Don’t raise unruly people in extreme cold weather

Chapter 885

Kallen's letter, along with the cabinet's reply, was respectfully presented to Perfecto's desk by the aide-de-camp.

She first glanced at the cabinet's reply - the content was nothing more than clichés like "full support for the Regent's plan", "craftsmen and immigrants have been mobilized", and "financial allocations are being coordinated".

She put the document aside casually, a cold smile appearing on the corner of her mouth.

The cabinet's response was within her expectations. After all, with her current power, no one dared to openly defy her will. At most, they would be reserved in their enforcement.

These bureaucrats always know how to appear respectful on the surface while hiding actual resistance between the lines.

In comparison, she was more concerned about the letter sealed with the Workers' Party emblem.

The wax seal has been opened, but the mark of the damage is still clearly visible - a pattern of intertwined gears and wheat ears, symbolizing the new identity of the Workers' Party.

Perfectoet's fingertips gently stroked the cracks in the wax seal, as if he could glimpse the changing political situation in the North through this tiny detail.

She unfolded the letter paper, the first half of which was a neat official document, which rigorously elaborated on the Workers' Party's concern for the rights of colonial workers, and attached a draft of the Labor Protection Ordinance.

The texture of parchment is much rougher than the official paper used by the cabinet. It is a cheap paper that is a specialty of the North. The Workers' Party seems to be deliberately highlighting its class stance.

The clauses are quite standard, consisting of such contents as "guaranteeing minimum wage", "limiting working hours" and "establishing labor representatives". They are even more conservative than the Labor Law promoted by Perfect.

Perfect glanced through it quickly and thought to himself: Karen is still the same as always. She is radical at heart, but she always appears gentle on the outside.

Even if these proposals are submitted to Parliament, they will only be subject to a superficial debate and will be passed with only a few details amended.

However, although this may seem insignificant, as long as this ordinance is passed, it will symbolize that Karen and her Workers' Party have made achievements in politics and taken a solid step forward.

If she keeps doing this, as long as she makes progress day by day, one day she will be able to accumulate enough influence to become the prime minister.

Perfect had no doubt about this, especially since she had always planned to put Kallen in that position.

After reading the surface content of the letter, Perfect read it again, but this time she read it in a special order.

As she reread the words in a specific order, the secret code hidden between the lines gradually emerged.

The first letters of seemingly ordinary words are connected to form new sentences, the subtle differences in paragraph spacing form punctuation, and even the traces of ink smudges become part of the code.

“Her Majesty has been summoning Conservative MPs frequently recently. There are reports that she has privately promised to expand the privileges of colonial nobles. Although the cabinet has passed the resolution, alchemical materials account for less than 20% of the Treasury’s appropriation list, which is lower than the estimated demand.

In addition, a split occurred within the Democratic Liberal Party - some members began to question the priority of the "Spark of Civilization" plan, believing that local construction in the North was more urgent.

The Workers' Party can take this opportunity to promote the Labor Protection Ordinance, but it requires your explicit support. If you agree, I will propose an amendment in Parliament to include colonial labor representatives in the management system...

——Yours faithfully, Kallen

Perfect frowned slightly.

Queen Anne's actions did not surprise her. As a queen, she should have used gentle means to balance the forces of all parties instead of favoring one side.

Those Conservative aristocrats are like hibernating snakes. They seem to be docilely coiled in the corner of Parliament, but in fact they may bite people at any time.

Queen Anne's actions made Perfect feel that she had matured - she knew how to use the privileges of the nobility in exchange for their support for the New God plan, and this was a brilliant move.

However, the split in the Democratic Liberal Party and the problem of funding from the Ministry of Finance are hidden dangers, especially when the Old World Plan requires continued investment.

After careful consideration, Perfecto began to write his reply.

The content of the reply was just routine official courtesy, but Perfect still expressed his support for Kallen, but he didn't say it too obviously.

After all, the surface content of the letter was just a cover-up, and Perfect needed to avoid letting people know that she and Kallen had a close relationship.

"The regulations can be advanced and submitted to the National Assembly for deliberation. After approval, they will be submitted to the Cabinet for approval and implementation. They will first be implemented in the name of a 'pilot' before autonomy."

These words are just ordinary palindromes, but if they are decoded using special methods, one can get the real reply that Perfectoct wrote to Karen.

She used a code that only the two of them understood, and those seemingly redundant modifiers actually indicated the order in which the letters were to be extracted.

“I have been informed of the situation. The reorganization of the Workers’ Party is very meaningful. You deserve congratulations for entering the political arena as an independent political force.

I think the content of the regulations is a bit compromising, but considering the current situation, it is indeed not appropriate to provoke fierce disputes.

You don't need to pay too much attention to the problems of the Democratic Liberal Party. For now, you just need to stabilize your base and the Workers' Party. You have a great chance of winning the next cabinet election. What you need to do now is to accumulate reputation and influence.

As for the issues concerning the Cabinet and the Ministry of Finance, you don't need to worry about them, I will handle them myself."

After writing the letter, Perfect called the aide-de-camp, handed the letter to him, and then instructed: "Send this letter together with the cabinet's reply."

After the aide left, Perfect turned and looked out the window - the desert night sky was full of stars, completely different from the snowy night in the north.

Kallen's letter reminded her that in addition to facing the threats from the gods, the political struggles of humanity itself still existed. It was unrealistic to expect everyone to put aside their struggles for interests and unite to deal with foreign enemies.

Just like now, when she was preparing to fight the old gods in the desert, the parliament hall in Langton was probably arguing fiercely over the allocation of funds and the dispatch of immigrant groups.

"It's really... a turbulent time." Perfect sighed softly, with an indescribable melancholy in his eyes.

Her fingers unconsciously stroked the Touchstone at her waist. The coolness of the metal reached her fingertips, making her eyes slightly dazed.

Perhaps when she truly defeats the old gods and saves the world, these trivial political games will become irrelevant.

But before that, she had to continue this war on two fronts simultaneously - against the gods in heaven and dealing with politicians on earth.
-
Putting aside Perfecto's melancholy for now, the work of the missionaries in the City of Seven Hills is now in full swing.

The shadow cast by the floating city module over the City of Seven Hills has now transformed from an initial symbol of fear to a sign of hope.

This steel behemoth, quietly suspended in the air, acts as a silent guardian, providing a continuous supply of materials to this weather-beaten city.

The alchemical runes flashing at the bottom of the module are like a new morning star in the night sky, becoming a new spiritual sustenance for the survivors.

Whenever night falls, the runes will emit a soft blue light, illuminating the ruined streets below and bringing a touch of life to this dead city.

With the continued operation of the energy tower, the City of Seven Hills has undergone tremendous changes.

The ancient imperial road that was once covered by ice and snow has reappeared its true appearance. The stone slabs that have experienced thousands of years of wind and frost have once again become a major traffic route after the snow melts. The missionaries used this ice-free area generated by the energy tower to build a temporary camp.

The tent fabric strengthened by alchemy has good thermal insulation and cold-proof effects, and can still shelter people living in it in the cold wind.

With the help of the energy tower, the temperature inside the tent can even be maintained close to zero degrees.

The buildings are modular in design, with wall interlayers filled with special insulation materials and roofs covered with solar panels.

They will further help the survivors and missionaries withstand the severe cold and prepare for the upcoming large-scale immigration.

“Come and get hot porridge and medical check-ups!” a young missionary’s voice echoed through the camp.

In the big iron pot in front of him, thick porridge made from compressed biscuits was steaming, and the aroma mixed with a small amount of dehydrated vegetables was particularly tempting in the cold air.

The survivors queuing up for food had a look of desire and vigilance in their eyes.

They couldn't resist the aroma of the food, but their fear of the gods made them always wary.

After all, the sacrifices of the believers of the Old Gods had caused too much damage and blow to the city, and the scars left in the hearts of the survivors were difficult to heal.

In the medical tent, doctors were examining the survivors. An old man trembled and stretched out his frostbitten hands to receive treatment from the doctor.

The doctor carefully applied a layer of frostbite ointment on his hands, then wrapped them with a clean bandage, and finally gave him a pair of woolen gloves.

"Change the dressing every day," the doctor instructed. "If the wound becomes red or hot, come to me immediately."

This moved the old man deeply. With tears in his eyes, he murmured, "Since the end of the world, it has been a long time since anyone cared about us like this."

Behind him, other survivors lined up for treatment, most of them suffering from varying degrees of malnutrition and frostbite.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the camp, a special ceremony was taking place. A dozen survivors knelt in front of the statue of the new god and accepted the conversion ceremony.

The missionaries pinned the metal badge symbolizing the new god on their collars and solemnly announced: "From today on, you are the people of the new god. May the glory of the new god guide you towards a bright future."

The converts bowed their heads, some clasped their hands together devoutly, while others looked around furtively, as if weighing the pros and cons.

After the ceremony, they each received a new set of warm clothes and extra food ration coupons.

However, not everyone welcomes the change.

In the shadow of the ruins in the distance, several figures were watching all this coldly.

The tattoos of the old gods on their arms were faintly visible on their sleeves, and their eyes were flashing with hatred.

"These heretics," a scarred man said through gritted teeth, "They have defiled the sacred land."

His companion, a tall, thin woman, added grimly, "Soon they will learn the price of offending the gods. The full moon is coming."

She showed her jagged teeth when she spoke, and a necklace made of finger bones hung around her neck.

Their whispers were blown away by the cold wind, but the malice spread in the air like a substance.

The missionaries seemed to have sensed something and all looked in that direction, but there was no one there, only a few dead leaves swirling in the wind.

Eric has now become an important bridge between missionaries and survivors.

His new cape contrasted sharply with the other survivors, making him particularly conspicuous as he moved through the underground passages.

At this moment, he was leading a team of steam knights deep into the most complex area of ​​the underground network.

The heavy footsteps of the knights echoed in the narrow passage, and the steam from the armored exhaust ports condensed into white mist in the cold air.

"The 'Long Snake Area' is ahead," Eric said to the leading knight in a low voice, "The survivors there are the most stubborn and the most dangerous."

The leading knight nodded, his voice muffled by the metal barrier under the armored helmet: "Understood. Everyone, stay alert."

Although some survivors have already started contact with the missionary group, some survivors are hiding in the deepest part of the underground network and are unwilling to communicate with them.

This group of knights was sent to contact these diehards, hoping to ease the relationship between the two sides and narrow the distance between them.

Even if cooperation cannot be achieved, at least we must ensure that there is no hostility.
-
In the shadows of the collapsed Pantheon's basement, the flickering firelight cast several distorted figures on the mottled walls.

On the arms of these people, the tattoos of the old gods carved into the skin with bone needles and ashes looked particularly hideous in the firelight, and they squirmed as if they were living things with the rise and fall of their muscles.

"Look at these flyers!" A burly man with scars on his face tore the paper with the emblem of the New God into pieces, his rough fingers trembling with anger.

The old woman beside him added grimly: "It is blasphemy to erect statues of new gods on once holy ground!"

Her dry fingers stroked the broken murals on the wall, which depicted the old gods accepting sacrifices.

The leader - a tall, thin man with eyes glowing an abnormal red - slowly raised an ancient ceremonial dagger.

The dark red marks left on the blade were particularly glaring in the firelight, indicating that it had been used recently.

"Tomorrow, when the moon is full," he said, his voice echoing in the damp basement like a venomous snake, "we will let the altar bleed again. This time, we will use the hearts of those tin men to please the gods!"

A burst of fanatical echoes suddenly rang out in the basement, and the believers raised their weapons one after another - rusty daggers, rough stone axes, and even sharp animal bones.

There was a crazy gleam in their eyes, as if they had seen the altar stained with blood.

In the corner, a young man retreated quietly into the shadows.

There were no tattoos on his arms, and there was a gleam of hesitation in his eyes.

He looked down at the crumpled flyer in his hands. The picture of warm shelter and ample food depicted on it contrasted sharply with the coldness of the basement.

When the cheers of the fanatical believers reached a climax, he disappeared silently into the dark passage, leaving only a series of almost imperceptible footsteps.

(End of this chapter)