Chapter 601: The Bell of the Republic Rings in Another Theater

The night on Queen's Street was always noisier than the day, and tonight the Colin Theater was no exception—its brilliantly lit entrance teemed with crowds and constant traffic.

Inside the Colin Theater, heavy crimson velvet curtains hung low to the floor, sealing off the bustling, noisy crowd below the stage.

Behind the stage.

Qiqi took deep breaths again and again, steadying her emotions, then glanced once more at the script, etching the lines deep into her mind.

The succubus's traits had been concealed by arcane magic from the Aether Space—a natural ability inherent to high-ranking succubi.

Though she wasn't among the top students at the Demon Lord Academy, and couldn't compare with Senior Luo Yan, she still had more skill than those demons born with golden spoons in their mouths.

Unless facing the Inquisition, even if a priest stood right before her, she wouldn't easily be exposed.

"Come on… Eloise, you can do this." She silently repeated the name of the character she was about to portray, fully immersing herself in the story.

Meanwhile, her scene partner, "Little Eagle," also wore a tense expression, making her final preparations.

Though her acting seemed average, she had perfectly captured the protagonist "Ma Xiu's" earnestness, dullness, and innocent sincerity.

For now, she'd trust her.

Qiqi had relaxed, but "Little Eagle," the real identity of 【Feathered Eagle】, felt no such ease.

In reality, she was male, yet now she was playing a female character, tasked with portraying a delicate, handsome boy in the play "The Bell" under the alias of a loli.

She was a little dizzy.

So was she male or female right now?!

…

Below the stage.

The air floated with the sweet, cloying perfume of incense candles and powdered cosmetics from noblewomen.

In the audience, Mignis leaned back in a plush seat, fingers interlaced over his knees, patiently awaiting the performance's start.

As a cloth merchant from Fogwind Harbor, he knew fine fabric required time to weave, so he didn't make the noisy fuss of other nouveau riche.

Usually, theaters in Thunder City staged only clichéd fare—even the theater funded by Mr. Punk and named after Colin.

Onstage, it was either knights slashing off the Demon Lord's head, or a fallen princess awaiting redemption in holy light… with demons making endless cameos.

But the Iris Troupe was said to be different.

This troupe came from the Holy City; their artistic expression and scriptwriting far surpassed the lazy playwrights of Thunder City.

Well, that might be a bit biased.

The real reason was that Mignis had never been to the Holy City, so he carried a faint filter of hopeful anticipation for its art.

Though "The Bell" sounded like a sacred sermon or the martyrdom of some saint, a different plot was better than the same old one.

The curtain slowly drew open.

No golden, dazzling palace. No dark, terrifying demon lair.

Only a few bundles of dry hay, weathered wooden planks, and backdrop curtains. Under the glow of magic crystal lamps, the crew had skillfully crafted a humble yet beautiful little village from limited materials.

Just like the shared pastoral song in the hearts of countless Cambelians and Leians.

A boy stepped out—he was Ma Xiu, a peasant's son, played by a newcomer called "Little Eagle."

Frankly, Mignis had never seen such an exquisite country boy—his features were too delicate, his neck smooth, his throat utterly devoid of any Adam's apple.

But… so what?

Realistic theater was dull; dazzling theater wasn't real. There was never a cake that was both sweet and not sweet.

He sipped the champagne offered by a servant, finding himself intrigued by this cross-dressing actor—even more so than the nearby Miss Eloise.

Speaking of Miss Eloise, she was a beauty beyond words. Her entrance alone silenced the noisy audience for an instant.

Some could make silk look like burlap, yet she turned a coarse linen dress into soft silk. Her gentle brow held no aristocratic pretense—it was like freshly baked bread, radiating the comforting scent of wheat and the glow of a mother's love.

She brought the role to life, embodying precisely the fictional girl in the hearts of Leians and Cambelians—pure, kind, fragile yet resilient.

Amid the hushed anticipation of the audience, "The Bell" rang out as the two on stage bowed, accompanied by gentle, melodious music.

Act One—

The night before the wedding.

Villagers sat together in orderly chaos, the stage portraying the village's warmth and bustle; acrobats performed comic stunts to draw the crowd's attention, filling the scene with ease and merriment.

The music subtly shifted, and soft light settled upon the heroine.

Eloise's fingers wove through vines and wildflowers, crafting a floral crown symbolizing blessing. Butterflies danced around her, enhancing the beauty.

"The day after tomorrow, I will unite with my beloved… I hope it's a sunny day."

Eloise held the floral crown, cheeks flushed faintly, eyes bright as stars.

The village weaver clasped Eloise's hand, offering sincere and beautiful blessings.

"It will be! We'll all pray for you!"

The atmosphere was blissful and serene.

The light shifted to Ma Xiu—he was a skilled dyer. Not only did he dye cloth, he repaired tools too, renowned in the village as a master craftsman.

Villagers offered him blessings too—the blacksmith, the carpenter, the stable hand, the farmer who'd asked him to mend his hoe.

The entire stage seemed filled with the fragrance of wheat; Mignis, seated in the audience, wore an expression of surprise.

The looks, the acting, especially the music—all were perfect.

Worth every coin of the ticket price!

But that sweet happiness didn't last long. Just as the audience were nearly overwhelmed by sweetness, a hoarse voice sounded beside Eloise.

"Don't forget the castle."

It was an old cobbler, his face etched with the weariness of countless storms. He tapped his pipe against his shoe sole, voice low and gravelly.

No one wished to shatter the happy mood.

But he had to prepare the young ones.

"You must pay the Crown Tax… oh no, the cost of the 'Pure Bell.' Without the bell's chime, there is no wedding. Without the wedding, there is no blessing. Your child will not be recognized by the lord—he'll be forced to wander, become an adventurer."

Below the stage, Mignis gave a quiet laugh.

Crown Tax.

What a lovely name.

His hometown, Fogwind Harbor, was a free city, lacking the feudal lords of Cambel Duchy, yet similar schemes were far from rare.

Feudalism doesn't vanish just because you refuse to call it feudalism—from birth to marriage to death, every stage demands payment.

Only the collectors weren't lords, but priests.

Though he was already wealthy and had never worried about a few silver coins, he sometimes marveled at how easily these priests made money.

Indeed, the most brilliant business model in this world was religion. It offered no service, yet collected money. It promised no today, yet dared to promise tomorrow.

Even allowed robbery to go unnamed.

The atmosphere on stage didn't chill. The grand organ music still flowed sweetly, refusing to douse the audience's happiness with cold water.

"It's fine."

Eloise's voice was clear, tinged with innocent stubbornness.

"We've saved enough. He works day and night in the lord's dye house; I sell flowers in town, saving one copper coin at a time…"

She held up five fingers.

That was all her pride.

"We already have five silver coins!"

The old cobbler said nothing, only sucked on his pipe with a soft, rhythmic click. His cloudy eyes held a look full of unspoken meaning.

At that moment, a ticking sound emerged within the flowing organ music—the mechanical rhythm of a pocket watch, monotonous and repetitive, like a tiny chisel striking the listener's heartstrings.

Those unfamiliar with music might say the musician's instrument was broken, but Mignis, who truly understood art, could taste the flavor in his champagne.

It was the prelude to a variation.

The castle's bell tower did not ring—it was the stopwatch of trial that chimed.

Unconsciously immersed in emotion, Mignis shook his head slightly, sighing for a moment for the lovers gazing deeply into each other's eyes.

"What a foolish child."

Rules were never made for those who followed them.

…

The stage lights began to change.

The warm golden glow receded like a tide; cool blue light seeped in from the sides, elongating the characters' shadows.

Night had come.

Ma Xiu stepped out from the shadows.

The delicate boy's back now slumped, as if mountains pressed upon his spine. He dared not look at his betrothed, his gaze fixed on the dust on the ground, like a powerless husband.

The backdrop behind them resembled both a stable and a barn, symbolizing that the two, blessed by all, had no home of their own.

"What's wrong?"

Eloise placed the crown on the hay bale and stepped forward, her face lit with concern and moonlight.

It was a suffocating silence.

Only that damned "tick-tock" echoed across the empty stage, growing louder.

As the audience held their breath, waiting to hear what Ma Xiu would say, the delicate boy finally spoke.

"The bell tower is cracked."

His voice was dry and hoarse—nothing like himself.

"The steward says, to repair the dwelling of the Divine Sound, to ensure the bell's purity… we must pay more silver coins. Otherwise, the bell will not ring."

"... How much?" Eloise asked, her voice trembling.

Matthew lowered his head and spoke.

"Ten..."

Below the stage, Mignis heard a low gasp from the back row, and occasional muttered curses.

"This lord is no good!"

"Silver coins... Where would a peasant even have such things?"

What kind of repair is this?

It's outright exploitation!

Their identification with the characters is still too strong.

Perhaps because they all harbor beautiful fantasies about love, and the pitiable Eloise looks exactly like the lover in their hearts.

Not just the gentlemen in the audience, but the ladies too.

They had seen many fierce knights, but never before such a charming gentleman—though he didn't stir their romantic fantasies, he fully awakened their maternal instincts.

Emotions are like water in a cup; if you pour too much into one cup, it overflows into others.

Unfortunately, not everyone could afford front-row seats; Mignis could see Matthew had no Adam's apple, but the women stretched their necks and still couldn't tell—they truly thought he was a handsome lad.

Beyond the audience in the back-row public seats, a deeply immersive curse echoed from the VIP box above the theater.

But Baron Gus didn't identify with the newlyweds—he identified with the lord, still nothing but a shadow so far.

This is slander!

"Which noble is this? I refuse to acknowledge any such noble in Campbell!"

"By Saint Xiang... I'm a lord too. I have tens of thousands under my rule. How come I've never heard of a peasant in the countryside saving up silver coins?!"

The servant standing beside him dared not even breathe, though inside he was torn between laughter and tears.

Master...

That's just a play.

If you dragged an actual peasant from your lands to perform, would you sit here watching?

And your subjects are so poor they can't even save silver coins—they've left their homes to work in Lei Ming City... Is that something to be proud of?

Human joys and sorrows do not connect; the threads of resonance are clearly different.

Baron Gus felt personally insulted, while the citizens in the audience not only felt the insult of reality, but also felt a fire ignite within them.

Marriage was merely the entry point.

The core of resonance was the insatiable desire for power.

If they had five, the price would become ten. If they had ten, it would become twenty... The goods on the shelf could be bought with money, but what the lords held was like the carrot forever out of reach of a donkey.

The spotlight focused on Eloise's pale face.

Like every gentle, caring girl of Campbell, she embraced her husband, holding his bowed head close to her chest.

They became each other's beams.

"... I'll find another way. I'll make that bell ring," Matthew seemed to regain his courage, raising his gaze—firm, hopeful.

Like the strong, brave people of Campbell.

Yet the ticking of the bell continued.

The trial's countdown had not ended; Mignis in the audience felt his heart being torn from his chest.

The champagne beside his armrest had been forgotten.

The ticking of his pocket watch became the only music in his ears, drawing every eye in the theater to the stage on this cold night.

Including Baron Gus in the VIP box.

He crossed his arms in anger, coldly staring at the stage, his leg jiggling beneath the table, determined to see how these fools would play it out.

When both the audience below the stage and the actors upon it had taken their places on the stage, regardless of status, each found their role.

The show—

Finally began in earnest.

The cold light of night turned to the sun of spring; as the backdrop shifted, the boy named Matthew ran across the stage.

His trial had begun.

Beads of sweat covered his forehead; his chest rose and fell like the bellows beside a forge.

His first stop: the lord's accounting office.

On a high stool, the steward flipped through the ledgers slowly, not even lifting his eyelids.

"Borrow money? No lord ever lends to mud-footed peasants. You should go to the loan sharks. You're in the wrong place."

It was the truth.

Gus nodded in satisfaction. Though his own steward wasn't so crude—he wouldn't directly point the peasant toward loan sharks—and a mud-footed peasant had no chance of even entering his office.

Changing the steward to a common servant would make it more realistic; only someone like Councilor Hollis would ever meet his steward.

"How can you do this? They're all man-eating wolves!" Matthew's voice trembled with anger, tinged with a suppressed sob.

The ladies and noblewomen in the theater all wore expressions of pity; some even pulled out handkerchiefs to cover their mouths, lest tears smudge their rouge.

The steward's voice remained heartless, cold as the castle's wine cellar.

"Rules are rules. But our baron is currently at war—he fights against the evil duke and the citizens. Your body is sturdy enough."

He produced a parchment and pressed it against Matthew's chest.

"Sign this. Sell your time to our lord. Pick up a gun and fight those greedy citizens. These five silver coins are yours."

"How long will this war last?" Matthew asked, his trembling hand reaching for the parchment.

The steward replied coldly.

"It might end next month—but that's none of your concern. Your term is five years."

Five years.

It was the most precious time of his life—and the most precious time of his new bride's life.

Matthew's hand shook; his eyes struggled—but finally he took the feather pen and signed his name on the parchment.

For Eloise's happiness, he was willing to sell his time. He believed that when the war ended, Saint Xiang would let him return home.

"Report to the barracks in three days. You have three days left."

The steward tossed the silver coins at him like charity, then casually shoved the indenture into a drawer.

Matthew kept running; the cheerful music now carried heavy bass notes, signaling that the trial was not over, that misfortune had not spared him.

The backdrop shifted to the bell tower.

Matthew grabbed his coin purse, extended his trembling hand, and offered it to the bell tower keeper.

But the keeper merely glanced disdainfully at the bag of silver coins, still warm from his touch.

"Unfortunate."

The keeper pointed to the massive, silent bell above.

"Just now, during the test ring, the rope snapped. A new one costs five more."

The audience erupted in uproar.

Even Mignis felt outrage at the keeper's arrogance.

But this was only the beginning.

The lights shifted again—now to a dye workshop thick with the smell of dyes.

Matthew knelt on the ground, facing the bloated, greedy workshop owner—the only person left he could beg.

"Please lend me the money. I'll give you five years of my time after this one!"

"Your time means nothing to me."

The owner exhaled a smoke ring, his eyes greedy, yet pretending generosity.

"But I like your pigsty—and the land around it. I'll lend you five silver coins. When you can afford to repay me, you get your property back."

Matthew ground his teeth.

For Eloise—for the girl who smiled shyly beneath her floral crown—he sold his only home.

No freedom. No land.

This diligent, brave, loyal young man of Campbell stripped himself bare—just to buy one bell ring.

He stood again before the bell tower keeper, clutching the heavy bag of silver coins.

This time, the keeper had no excuse.

Yet every audience member knew: this greedy vampire would not let the boy named Matthew off so easily.

Including Mignis, everyone wondered: what new torment would the bell-ringer inflict next?

The hunched old man idly filed his nails.