Chapter 419: The Sacred City Residents Demanding More

The New World Gazette

{Front Page Headline: The Solemn Glory of the Sanctuary: Prince Roxey Collin Holds Funeral for His Father, with the Pope Himself Present to Bless—A Testament to the Family's Honor! }

Yesterday at noon, the Imperial Sacred City witnessed a funeral of historic magnitude, solemnly marked by the ringing of sacred bells.

The heir of the ancient and noble Collin family, Prince Roxey Collin, held a grand memorial prayer and burial ceremony for his late father, Prince Watching Nan Fu Collin, at Saint Clement's Cathedral.

The ceremony was presided over by the revered Pope Gregory IX, conducted with solemn elegance. Dignitaries in attendance included Regent Granville Pota, Duke Albert Valencia, Count Cassit Hilfen, and Marshal Laco Aiberg, who jointly expressed their respect and condolences to the Collin family and praised Prince Roxey Collin's piety and noble character.

In his eulogy, Prince Collin declared: "My father devoted his life to the Empire and the faith of Saint Xis. Henceforth, I shall inherit his mission and continue to serve His Imperial Majesty and the people of the Empire."

That heart-wrenching moment moved every citizen in the square to tears; beneath their collective prayers, a divine radiance appeared above Saint Clement's Cathedral.

Good fortune is granted by heaven—let us bless Prince Collin, and may the souls of the lost, wandering far from home, find their way back under the guidance of the Holy Light!

At present, Prince Watching Nan Fu Collin's coffin has been laid to rest in the cemetery of Saint Clement's Cathedral, blessed by Pope Gregory IX.

Additionally, at the funeral's conclusion, Prince Collin announced the statutes of the Knights Templar and presented them, in his late father's name, as a gift to the Empire's citizens!

}

{Second Page · Exclusive Serial: The Drifting Baron of Corsia}

—The Strange Adventures of Baron Tich Corsia: An account of how he survived a shipwreck, drifted alone to the shores of Jiana Continent, lived near the Sun Ladder Mountains for nearly a decade, and was miraculously rescued by the Imperial Navy. Written by himself.

{Prologue}

I, Tich Corsia, was born on a sunlit day in a respectable baronial family on the outskirts of the Sacred City. Though my family held no great power, we possessed modest wealth, sufficient to afford me a fine education and a comfortable life free from financial worry. My father always hoped I would follow in his footsteps—contentedly manage our estate and eventually marry a lady of equal standing, living a quiet, dignified life.

Yet deep within me burned an invisible flame—an ambition that refused to settle. I was unsatisfied with the meager income from our fields, so I invested our family's assets into risky yet promising commercial ventures. At first, I achieved modest success; but one fatal miscalculation erased all my gains and left me burdened with heavy debts.

To reclaim my lost honor and fortune, I staked everything I had left: I purchased a sturdy merchant vessel, the White Whale, and personally led my crew, laden with Sacred City specialties, toward the fabled new continent said to be paved with gold.

On the day we set sail, the sea was calm, and seagulls sang farewell at the harbor. I felt certain this voyage would mark the beginning of my resurgence. But alas, the divine agents of fate had already scripted a vastly different tale for me… to punish my boundless desires and greed.

When our fleet sailed into the boundless depths of the ocean, a sudden storm—like hell's hounds—attacked us; the sky darkened instantly, blacker than the deepest night.

Howling winds raised waves as high as mountains, effortlessly tossing our sturdy ship about like a toy!

My mainmast snapped in the first surge, emitting a grating, agonized cry; the sailors' screams and prayers were swallowed by thunder and the thunderous crash of waves smashing against the hull—until only I remained on deck.

I clung tightly to the broken helm, watching helplessly as the White Whale was utterly torn apart by a tidal wave of cataclysmic force.

Icy, suffocating seawater engulfed me; I struggled in endless darkness and chaos until the last plank slipped from my grasp, and my consciousness sank into the abyss.

I do not know how long I drifted in that cold, dark sea—perhaps an instant, perhaps eternity. When I regained awareness, I lay upon a sun-scorched, unfamiliar beach.

Salty sea breezes brushed my skin; all around lay only shattered shipwrecks and the endless roar of waves—no sign of human life.

I struggled to my feet, gazing at this desolate shore, and thought only one thought—I am still alive.

And perhaps this, too, is Saint Xis's trial for me… (To be continued)

}

…

The funeral at Saint Clement's Cathedral had ended, but for the next day or two, this century-defining ceremony remained the talk of every street and alley in the Sacred City.

Nobles praised Prince Collin's reverence for tradition, his grace and elegance, while common citizens gossiped eagerly about the Pope's divine presence and the newly formed Knights Templar.

Young men dreaming of expanding the Empire's borders were already fired with Rexue, eager to board ships for Jiana Continent and fight for the Empire's glory and the Holy Light!

Yet amid this tranquil yet noisy routine, a new tide quietly seeped into the lives of the Sacred City's citizens.

Sacred City, Sage Street.

The afternoon sun was warm and gentle; the air inside the "White Dove Café" on the street corner was thick with the aroma of coffee and the murmur of cheerful conversation.

Mr. Clark, the accountant, was a regular here—he would order a black coffee and spend an hour reading The Sacred City Daily Chronicle to keep up with commercial news inside and outside the city.

But today, unlike before, the newspaper in his hands was not The Sacred City Daily Chronicle—it was an obscure publication called The New World Gazette.

The front page of this paper gave a detailed account of yesterday's city-shaking funeral: its content was rich and well-researched, its prose light and accessible—worth reading indeed.

Yet what truly captivated Mr. Clark was the second page—the story titled "The Drifting Baron of Corsia," its name so long it could serve as a short essay itself.

He devoured the prologue in one breath, forgetting entirely the cup of coffee growing cold before him.

"Good heavens, that storm… it sounded like hell itself roaring!"

He murmured unconsciously, leaning forward, eyes glued to the text, as if he himself stood aboard the White Whale, battling the monstrous waves.

Especially when he read of the baron being swallowed by the sea, only to awaken miraculously on the shore, he could not help exclaiming, "Saint Xis above!"

A citizen seated at the neighboring table, clearly a fellow reader, looked up and exchanged a knowing glance with Mr. Clark, lowering his voice.

"Sir, you're reading the Baron Corsia story too? It's truly heart-stopping… isn't it?"

"Yes, utterly incredible!"

Finding a kindred spirit, Mr. Clark responded eagerly, "I must know what becomes of this poor baron! And what lies on that strange land?"

His fingers trembled with excitement as he eagerly flipped the paper to the next page, scanning the layout with urgent eyes.

But there was nothing.

The next page contained trivial city gossip and a few small advertisements.

Mr. Clark froze. He flipped through the paper again, hastening back to the end of the prologue on page two, where he found those words—like a devil's whisper:

(To be continued)

???

"Damn it! What comes next? Why does it just stop?!"

A stifled groan escaped Mr. Clark's throat.

He felt his heart gripped by an invisible hand, then hoisted high—unable to rise further, unable to fall.

The suspense, the dread for the baron's fate, the curiosity about the unknown continent—all now swarmed through his chest like ten thousand ants, leaving him restless and agitated.

He set the paper down in frustration, then snatched it up again, staring at the words "To be continued," as if he could burn through the paper with his gaze and see the hidden text behind.

And he was not the only citizen in this café cursing those words "To be continued."

Though newspapers had occasionally serialized short stories before, they always concluded properly—never irresponsibly ending with such an ambiguous phrase and vanishing.

Soon, Mr. Clark heard a curse from afar.

"Damn it! Who runs this New World Gazette? Using such shameless tricks to bait readers!"

The man in the round hat ranted indignantly, yet his body betrayed his true intent: "They'd better publish the next installment in the next issue! I swear, once they finish this half-told tale, I won't buy another single copy of this trash—not one!"

Hearing his curse, the man beside him sipped his coffee and smiled wryly.

"Friend, I think you should worry more about whether you can even get a copy—this little paper sells out fast. I just tried to buy another from the newsboy to take home for my wife, but he told me they were all gone… Saint Xis above, they printed only two thousand copies of such a brilliant story! Are they doing this on purpose?!"

Mr. Clark finished his now-cold coffee absently, carefully folded the New World Gazette, and tucked it neatly into his briefcase—as if it were a precious treasure.

He resolved: tomorrow, his first act upon stepping outside would be to snatch a fresh copy of The New World Gazette from the newsboy, to learn the fate of Baron Corsia and that mysterious continent.

His mind was now filled with beaches, islands, the stranded baron… as if he himself were the poor soul abandoned on the shore, enduring the scorching sun.

That day, across countless corners of the Sacred City, countless citizens like Mr. Clark endured the same sweet, agonizing torment.

The Sacred City's newspapers had never published a story so captivating—especially one whose protagonist was not a princess or knight, but an ambitious, even heretical man.

He refused to rest on his ancestors' legacy, sought to carve his own fortune, suffered punishment from fate, yet forged a path to wealth through wit and courage in the wild.

Moreover, this method of serializing fiction in newspapers, ending each installment at its most thrilling moment, was something the citizens had never seen before.

Thus, an obscure newspaper, armed with a bizarre and gripping adventure tale, successfully breached the awareness of the Sacred City's citizens—and with an irresistible force, became their most urgent anticipation for the next morning…

…

Just as the citizens of the Sacred City buzzed with fervent discussion over "The Drifting Baron of Corsia," the origin of the story—the New World Gazette's office—was itself caught in a storm of chaos.

This fledgling newspaper operated on Kasen Street, infamous in the Sacred City for its decay and desolation; yet its office stood in stark contrast to its surroundings.

Bright sunlight streamed through spotlessly clean windows, illuminating a tidy, orderly room. The floor was swept clean; documents and papers were neatly categorized and arranged.

All of this was thanks to the diligent children taken in by Mr. Ding Ge Kaiyue.

Today, besides the orphan children who helped with chores, the office also employed several young graduates from the nearby community university. Kosei kept his promise: he paid the orphans 1,200 copper coins monthly, and the graduates 3,000 copper coins.

Though not a fortune, this salary was far above the city's average wage and far more generous than the light workload—making it a coveted position.

An officer's salary could not sustain the newspaper's expenses, but fortunately, they soon received sponsorship from "Baron Corsia" himself.

The serialized novel currently running in the paper was part of that sponsorship.

He demanded no payment upfront, only that he receive a share of the profits once the story was published in book form.

Thanks entirely to Baron Corsia's aid, Kosei's newspaper swiftly broke through the saturated market, carving a path in the crowded newspaper industry.

Considering his upcoming departure from the Sacred City to the Empire's academic domain, Luo Yan planned to visit the newspaper's operations before leaving.

This was an important pawn he left behind in the Sacred City—though currently, the pawn was still small.

As his carriage halted at the mouth of Kasen Street, he was drawn to the scene before him.

A dense crowd had gathered outside the newspaper office, completely blocking the narrow street.

Among them were well-dressed, sharp-eyed publishers; reporters with notebooks and piercing gazes from rival newspapers; and more still—ordinary citizens with anxious faces, clearly loyal readers of "The Drifting Baron of Corsia."

"When is the next issue coming out? We'll pay double to pre-order!"

"I'm from Lion Publishing House—we wish to speak with your editor about the publishing rights to this book!"

"Can't you write more? Just a little bit each day—it's torture!"

"Is this really written by Baron Corsia himself? The version I heard at the harbor was different!"

A chorus of requests and questions rose continuously, surrounding the small office like a sealed iron barrel.

At that moment, someone in the crowd spotted Luo Yan stepping down from the carriage.

"Look! It's Prince Collin!"

A sudden cry drew every eye toward him.

After a brief silence, the crowd erupted into even more frenzied commotion than before.

"Good heavens! Even Prince Collin has come!"

"Did you read 'The Drifting Baron of Corsia' too, Your Highness? Do you think Baron Corsia will survive?"

"Are you out of your mind?! The Baron was appointed by this Prince himself!" "Whoa… I remember now! Your Highness, which episode did you first appear in? I'll start watching from the moment you show up!"

They surged toward Luo Yan in excitement, eager to exchange a few words with this noble figure who also "followed the serial."

Watching the chaotic crowd, Luo Yan could only laugh and sigh helplessly, urging them to calm down.

Sarah and the two estate guards stood tightly before him, eyes sharp and ready for any threat.

Just as the scene threatened to spiral out of control, Centurion Kosaer arrived with two cavalrymen from the city garrison.

The tall horses and the soldiers' cold, gleaming armor instantly cooled the fervent crowd.

"Citizens, calm down! The publisher hasn't printed anything yet—staying here won't help. The newspaper isn't delivered to you from here!" Kosaer, drenched in sweat, feared disaster as the citizens surrounded Prince Corin.

Fortunately, Prince Corin was a calm and easygoing man, unbothered by the crowd's enthusiasm.

Under his gentle yet authoritative persuasion, the agitated crowd finally dispersed, reluctant but obedient.

"Your Highness, are you unharmed?" Kosaer dismounted and hurried forward, his stern face etched with concern.

Luo Yan smiled and waved his hand.

"I'm fine. I simply came here on a whim to take a look, never expecting such a commotion… I've caused you trouble."

"Nonsense… it's we who have disturbed you," Kosaer said, blushing with embarrassment.

Clearly, the citizens had come for the newspaper office—but Prince Corin had willingly taken the blame onto himself, which was a tremendous help to Kosaer.

After the chaos subsided, a young man in his twenties stepped out quickly from the newspaper office.

He was Ding Ge Kayona, who now also served as the newspaper's editor-in-chief.

Looking at Luo Yan, he nervously rubbed his hands, his face showing shyness and awkwardness—but more than anything, heartfelt enthusiasm and gratitude.

"Prince Corin… I'm truly sorry for the trouble. Thank you for your kindness in rescuing us."

Luo Yan smiled and shook his head, signaling he needn't apologize.

"It was nothing, Editor Kayona. Seeing your newspaper so popular, I'm genuinely delighted for you… it proves you haven't wasted my trust."

"Of course not! How could we ever betray your goodwill!" Kayona's face glowed with pride. He quickly gestured toward the interior. "You've come to inspect our work? This way, please!"

"No need to be so tense. I'll just browse on my own. You go about your duties."

With a reassuring smile, Luo Yan stepped into the newspaper office, accompanied by the quiet Sarah.

The three-story building had been converted from a private home. The offices were cramped and tight, yet warmly decorated and spotlessly clean—clearly, those who worked here treated it as their own home.

Entering the second-floor office, Luo Yan's gaze swept past the crowded, bustling desks and quickly settled on a familiar face.

It was a boy, about twelve or thirteen years old.

His youthful face bore an air of maturity far beyond his years; beside his desk leaned a cane.

At that moment, he was meticulously checking documents on his desk, apparently assisting with simple clerical tasks while learning as he worked.

Luo Yan raised an eyebrow.

For a boy his age to be literate was rare indeed.

"…Your Highness?! What are you doing here?"

White immediately noticed Prince Corin entering the office. Startled, he scrambled to rise, gripping his desk for support.

Luo Yan smiled and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from standing.

"No need for formalities. I'm just here to take a casual look." His voice was gentle as his gaze swept over the other young editors and children who had risen at the sound. "Continue your work. Don't let the readers outside down."

His words carried a calming strength. The tense group exhaled in relief and returned to their seats.

Luo Yan's gaze returned to the boy, whose cheeks glowed with excitement.

At that moment, he noticed a manuscript beside White's hand—its pages bore several sketches that felt strangely familiar.

"What's this?" he asked, curious.

"It's abstract art, Your Highness! You should be very familiar with it!"

Seeing the Prince notice his work, White eagerly explained, his eyes sparkling.

"This concept is wildly popular in Shengcheng's art circles, especially among the young. Unfortunately, few are willing to invest in this new style… you know, the nobles only back established, renowned painters. Those chasing this trend are mostly unknown youths."

Luo Yan raised an eyebrow, already suspecting: "You're writing a report on this art trend?"

"Sort of," White said, excited. "But mostly it's tied to an exhibition centered on abstract art!"

Hearing this, Luo Yan nearly choked on his own saliva.

"Abstract art… an exhibition?"

"Exactly!"

White nodded vigorously, brimming with enthusiasm for this new phenomenon.

"A kind lady is funding it—giving unknown young artists a chance to display their work… uh, though I suspect her budget is rather limited."

Before the Prince could speak, White continued with bright eyes: "Regardless of funding—don't you think it's amazing? I've learned this style has a low barrier to entry. Colors and pigments can be freely splashed on paper. My sister even says she could paint this herself!"

"I did NOT say that!"

Dai'ona, standing nearby helping organize papers, blushed furiously at her brother's words.

She shot him a sharp glare, then quickly glanced at Prince Corin, terrified he might be offended.

After all, she'd heard rumors that this trend sweeping through the young art circles had originated from this very Prince's lecture at the Imperial Royal Academy of Art.

Normally, her brother had excellent social sense—but today, he'd clearly forgotten to tread carefully.

Luo Yan, however, wasn't petty.

But honestly, he felt a twinge of embarrassment—especially since he hadn't expected his offhand classroom remarks to have such a profound impact on Shengcheng's youth.

Still…

It was a good thing.

He paused, then offered his opinion.

"I believe… this is indeed a good thing. Self-expression shouldn't be the monopoly of the wealthy and powerful. This world is full of discipline imposed on the powerless. Young people like you deserve to voice your own thoughts—that is the right granted to you by Saint Saint Xisi."

"I knew you'd say that!"

White's voice trembled with excitement; he looked ready to bow deeply to the Prince. "So, our newspaper plans to promote this exhibition for free—by having the young artists exhibiting their works illustrate the serial 'The Adventures of Baron Corsia'… like this!"

As he spoke, White rummaged through the papers and carefully presented a completed four-panel illustration to Luo Yan.

Luo Yan stared—and froze again.

Good heavens… a four-panel comic?!

That was the first thought that flashed through his mind.

The paper was divided into four squares, each drawn with simple lines to depict a story fragment.

The protagonist—a little figure with a head shaped like the letter "q"—was unmistakably the hapless Baron Corsia.

He suddenly realized: this creative use of abstract, minimalist sketches to portray characters was brilliant!

It cleverly avoided the trouble of publishing noble portraits in the newspaper, yet through this minimalistic style, "Little Q" the Baron became more vivid, engaging, and unforgettable.

No magic photograph could achieve this!

But…

The more Luo Yan stared, the more familiar the figure—a man sprawled on a beach with exaggerated expression—seemed.

He stared at the drawing for a long moment, then a long-buried name from his past life leapt into his mind—

"The Adventures of Tintin."

Damn.

It wasn't just similar!

It was identical!

"Your Highness?"

Seeing the Prince frozen in stunned silence, White waved his small hand in front of him, puzzled.

Luo Yan snapped back to attention.

He cleared his throat, masking his inner turmoil, and said solemnly: "I think… this is highly creative. I didn't expect you to interpret 'abstract art' this way—but this spirit of defying authority and boldly experimenting is exactly what I champion. You're doing well. Keep going."

"Thank you! You're so wonderful! Thank you for your generous support—we'll repay you someday!"

White beamed with relief after receiving approval.

His expression turned shy. He hesitated, then gathered courage, gazing at Prince Corin with hopeful eyes.

"By the way, Your Highness, I feel our ideals align perfectly. Would you… would you really not consider adopting me? I'm easy to raise, I promise."

Dai'ona's heart clenched. She glanced at her brother, then quickly looked at Prince Corin.

Her eyes held worry—as if fearing her most important family member might be taken away by this powerful man.

But the girl's concern was unnecessary.

Luo Yan had no interest in young boys. He smiled gently and patted the boy's head.

"Legends of Shengcheng should shine brightest here. And I'm leaving soon."

White's face fell with disappointment—but quickly brightened again with innocent hope as he looked up at him.

"Will you come back to see us?"

"Of course. And not long from now."

Luo Yan's gaze held encouragement and expectation as he continued smiling.

"Until then, let me see just how far you can take this 'small matter' of yours."

(End of Chapter)