Chapter 640: The Gluttonous Rat!

"Ladies and gentlemen—"

"It's our turn to save our kingdom!"

Rainy night, outskirts of Roland City.

The tavern, its gates tightly shut, had closed early; only a sliver of light leaking through the curtain seams hinted that those inside were still awake.

Cloaked figures sat at the oak tables of the tavern, their gazes all fixed on the man standing before the bar.

No cheers.

No applause.

Because none was needed.

They had not returned here today; they had prepared for this moment a long time, only recently letting their long-suppressed emotions explode.

The group silently finished their final drinks, then rose one by one, pulling their cloaks tight as they vanished into the sweltering rain-soaked night.

They moved swiftly, with strict discipline, like an army under perfect command.

Or rather, they had once been exactly that.

In the winter month of 1053 A. S., the Kingdom of Lyne had dispatched a group of young officers to serve under Count Derek, supporting the old nobility of the Campbell Duchy in their civil war.

That campaign ended in the Republic's victory.

Edward, who captured these officers, did not execute them; instead, he retrained them, instilled in them Republican ideals, and made them see where their true enemy lay.

Now, as ghosts haunting the heads of feudal lords, they had returned to the very place they once marched from.

…

Since "Death Knell" Cassius took control of Roland City's defense and order, the once-bustling capital had been frozen in place.

An invisible hand gripped every throat, forcing the people to hold their breath even when breathing.

Except for curses directed at Saint Clement Cathedral and Edward.

The streets stood empty, save for patrols of black-robed gravediggers drifting like phantoms—the heavy thud of their military boots in the puddles becoming the city's only pulse.

Whenever a pitch-black carriage halted before a house, heart-wrenching screams and suffocating pleas followed.

That was the "Execution Squad" at work.

The terrifying rumor that "the King eats children" spread like an invisible plague, piercing the thick walls of noble estates and seeping into the leaky hovels of the slums.

From the mighty Baron Wickton to the destitute beggar, everyone felt a bone-deep chill and terror toward the Devalu family seated upon the throne.

Even the court sycophants loyal to the old monarchy sometimes woke gasping from nightmares, touching their necks with a mournful sense of shared doom.

They certainly stood with the King—but deep down, they knew they could never be closer than Ma Lusi.

Even Ma Lusi had been utterly purged, his entire bloodline wiped out without mercy… what were they, then?

In this court where everyone feared for their life, no one dared claim absolute safety.

The Campbell Duchy's Royal Intelligence Bureau had never made progress so smoothly that even Director Xidi Ni was stunned.

They had once needed to gather vast amounts of clues—analyzing who had deposits with Mr. Andis, who was worth turning. Now their question had shifted to: who was more worth cultivating.

Their pace of intelligence gathering gradually fell behind the pace of change in Roland City—often, by the time their reports reached Edward's desk, the events were already history.

Strange things began to happen then.

Even in Lei Deng City, not everyone trusted the Duchy's paper currency or the Silver Regulatory Commission's innovation of anchoring it to silver.

But in Roland City, silver pounds had become the second-best commodity after Aos Gold Coins—on the black market, they could buy anything an ordinary person dared not dream of.

Whether it was a person… or a soul.

Outside the city, the abandoned "Giant's Throat" quarry.

Once the primary source of stone for Roland City's expansion, it now lay deserted, its jagged boulders like fangs and its bottomless pits yawning wide.

Beneath the howling storm and torrential rain, the faint flicker of firelight could not be seen from distant watchtowers. And Cassius, busy seizing power under the guise of cleansing, cared nothing for such out-of-the-way places.

Mortals were but ants.

The ore he needed was not in the quarry—it was in the monastery.

Yet, in a corner unseen by even the Giant's gaze, beneath a vast limestone dome, a solemn group had gathered.

Among them were officers in old military uniforms—Captain Faye and his comrades, released by Duke Edward during the Winter Month Coup.

They brought the rebels what they needed most: money and guns, and the "Republican" ideals from downstream along the Benshui River.

Standing beside them were a group of stonemasons, their hands calloused from years of labor.

Though the guildmaster of the stonemasons was a coward, Ba'er, Nate, and others had not had their spines broken—just like the statues they carved.

As the largest guild of the old era in Roland City, they formed an absolute majority.

Besides the officers and stonemasons, there were others who seemed out of place: intellectuals from the Ferimando Club, and priests shaken by Saint Roland Cathedral and Saint Clement Cathedral, who felt sympathy for the New Testament.

All of them believed Saint Xisi was already "dead"—otherwise, how could one explain the suffering in Roland City, and Saint Clement Cathedral's utter silence?

The Divine Child was Saint Xisi's successor.

Saintess Karin was the chosen one who brought his legend to earth.

As for the Devalu family—

They were the first castle they would topple!

Captain Faye stepped before the group, glanced around, and spoke with powerful passion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have all heard the cries from the cathedral."

"The demon seated upon the throne is no longer our protector. His evil and cruelty would shock even demons!"

"I am ashamed I once gave my honor to his crown—he has defiled not only our kingdom, but our faith, our souls… perhaps we never needed it to begin with!"

He pulled a sheet of paper from his coat and slammed it onto a nearby uncarved granite slab.

The paper was covered in dense handwriting, ink still wet—it was the "Roland City Citizens' Declaration," drafted overnight by all of them!

Their shared declaration!

Faye drew his short sword, pointed the blade downward, and drove it deep into a crack in the rock.

Then, in a solemn voice, he was the first to swear.

"I, Faye, swear here before Saint Xisi and the land I love—"

"We shall no longer be loyal to any secular monarch. We shall replace the ugly Three Estates Assembly with a National Assembly."

"We shall draft our own Charter, until we build our own Republic!"

"Or die here, spilling our last drop of blood."

All present—the stonemasons, the scholars, the priests, the common citizens—stepped forward without hesitation.

One hand after another pressed upon the granite slab where the sword stood embedded; the dim torchlight illuminated their resolute faces.

Low, solemn oaths echoed through the empty quarry—

"We swear!"

At the outer edge of the crowd, a slender man kept wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

His name was Newcas.

He was the general manager of Roland City's only fire company, a member of the Three Estates Assembly, and an invited advisor to the National Assembly that would replace it.

Saint Xisi above—

These madmen had finally reached this point!

As a profit-driven merchant, Newcas's instincts screamed in alarm.

If even one of these people turned traitor, his head would be mounted on the city gate tomorrow, dried by the wind—even Ma Rui could not save him!

Yet, in the end, he did not flee.

For as he looked at those fevered faces, he remembered the Baron Wickton he had met that morning… a face whiter than the marble of Saint Roland Cathedral.

No one in this city was truly safe; burying his head in the bedding would not spare him from what he was already caught in.

Newcas took a deep breath of the damp air, forcibly suppressing his fear, and joined the madmen in swearing the oath.

At the same time, he silently prayed.

Saint Xisi above—

Your faithful servant has never betrayed his faith in you; it is merely the Devalu family that has become too blasphemous. They no longer believe in retribution in the afterlife—how could one expect them to pay their fire extinguisher bills?

As your humblest servant, I can only make a choice I will not regret, guided by the simplest longing for light.

So that Newcas's remaining life will not end as pitifully as that of Claude, the court jester.

Though Newcas had never believed a single second of the New Testament, what he thought in this moment was precisely the most "blasphemous" passage within it.