavy, even if it could move on its own, really outrun Heber’s racing carriage?

A spark of hope flared again in Sibangqi’s heart. Right, no matter how sturdy, the iron car is heavy—there’s no way it’s faster than a light carriage!

He didn’t have to wait long before the workers below suddenly raised their hands toward the viewing platform and gave a thumbs-up.

That meant they were ready.

Standing at the center of the platform, Horn nodded. "Begin."

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

A rapid series of explosions sent quite a few people instinctively diving to the ground.

Sibangqi jumped too, though at least he didn’t make a fool of himself.

It wasn’t that he was composed; he’d just drunk too much, his nerves were sluggish, and he didn’t react in time.

By the time he did, the noise had already faded.

Looking closely, he saw it was two rows of modified spring grenade launchers.

They weren’t loaded with shells, but with streamers and ribbons.

Countless streamers shot into the sky like artillery and burst apart in the sunlight.

Red, yellow, blue, and glittering gold dust, then they drifted down like a rain of flowers.

Some landed on the crowd’s heads, some hung from the locomotive’s railings, and some floated onto the carriage, making the horses snort loudly.

People tilted their heads up in curiosity; they’d seen streamers thrown before.

But streamers thrown at this density, and this high—they really hadn’t seen that.

"The opening ceremony officially begins!" Horn’s voice rang out again, tinged with amusement. "First, let us welcome both sides of the Galloping Steeds Pact.

Mr. Heber’s racing carriage, and the Holy Alliance spring locomotive Hand of the Holy Father No. 5!"

The crowd erupted in cheers at once, louder than before, because the travelers were shouting excitedly too.

This was what they’d come all this way to see, wasn’t it?

On the viewing platform, Sibangqi looked down at the locomotive and the carriage, silently praying.

Heber, don’t you dare screw this up!

If you beat that locomotive, my pocket money won’t have been wasted!

He furtively patted the wallet in his pocket; it was emptily light, and he couldn’t help but ache inside.

"The locomotive-versus-steeds race now officially begins. Competitors, to your positions!"

"Competitors in position." As the flags waved, Horn stepped forward himself and picked up the starting pistol.

"Three..."

"Two..."

"One..."

"Bang!"

"Hrrr-reeee!"

"Clank, clank, clank—"