Chapter 1215: Chapter 1143: The Holy Alliance Is Doomed to Lose
"We believe in His Majesty Saint Sun, and we also trust the believers of the Holy Alliance."
Looking at the two figures on the stage holding hands, one tall and one short, many in the audience appeared puzzled.
Although it was thrilling to watch, it felt different from before, as if there was an overly heavy sense of political propaganda.
The reason is simple, it’s a counterfeit version.
The Holy Alliance only published the Horse Racing Bet in the newspapers, without adapting it into novels or plays.
This scene is a makeshift adaptation by a local theater troupe trying to ride the wave of popularity, crudely modified from newspaper articles.
They even changed the names of Krison and Eugenie to their real names to avoid trouble from the troupes that purchased the script.
So, unconsciously, a trace of the Holy Alliance’s political propaganda flavor was added.
At Horn’s instruction, this Horse Racing Bet swiftly appeared in the Truth Court.
In just three days, the news spread to Dawn Island, to Windmill Grounds, to Changge City, and to Huaqiu City.
Major newspapers such as "Yilin," "Royal Times of Falan," "Long Song Newspaper" all rushed to print the news.
At the port near the Dam City Theater, newspapers emitting the fresh scent of ink were loaded onto merchant ships with the help of stevedores.
If you’re willing to spend, buy the morning edition.
If not, the evening sample will be distributed to the newspaper’s outlets in various cities, typeset and printed locally.
Buying then would be cheaper.
Soon, clipper ships carrying the hot-off-the-press "Yilin" newspapers sailed to the breakwater outside Branded City’s harbor.
Near the dense clusters of windmills in the distance lies a high white ridge.
In the mist below the ridge, a cluster of densely packed dark-red rooftops emerged, that is Branded City.
Right after the rain, mud accumulated in the cracks of the cobblestones.
Amidst the shouting, newspapers flew through the air to reach the newsboys and vendors, then swiftly delivered to taverns and cafes on the streets by horseback.
However, more illiterate commoners pooled their money to buy a copy, asking a literate person to read it aloud.
Fifteen minutes before work started, everyone holding bread, chew while listening to the middle-aged man sitting on a wooden box reading the news.
The middle-aged man had shiny curly sideburns and distinct facial features.
Curiously, he wore his hat brim low.
People said he was a typesetter from the print shop; when the shop closed, he often came here to read the news to his illiterate countrymen.
At the moment, he was holding a still ink-scented "Yilin," his fingers blackened with ink smudges: "...meaning, the Crab Roe Castle Monarch Sibangqi and Holy Alliance Harbin, Theodora set a bet.
The bet is if the Holy Alliance’s spring machine wins against the warhorse, Harbin will receive a ten-year term..."
"Tsk tsk, it seems Krison is in for a tragedy," said a thin young man in the crowd wearing a woolen cap.
"Not necessarily, the Holy Alliance’s machines work quite well."
"What a load of crap, look at those big families and senior managers in the exchange, they’ve set the odds at 1:8..."
"Who has the 1:8 odds?" someone couldn’t help but ask.
"Of course, it’s the machine odds."
"No way?" a porter wiping sweat with a handkerchief rubbed his bald head, "Who’s so sure of that?"
The middle-aged man reading the news rolled his eyes at him: "Didn’t you read the newspapers a while back? The King of Falan, Charles VIII, spent big money trying out motorized carriages made with mountain copper springs.
Not only did they fail to outrun the horses, but the machines were also so cumbersome that they couldn’t even match the horses in endurance.
If you want to bet on those 1:8 odds, go ahead. I’ve put all my savings on the horses, at least I can earn a bit."
The young man in the woolen cap couldn’t help but make a sarcastic remark: "This time, the Pope’s in trouble; trying to show off, and ended up showing his rear."
The workers and commoners immediately started discussing eagerly, many considering whether to give it a try.
After all, speculation and adventure are ingrained in the bones of the Windmill Grounds people.
Just as they were gearing up to take action, an incongruent voice came from nearby.
"I’d advise you to be careful," a hoarse voice said. Everyone turned to look, and it was a gray-robed man with a badge on his chest.
The workers and commoners immediately started whispering, frequently mumbling words like "rune artisan," "alchemist," "blessed."
The alchemist seemed to be passing by and coincidentally overheard but still spoke up: "Saint Sun is not some impulsive fool, I advise you not to act rashly."
"You rune artisans, of course, you’d side with Saint Sun." The man reading the news jumped off the wooden box, staring at him as he spoke.
Rune artisan is actually the term for alchemist in the Falan Kingdom and Leia Kingdom.
The empire has never existed in isolation; the Holy Alliance and regions throughout the empire have always maintained connections.
After the Holy Alliance completed the triad of killing Kongdai, fighting Leia, and defeating Falan, thereby breaking the shackles of theology, the alchemists finally emerged from the darkness.
There was no avoiding it – falling behind would mean getting thrashed by the Holy Alliance, so they had to save themselves.
So, Falan and Leia both granted alchemists legal status.
As long as they registered, they could walk under the sun, enjoy the same treatment as artisans, and even receive a minor divinity.
According to the customs of Falan, they always like to set up interim agents for management, so rune artisan guilds were established in various places.
Charles VIII learned from Horn’s Holy Father Association, and all local guilds have to listen to the rune artisan guild in Huaqiu City.
Anyway, these rune artisans being able to walk in the sunlight is all thanks to the Holy Alliance for elevating their united front value.
They naturally sympathize with the Holy Alliance.
Trailing beside the newspaper-reading middle-aged man, another youth wearing a bowler hat spoke with sarcastic irony: "Your Saint’s Grandson—is he the devil’s lackey or the Holy Father’s grandson—still unknown... Uh, why are you covering my mouth?"
The newspaper-reading middle-aged man did not answer, but his face turned dark as he looked at him, wishing to slap him twice.
Upon gazing around, the civilians who originally mocked the Holy Alliance either pretended not to know each other and left, or seemed to have been pushed away by some invisible force.
In the hollow circle formed by the crowd, at the center was him.
The youth in the soft hat was dazed, about to ask, only to find that the newspaper-reading middle-aged man had already quietly left.
Over at Windmill Land, the Holy Sect Brotherhood and some subservient factions are always known for their fanaticism and assassinations.
Now, this young spy from within Falan’s territory hasn’t even read the materials, likely to be assassinated tonight.
This fanatical Holy Sect Brotherhood is not to be trifled with.
Earlier this year, a Falan merchant cursed "Saint’s Grandson is a false prophet" in the tavern.
The next day, he was found sunk in the canal, a dagger engraved with "Holy Path" in his chest.
Not daring to look back, the newspaper-reading middle-aged man scraped along in wooden shoes, stepping on the slippery stone and rushing, mud blocks constantly flying off his soles.
Turning into a small alleyway, the end was a low house with a sign "Old Hook Herring Shop".
Under the eaves hung two strings of dried herring, their eyes glimmering eerily.
He pushed open the door, and the brass bell jingled once.
Wrinkling his nose, the newspaper-reading middle-aged man scanned the surroundings with disgust; the shop was filled with the salty fishy smell of pickled herring.
Behind the counter, an old man with a face full of creases was rubbing a wooden barrel with coarse cloth, muttering without lifting his head, "Today’s pickled fish is sold out, come tomorrow."
"I want the one with roe." The newspaper-reader lowered his voice, tapping three times on the counter with his fingertips.
The shop owner glanced up briefly, set down the burlap, and circled behind the counter.
Whatever he did, a hidden door barely enough for one person appeared at the corner.
"Go on in." He said, taking up the coarse burlap again to wipe the counter.
Bending over, he squeezed through the hidden door, descended along wet stone steps, the salty fishy smell gradually replaced by the scent of ink and incense.
"Lemei Supervisor."
"You arrived right on time." Lemei, the leader of Falan Kingdom’s spies, didn’t even lift his head, "How’s the news been spread?"
"It’s already spread in Branded City, laborers, sailors, peddlers, all know about it." The newspaper-reading middle-aged man pulled out a chair and sat down, "If the spring machine loses this time, the Pope’s prestige will likely plummet significantly."
After the sixth Great Monarch meeting, Horn, this Pope’s prestige, has almost surpassed that of the King Puliano and several other Popes.
After all, this Pope truly owns a few battle groups.
Besides the battle groups, his reputation and credibility are also a huge asset.
With the involvement of the Great Monarch, the situation has gained even more traction.
Previously, regarding the news of horse workers contesting machines, many women and uninformed citizens were uninterested.
After such an uproar, many citizens became interested, preparing to visit the scene.
Yet judging by the rapid increase in ticket prices over the past few days, one can see the clues.
"What do you make of Theodora and Harbin’s portrayal in the newspaper..."
"Either the Truth Court has excessively glorified them, or the two have set a trap for the Great Monarch." Lemei continued organizing the documentation.
What kind of character these two have, ordinary people don’t know, but Falan Kingdom spies do know.
As for the purpose of the trap, isn’t it obvious by now?
Sometimes, Lemei can’t help but admire the Truth Court of the Holy Alliance, they truly know how to stir and capitalize on hype.
Causing even the news of border knights being beaten by vampires to have little heat, the entire empire rushed to follow a small dwarf’s love story.
"But... I’m a bit worried."
Lemei finally raised his head, "Worried about what?
"Not that I’m overthinking." The newspaper-reading middle-aged man said urgently, "The royal family’s mountain brass spring machine, you and I both saw it with our own eyes, running as if falling apart.
It barely ran a hundred steps before jamming, not even matching an ordinary post horse.
But the Holy Alliance’s different, their spring machines are superior to our imitation machines; if their machine really performs at this level..."
"The royal family’s junk, what’s there to compare with the Holy Alliance’s machine?" Lemei interrupted him.
Now the newspaper-reader was puzzled: "Then what do you mean? You know full well, why..."
Lemei smiled mysteriously: "Lord Lorenzo never places hope on those royal artisans, rest assured, the Holy Alliance’s machine is destined to lose!"
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