Chapter 337: Request

The monastery's renewed operation is steering Priel toward the desired direction.

Large budget expenditures became irrigation ditches, waterwheels, and mills under construction, generating orders for agricultural and handicraft products equal to the total of past years, along with employment opportunities insufficient to absorb all idle labor.

Some of this money would flow back to the lord as taxes, filling his depleted treasury.

Better days still lay ahead; the knightly order would likely soon begin its charitable relief work, especially by establishing the promised monastic clinic, taking full charge of social welfare, medical resources, and trade introduction.

The baron's experience could best be described as "the Tianfu descending upon me"—twenty years of waiting rewarded, dreaming once more of the ancestral fantasy of lying back and collecting money, and smoothly adopting the path of family revival through church dependence.

The two who felt out of place wandered for days, sensing that everyone else here was in a state of joyful fulfillment.

Women and children were busy with handicrafts, producing household items including but not limited to straw mattresses, brooms, coarse cloth, and candles.

In just a few weeks, the monastery had become the economic core of this remote village: carts arriving and departing scattered coins, while the building atop the mountain—visible only in clear weather—showed no sign of saturation, continuing to swallow more goods without restraint.

Each report submission and casual chat with buyers revealed a sense of constant busyness. As the team's activity range within the monastery expanded, they discovered nearly everything needed cleaning, replacement, or rearrangement; the day of order seemed distant, and no one would be freed in the short term to replace the manor's below-mountain duties.

Only two things offered slight comfort. First, their bland work reports had indeed reached Kraft's hands, and were passed solely by Brother Lei Mengde or Assistant Kuop, never touching a third party.

The second was likely an offshoot of their rising economic status: the knightly order had inherited a portion of the former church's prestige—though modest, it was enough for villagers to regard them as neutral "authorities."

Specifically, while strolling through the village, people would approach them, requesting they intervene in local disputes as representatives of the Tianfu and impartial arbiters.

"Huh?!" Dominic's reaction at the time could be summed up in a single exclamation.

What right did they have to represent the Tianfu in judging human affairs? Even bishops would hesitate to use such language.

But since the words were already spoken, the novice monks readily agreed to the request and followed the two families—each armed with clubs, tension thick in the air—back to their homes.

They spent the entire afternoon reviewing basic geometry learned at church school, successfully calculating the area of a ruined plot, studying a worm-eaten land deed from over twenty years ago, and ultimately persuading both sides using their main studies of church law and doctrine: advising the slightly advantaged party to offer labor or grain compensation, then rewriting and notarizing the deed.

Yet they soon intuitively grasped a vital law—problems naturally gravitated toward those who handled affairs reliably.

After the land dispute, requests poured in: water allocation, loans, marital conflicts, inheritance disputes, vendor encroachment, verbal quarrels—trivial matters flooded in, and life swiftly flipped from boredom to utter bewilderment.

Yet from the standpoint of their perceived divine mission and expanding influence, mediation was impossible to refuse. Kraft likely never imagined he'd unintentionally dumped this responsibility on them.

Only when Field accidentally recalled and adopted Kraft's habit of always carrying a sword did the mediation work become easier—everyone suddenly became more receptive to the doctrine's teachings on tolerance and peace.

But carrying the sword seemed to further enhance their authority, drawing even more numerous and complex requests—like this one.

"So you mean old John, with his failing eyesight, dug up caraway on the hill and hit near your ancestral grave?"

The story sounded absurd, but Dominic was no longer surprised.

"That's just his excuse—I think he wants to desecrate the dead and sell the funerary items for a few copper coins to buy liquor!" The accuser waved his muscular arms, growing angrier as he spoke. Dominic recognized him: the village stonemason, somewhat respected, yet clearly not important enough for the lord to bother with such nonsense.

"When did this happen?"

"Five years ago."

Field covered his face, shielding himself from flying spittle and hiding his helpless expression.

Five years? The caraway by the grave had changed generations; even the Tianfu might need to consult records to recall what happened then.

But it didn't matter—this wasn't their first time. They could just use doctrine to muddy the waters. Worst case, scare old John with talk of ghosts or posthumous retribution; maybe he'd confess himself.

Then demand an apology, light punishment, labor or grain compensation for redemption, have the church perform a soothing ritual at the grave—and it would be another case of mutual satisfaction, free prestige earned.

"The graveyard is a sacred resting place, under the Tianfu's gaze—this crime cannot go unpunished," Dominic clearly thought the same, "but no innocent person should be wronged. Take us to meet old John; let us confront him face-to-face under the Tianfu's gaze."

"But old John is already dead, and his son refuses outright to acknowledge this..." The accuser, finally finding someone willing to uphold justice, poured out years of complex grievances between the two families.

Mutual verbal abuse, public accusations, escalating to physical clashes and bloodshed among the younger generations—threads tangled beyond count; the suspicion of grave-robbing had become almost secondary.

The two listeners were already getting headaches; perhaps they shouldn't have meddled in this old, muddy mess.

"You must help us!" Noticing the monks' hidden impatience, he scoured his mind for more reasons to make them take it seriously: "My grandfather was a faithful believer all his life—he repaired the monastery's walls and roof, and on his deathbed, he specifically instructed us to bury him as close as possible to the Tianfu."

"Alright, alright." With the man's words ending there, Dominic could only nod, grasp the calloused, stone-dusted hands, and pull him up.

"We will do our best to resolve this for you. But time has passed; we may not recover the truth of that moment. Reality is what it is. An unprovable truth does not justify endless quarreling. The Tianfu teaches us forgiveness and cooperation, not endless immersion in hatred. I believe your grandfather, as a devout believer, would agree..."

It took considerable effort to pacify the furious stonemason. The two exchanged weary smiles, beginning to miss the quiet days just gone.

Even if they could never uncover the truth, they'd probably still have to visit that grave, dug up years ago.

After showing their stance and returning, it would almost certainly be the same old mud-slinging routine—at least, Dominic couldn't imagine any other outcome.