When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1106 The human body needs metabolism, and so does the nation.
Horn pushed the empty bowl to the edge of the table, the ceramic bowl making a soft sound as it collided with the mahogany tabletop.

The wind and snow outside the window had stopped sometime ago, and moonlight shone through the frosted glass, casting dappled patterns of light on the floor.

“It’s been almost three years.” He suddenly spoke, his voice carrying a weariness he himself didn’t realize. “When was the last time I went to the mountain county?”

Raphael paused. "The Privy Council means that you should focus your energy on more important things..."

"An even more important place?" Horn scoffed.

Only then did he realize that he hadn't toured the various parts of the Holy Alliance for almost three years.

Even when they went on inspection tours, they only strolled around the vicinity of the Holy Mechanism Court.

Does he have to travel around like the Four Seasons Nyūpa in order to keep an eye on them?
He couldn't even keep an eye on the Holy Mechanism Court right under his nose, let alone anywhere else.

He was even lecturing the French through the loudspeaker; it was ridiculous.

René's fingers, resting on his knees, curled slightly.

He had just returned from Caxia County last month, and the sights he saw along the way were far more jarring than those in the reports.

At the canal construction site, the workers were driven to work by whips. They were paid wages, but it was no different from a contract of servitude.

In some villages and towns, itinerant monks were even carried out on palanquins by the villagers, not to mention the absolute authority of some priests.

Horn suddenly grabbed the oil paper package, the paper rustling as it rubbed together.

“These,” Horn gestured with his chin towards the pile of oil paper packets, “are they all?”

René nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "They are all, but not all are loyal heirs; quite a few are..."

"Are they newly rich from the old aristocracy? Or lowly officials who have climbed up from the bottom?" Horn finished for him, his eyes darkening. "Then what are you waiting for all this time for?"

René raised his head and looked Horn directly in the eye without fear: "I'm waiting for you. I can't move so many people without your authorization... and I'm not sure either."

"Uncertain about what?"

"I'm not sure if you really want to take action against them."

This sentence was like a block of ice thrown into boiling oil, causing a burst of noise in the previously quiet office.

Raphael's bowl slammed onto the table with a clatter, and Duvalon abruptly stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

Horn remained unusually calm. He stared at René for half a second, then suddenly laughed.

Rather than feeling angry or disappointed, I felt more relieved.

"Are you afraid I'll be assimilated by them too?"

René did not avoid his gaze: "Isn't it possible?"

Inside the fireplace of the Holy See building, the charcoal was making a faint crackling sound.

Horn recalled the boy eating potato roots in the Gulag, young Zelson holding a bowl and saying, "As long as everyone can have enough to eat, I'm willing to be a slave for the rest of my life."

"What will you do then?" Horn's voice was very soft.

René's fingers gripped the hem of his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white: "If I am certain of this, I will ask Princess Jeanne to return immediately and subdue you."

"Are you crazy?" Raphael finally snapped, pointing at René's nose, his hand trembling with rage. "Do you know what you're saying?"

Duvalon also stood up: "René, you—"

“If that day ever comes, and I become like Durdaff,” Horn interrupted them, reaching out to gently pat René’s head, just like back on the Holy Grail Mountain, “then do it. If necessary, you can even kill me. That won’t be me anymore.”

René's shoulders suddenly trembled, and after a long pause, he finally managed to squeeze out two words through clenched teeth: "...Yes."

Horn looked at René, who had followed him through countless battles over the years without ever showing fear, but now he was trembling.

“Next week’s regular meeting will be held together with the Fathers’ Congress.” Horn withdrew his hand. “At that time, you can start rolling in the net. I authorize you.”

Nodding, René stood up and picked up his coat from the sofa, putting it on.

He had just reached the door when Horn suddenly called out to him, "Wait."

Horn stepped forward, reached out to straighten his crooked collar, and then brushed away the snow and sand that had somehow gotten stuck to his shoulder.

"Be careful and stay safe along the way."

A few seconds later, a muffled response came from inside the coat: "...I understand."

The door closed softly, leaving only the three of them in the office. Raphael blurted out, "That kid... he's so stubborn."

“He’s right.” Horn sat back on the sofa and poured himself a glass of warm water. “You two still have two tasks to complete.”

Duvalon immediately perked up his ears, and Raphael also stopped what he was doing.

“First, coordinate with René’s operation. Allocate the necessary personnel and arrest those who need to be arrested without asking for permission. Just do it.” Horn took a sip of water. “Second, clean up these dishes and tables. I’ve had a long day; can’t I at least relax a bit?”

Duvalon seemed to remember something, chuckled, and leaned close to Horn's ear, saying mysteriously, "Your Majesty, I have something to tell you. Don't you think Edwin and Sisi, the Holy Treasury Secretary, are getting a little too close?"

Horn looked at him strangely: "How did you know?"

“Based on my deduction,” Duvalon raised an eyebrow smugly, “their hair clips are matching couple styles, and…”

"Where did you come from?" Raphael laughed heartily from the side. "You're only finding out now? This news has been around for ages. I thought you were going to tell His Majesty some earth-shattering secret."

Duvalon's mouth formed an "O" shape: "No... I thought I deduced it myself..."

Horn couldn't help but point at Duvalon and burst into laughter, and Duvalon himself joined in the laughter.

The oppressive atmosphere in the office finally dissipated somewhat.

No one noticed that in the hallway outside the door, René stood in the shadows, drawing the character "屮" on his chest with his fingertip.

This unbelief Cheka official prayed to the Father for the first time—that the day Papa spoke of would never come.

Seven days slipped away silently, like sand through my fingers.

At the construction site of St. Regis, the scaffolding was still standing, but the workers' movements had slowed down significantly, and the foremen's tempers had also subsided somewhat.

Your Majesty was probably just angry for a moment that day, and will forget about it in a few days.

The abbot of the monastery has already submitted a letter of repentance to the Privy Council, punished himself with three cups of wine, and that's it.

Zelsson thought so too.

He stood in front of the dressing mirror, laboriously buttoning up his silk shirt.

The clothes I made last year are now so tight they feel like a second skin. The fat on my stomach is holding the buttons up so tightly that I can't button the third one at all.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, reaching up to pull his stomach in.

I almost squeezed out the precious deer antler soup I ate yesterday.

In the past two years, his weight has increased by seventy pounds like an inflating balloon. The uniforms that he used to be able to easily squeeze into can no longer be buttoned up.

After working hard for a while, Zelson decided to take a break.

He picked up a French-made almond biscuit and took a bite while it sat on a silver tray with freshly brewed black tea on the table.

Perfect for rinsing my mouth and sobering up.

Yesterday he treated several department heads to dinner at the Golden Scale Restaurant. The wine from Flower Hill was... wow...

Why can't the Holy Alliance brew this kind of wine?
He vaguely remembered that during the meal, someone mentioned the construction site, and he patted his chest to assure them, "It's okay, they're all our own people."

After all, he is a loyal heir who came out of the Holy Grail Mountain with His Majesty; he should be given this much face.

Look how big a fuss this was back then, but now it's all been downplayed, hasn't it?
There was a sudden knock on the door.

Zelsson continued adjusting his clothes in front of the mirror, casually asking, "Who is it?"

"Delivering peat." The voice outside the door was a little hoarse.

Zelsson frowned. He had just ordered peat yesterday, so how come it was delivered so quickly?
He opened the door, ready to urge the other party to unload the things into the backyard.

But standing outside the door were not coal delivery workers.

On the left is a man in a Night's Watch uniform, with a dark face and a loaded wind-up musket at his waist.

On the right are military police officers, their boots gleaming, their hands resting on the swords at their waists.

Their eyes were icy cold, like ice in the winter month.

The ivory comb in Zelsson's hand fell to the ground with a "thud," its teeth shattering into pieces.

(End of this chapter)