Chapter 575 - 559: The Ten-Day Agreement
The clamor in the tavern gradually subsided. The minstrel carrying a battered wooden instrument case paid his bill, pushed open the double wooden doors, and walked into a deep alley.
Allen finished the last mouthful of sour, rancid ale at the bottom of his cup before standing up and following him out at a leisurely pace.
The alley was dark and damp, reeking with the nauseating stench of rotting cabbage leaves and urine.
The minstrel took several turns before stopping in front of an abandoned mill. He looked around vigilantly, bent his fingers, and tapped out an irregular rhythm on the moss-covered stone wall.
The stone wall silently cracked open into a narrow gap, and the minstrel slipped inside.
Allen had no intention of following him in. Since leaving the tavern, he had simply leaned against a streetlamp on the main road. He narrowed his deep blue eyes slightly as an invisible waterfall of data reflected deep within his pupils.
The Allen Network silently unfolded.
His powerful Perception instantly covered the entire Royal Capital. When he focused his attention on a single spot, every minute detail became crystal clear.
The basement was dim and cramped, illuminated only by a few cheap grease lamps.
Seventeen people sat around a long wooden table. Among them were blacksmiths, farmers, destitute nobles, and even two low-ranking officers wearing the regular military uniforms of the Alden Kingdom.
The minstrel placed his case on the table and flipped open the lid. Inside, hidden alongside his instrument, were six short swords shimmering with a faint green light.
"This is all of it," the minstrel said in a hoarse voice. "These are Enchanted Weapons traded from the pointy-ears of the Black Forest. It cost us all of our remaining funds for the year."
Sitting at the head of the table was a one-eyed brute, the hideous scar on his left cheek twisting in the lamplight. He picked up a short sword and swiped his thumb hard across the blade, instantly drawing a bead of blood.
"Good stuff," the one-eyed brute said in a deep voice. "With these, we’ll at least be able to pierce the Holy Order Army’s Blood Armor when the time comes."
Allen’s consciousness swept over the short swords.
[Weak Natural Magic Power fluctuations detected. The Magic model is extremely crude, resembling a Sharpness Enchantment effect.]
"The Seventh Violin has been captured." The one-eyed brute set the short sword down, his tone as heavy as pig iron. "The Bishop’s Court has issued a notice. In ten days, they will carry out a Divine Punishment execution in the Holy Blood Square."
A wave of suppressed gasps echoed through the basement.
"How dare they!" A young officer stood up abruptly. "The Seventh Violin is from the Velti Kingdom’s—"
"Silence!" the one-eyed brute interrupted sharply. "In here, there are no identities, only comrades!"
The officer gritted his teeth and sat back down, his eyes red.
"The Church is going to execute him publicly. They clearly want to make an example of him!" a heavily bearded man said resentfully.
"This is exactly our chance!" a young-sounding voice chimed in, barely containing his excitement. "The Church thinks we’re just a loose pile of sand. They’ll have all their eyes fixed on the Holy Blood Square. This is the perfect time for us to link all our forces and launch an all-out offensive!"
"An all-out offensive? With what?" a noblewoman asked coldly. "With just us? Or those militias who can’t even get a full meal? The Church’s Holy Templar Order aren’t pushovers!"
"We have allies!" the young man retorted defiantly. "Several great nobles in the east and south have already promised that as soon as we raise the banner of rebellion, they will respond immediately. They’ll blockade the roads and cut off the Pope’s Kingdom’s supplies!"
"That’s right, we have our own power!" The minstrel patted his instrument case. "The Star’s Lament taught by the Elves doesn’t require that damned Holy Blood Mark! Our people are quietly spreading this power in every city. More and more people are awakening and breaking free from the Church’s control!"
Hearing this, Allen raised an eyebrow slightly.
So that was it. This resistance organization actually possessed a supernatural system entirely independent of the Blood God Sect. Although in the eyes of a Morning Star Wizard, it was as crude as a caveman’s stone axe, it meant they were an "unpolluted" and usable force.
"Exactly. The leader will never abandon him. I’ve already received a secret letter from headquarters. All one hundred and twenty-nine branches across the Three Great Kingdoms will mobilize when the time comes," the minstrel said, dragging his finger heavily across the simple map on the table. "As for our branch, Count Herman in the east is willing to privately supply three hundred sets of heavy armor. His condition is that, once we succeed, all taxation rights of the diocese within his territory will belong to him. Down south in Saland, there are two Marquises still watching from the sidelines."
"These noble accomplices are completely unreliable," someone cursed in a low voice.
"Unreliable or not, we have to use them," the one-eyed brute said, looking up. "We don’t need their loyalty. All we need is for them to hold their troops back on that day and refuse to protect the Church!"
"But..." a somewhat timid young man in the corner spoke up. "Can we really win? They have Divine Arts, they have the Holy Light. My father spent his entire life praising the Holy Light."
The one-eyed brute didn’t answer immediately. He took something from his pocket and placed it on the table.
It was an empty Crystal Bottle.
"Oliver, you are nineteen years old this year. How many times have you had your blood drawn?"
"...Eighty-four times. Once a month since my baptism at twelve," the young man answered with a trembling voice.
"Do you remember what kind of man your father was before you turned twelve?"
The young man froze, his eyes drifting into memories.
"He... he used to be a man who always complained," Oliver said slowly, his voice dry. "He cursed the greedy officials, cursed the nobles who collected heavy taxes, and even dared to secretly curse the Church at home. But later... he stopped cursing altogether."
"He didn’t just stop cursing." The one-eyed brute pushed the empty Crystal Bottle in front of Oliver. "He was rendered incapable of it! That needle didn’t draw blood; it extracted your very backbones! With every draw, you become a little more compliant, a little more convinced that it’s ’Divine Grace’. This isn’t faith. This is domestication, through and through! Give it a few more generations, and all six hundred million people on this continent will become nothing but submissive livestock that only know how to kneel and breathe!
"If you hadn’t learned the Elves’ Star’s Lament, you would have sunken into that abyss forever too!"
Under the streetlamp, Allen lowered his head, taking in every word of this speech without missing a single syllable.
[The statement’s correlation with the "Memetic Contamination: Progressive Cognitive Replacement" entry in the Association’s Anomaly Archives is 91.7%.]
"There is no true god in the Church." The minstrel sneered repeatedly. "Do you really think those high-and-mighty Priests are bestowing ’Divine Grace’? That isn’t Divine Grace. It’s poison draining our marrow!"
"The world is asleep, but someone has to stay awake." The one-eyed brute looked around at the crowd. "Ten days from now, at the Holy Blood Square. The Holy Order Armies from all the major dioceses are rushing back. We will ignite this fire together right at the foot of the Holy Mountain!"
"For Freedom!" the seventeen people roared in low voices. The sound echoed in the cramped space, radiating the tragic, heroic resolve of moths drawn to a flame.
Allen watched the scene quietly.
His heart felt no ripples of being moved by the mortals’ struggle, nor did he hold the mockery of a superior being sneering at an ant’s overestimation of its own strength. He merely felt that this fire was being lit at exactly the right time.
The night wind was biting cold, sweeping up a few withered yellow leaves. Allen looked up at the hazy, overcast night sky.
"Jarvis, mobilize all Demon Eyes and conduct a macro-behavioral analysis of the Three Great Kingdoms using the newly acquired intelligence."
[The Celestial Net System is now operating at full capacity.]
[Aggregating data...]
Allen’s field of vision instantly elevated, as if he were standing outside the atmosphere, looking down at this continent where six hundred million people lived and multiplied.
[Detected non-routine massing of troops in the eastern Alden Kingdom and northern Velti Kingdom. A total of forty-seven military camps show a 300% increase in heat source density.]
[In the capital of the Saland Kingdom, the Defense Arrays of over twenty great noble estates are in a semi-activated state. The frequency of supply deployment has abnormally increased.]
[In the target area, the ’Pope’s Kingdom’, traces of large-scale armed personnel returning are observed on the seven surrounding main roads. Characteristic match: Holy Order Army.]
The corners of Allen’s mouth curled up slightly.
So, the chess pieces on this board could no longer hold back and had already started moving on their own. Synthesizing all the intelligence, he quickly constructed a complete situational projection in his mind:
First, the Violinist Alliance was not a loose underground organization. Its tentacles had already penetrated deep into the military and noble classes of the Three Great Kingdoms.
Second, the nobles holding real power in the Three Great Kingdoms had clearly discovered the truth behind the Church’s "blood drawing." They were secretly funding this armed force, intending to use others to do their dirty work and overthrow the Church’s rule.
Third, that group of Black Wizards in the Pope’s Kingdom weren’t blind. They had noticed the undercurrents at the bottom and were using the Divine Punishment execution as bait. They were recalling their elites from all dioceses to defend the Holy Mountain, preparing to catch everyone in a single net.
Fourth, the contradictions, hatred, and ambitions that had been suppressed on this continent for a century would all culminate in a massive, concentrated detonation at the Holy Blood Square in ten days.
"I didn’t expect to stumble upon such a grand play," Allen chuckled lightly. "If this continent were entirely peaceful and all six hundred million people were willing, docile livestock, an outsider like me would actually have nowhere to start."
To take over these six hundred million laborers, directly bulldozing the Church would only trigger a collapse of faith and continent-wide riots. The governance costs alone would be enough of a headache. But what if these mortals overthrew the Pseudo-God themselves, and he simply descended at their most desperate moment as a "Rebuilder of Order"?
Minimal cost, maximum profit.
However, while he could look down on them strategically, he had to take them seriously tactically. The Crimson Hand had been operating on this continent for a century, so it was best to be careful.
Allen raised his left wrist and activated his personal terminal. The screen flickered a few times and switched to an internal encrypted communication channel.
"Connect to Colin."
A few seconds later, a holographic screen popped up, and Colin’s face, sporting heavy dark circles, appeared on the display.
"Allen? Have you already arrived at that Plane? Do you need our personnel to move in now?"
"Yes, I’ve arrived. Don’t rush over just yet. I need a little time to handle some things," Allen replied confidently. "I need you to run a detailed investigation on a Black Wizard Organization for me. The Crimson Hand," Allen said clearly. "I want all the information on this organization. Especially their combat records from when they were expelled by the White Wizard Council a century ago, their core member roster, and any relevant knowledge regarding the Flesh and Blood Rune System they excel at."
Colin froze for a moment, his brows furrowing. "The Crimson Hand? Never heard of them. Did you find traces of Black Wizards? Alright, I’ll look into it immediately and send you whatever I find."
"You could say that," Allen didn’t deny it. "These gutter rats have donned a new skin over here. They’ve established a Pseudo-God Church and are treating six hundred million mortals as captive blood bags."
He watched the holographic screen on his wrist gradually dim, a more long-term plan already beginning to surface in his mind.
Once he completely wiped out these thieves and took control of this Plane, he would have to immediately start setting up a public cross-Plane communication base station. If he was going to do big business in this boundless sea of stars in the future, relying solely on this kind of single-line internal communication would be far from enough.