When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1143 The Holy Alliance is Doomed to Lose
"We believe in His Majesty the Holy Grandson, and we also believe in the believers of the Holy Alliance."

Many audience members looked puzzled as they watched the two figures, one tall and one short, holding hands on the stage.

Although it looks enjoyable, it feels different from before, as if it carries an overly strong political propaganda connotation.

The reason is simple: it's a pirated copy.

The Holy Alliance only published the bet on the galloping horse in the newspaper; there was no novel or play produced or rehearsed.

This scene was actually created by a folk theater troupe in an attempt to capitalize on the popularity of the story, and they forcibly altered it from a newspaper article.

They even changed Christon and Eugénie to their real names to avoid being approached by theater companies that bought their scripts.

So, without realizing it, it took on a touch of the political propaganda flavor of the Holy Alliance.

This bet on the galloping horse, at Horn's behest, quickly made it into the Pravda newspaper.

Almost three days later, the news reached Dawn Island, Windmill Land, Long Song City, and Flower Hill City.

Major newspapers such as Art Forest, Royal Times of France, and Changge News rushed to print reports on the matter.

On the port not far from the Dam City Theater, bundles of newspapers, still warm from ink, were tossed onto merchant ships by porters in a relay.

If you're willing to spend more money, you can buy the same day's produce in the morning.

If they couldn't bear to part with it, sample copies would be distributed to the newspaper's branches in various cities in the evening, and then printed and distributed locally after being arranged in lead type.

It will be cheaper to buy it then.

Before long, the clipper ship, fully loaded with steaming hot "Art Forest" newspapers, arrived at the breakwater of the outer harbor of Brand City.

In the distance, near a dense cluster of windmills, lies a high, white mountain range.

A cluster of dark red rooftops emerged from the thin mist at the foot of the mountains, densely packed together—that was Branding City.

The rain had just stopped, and mud had accumulated in the cracks between the stone slabs.

Amidst shouts, the newspapers fluttered through the air, landing in the hands of newsboys and newspaper vendors, and then being quickly delivered by horse to pubs and cafes on the street.

However, most illiterate commoners would pool their money to buy a copy and ask a literate person to read it.

There was still a quarter of an hour before work started, and everyone was eating bread while listening to the middle-aged man sitting on the wooden box reading the newspaper.

The middle-aged man had curly, shiny sideburns and a well-defined face.

Strangely, he pulled his hat brim down very low.

People say he was a typesetter at a printing factory. After the factory closed down, he often came here to read newspapers to his illiterate fellow villagers.

At this moment, he held a copy of "Art Forest" in his hand, still smelling of ink, his fingertips rubbing black: "...In other words, the Crab Roe Burger Grand Master Sibunchi made a bet with the Holy Alliance's Halkin and Theodora."

The wager was that if the Holy Alliance's Clockwork Motorcycle could defeat the Warhorse, then Harkin would be granted a ten-year term…

"Tsk tsk, it seems that Krissom is about to face a tragedy." A thin young man wearing a woolen hat spoke up from the crowd.

"That's not necessarily true. The machines from the Holy Alliance work quite well."

"Useful my foot! Look at those big families and managers at the exchange, they're offering odds of 1:8..."

"Whose odds are 1 to 8?" someone couldn't help but ask.

"Of course, it's the odds for motorcycles."

"No way?" A porter, wiping sweat with a handkerchief, touched his bald head. "Who would be so sure?"

The middle-aged man reading the newspaper rolled his eyes at him: "Didn't you read the newspapers from a while ago? The King of France, Charles VIII, spent a lot of money to make a locomotive using orogen springs."

Not only could they not outrun a galloping horse, but they were also too heavy and lacked the stamina of a galloping horse.

If you want to gamble on those 1:8 odds, go ahead and try it yourself. I've already bet everything on Benma, so I'm pretty sure I'll make something.

The young man in the fedora couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark: "The Pope is in trouble now. He wanted to show his face, but he's shown his backside instead."

The laborers and civilians immediately started discussing it, and many began to consider whether they should give it a try.

After all, speculation and risk-taking are practically ingrained in the people of Windmill Land.

Just as they were getting ready to fight, a discordant voice came from the side.

"I advise you to be careful." A hoarse voice came, and everyone looked in the direction of the voice to see a gray-robed man with a badge on his chest.

The laborers and commoners immediately began to whisper among themselves, with words like "runesmith," "alchemist," and "favored one" frequently popping up.

The alchemist seemed to be just passing by and overhearing, but he still spoke up: "The Holy Grandson is not an impulsive or foolish person. I advise you not to act rashly."

“You rune artisans, of course you have to speak on the side of the Holy Grandson.” The person in the reading center jumped down from the wooden box and stared at him as he spoke.

Runecrafters are actually a synonym for alchemists in the kingdoms of Fran and Leia.

The Empire has never been an isolated entity; the Holy Alliance has connections with all parts of the Empire.

After the Holy Alliance defeated Condé once, Leia twice, and Fran three times, and broke free from the shackles of theology, the alchemist finally emerged from the darkness.

We have no choice but to leave the darkness; if we fall behind, we'll be beaten by the Holy Alliance. We have to save ourselves.

Therefore, both Fran and Leia granted alchemists legitimate status.

Once registered, they could walk in the sunlight, enjoy the same treatment as artisans, and even receive a minor divine item. Following the custom of the Fran, they always preferred to use intermediaries for management, so rune artisan guilds were established in various regions.

Charles VIII adopted Horn's worship of the Father, and all local guilds had to obey the Runecrafters Guild of Flowerhill.

In any case, these rune artisans were able to step into the sunlight entirely thanks to the Holy Alliance for helping them demonstrate their value in uniting the people.

They are naturally sympathetic to the Holy Alliance.

Beside the middle-aged man reading the newspaper, another young man in a felt hat, who was always stirring up trouble, said in a sarcastic tone: "Whether your saint's grandson is a devil's lackey or the grandson of the Holy Father, we still don't know... Um, why are you covering my mouth?"

The middle-aged man reading the newspaper didn't answer; he just stared at him with a livid face, wishing he could slap him twice.

Looking around, the ordinary opportunists who had previously mocked the Holy Alliance were either pretending not to know them and leaving, or being pushed away as if by an invisible force.

He was right in the center of the hollow circle formed by the crowd.

The young man in the soft hat was bewildered. Just as he was about to ask a question, he noticed that the middle-aged man reading the newspaper next to him had already quietly left.

The Holy Path Brotherhood in Windmill Land is known for its fanaticism and assassinations, with some of its subordinate orders being particularly notorious.

This young spy from France hasn't even read the documents; he'll probably be assassinated tonight.

This fanatical Holy Path Brotherhood is no joke.

At the beginning of the year, a French merchant cursed in a tavern, "Saint Sun is a false prophet."

The next day, he was found sunk in the canal with a short knife engraved with "Sacred Way" stuck in his chest.

Not daring to look back, the middle-aged man reading the newspaper hurried along in his wooden shoes, stepping on the wet, slippery stone slabs, mud flying off his shoes from time to time.

Turn into a small alley, and at the end is a low house with a sign that reads "Old Hook's Herring Shop".

Two strings of dried herrings hung under the eaves, their eyes gleaming with an eerie light.

As soon as the door was opened, the copper bell rang once.

Wrinkling his nose, the middle-aged man reading the newspaper glanced around in disgust; the shop reeked of the salty, fishy smell of pickled herring.

Behind the counter, an old man with a wrinkled face was wiping a wooden bucket with a coarse cloth, muttering without looking up, "Today's pickled fish is sold out, come back tomorrow."

"I want the one with seeds," the newspaper reader said in a low voice, tapping his fingertips three times on the counter.

The shop owner glanced up, put down the burlap in his hand, and went around to the back of the counter.

Somehow, a hidden door, just big enough for one person to squeeze through, appeared in the corner of the wall.

"Go inside," he said, picking up a burlap sack to wipe the counter.

Crouching low, I slipped through the hidden door and descended the damp stone steps. The salty, fishy smell in the air was gradually replaced by the aroma of ink and incense.

"Supervisor Le Maire".

"You've come at the right time." The head of the Franco Kingdom's secret service, named Lemaître, didn't even look up. "How's the message going?"

"The news has spread throughout Branding City. Laborers, sailors, and vendors all know about it." The middle-aged man reading the newspaper pulled out a chair and sat down. "If Clockwork Motors loses this time, the Pope's prestige will probably drop significantly."

After the Sixth Ecumenical Council, Pope Horn's prestige almost surpassed that of several other popes, including King Priano.

After all, this pope really does have several warbands.

Putting aside the matter of the warband, his own reputation and credibility are also a huge asset.

With the involvement of the Grand Prince, the matter gained even more attention.

Previously, many women and uninformed members of the public did not care about the news of the horse-drawn caravan fighting against the machine caravan.

After this commotion, many citizens became interested and prepared to watch the event in person.

However, the fact that ferry ticket prices have risen in just a few days is a clue to this.

"What do you think of Theodora and Halkin's performance in the newspaper..."

"Either the Court of Truth has overly romanticized it, or the two of them have set a trap for the Grand Prince." Le Maire continued organizing the documents.

Ordinary people might not know what kind of personalities these two have, but surely the secret agents of the Kingdom of Fran know them well?
As for the purpose of setting this up, isn't it obvious by now?
Sometimes even Lemaître had to admire the Truth Court of the Holy Alliance; they really knew how to exploit trends and ride the wave of popularity.

As a result, even the news of the Border Knights being brutally beaten by vampires didn't generate much buzz; the entire empire was focused on the love story of a little dwarf.

"But... I'm a little worried."

Lemaître finally raised his head: "What are you worried about?"
“It’s not that I’m being paranoid,” the middle-aged man reading the newspaper said urgently. “You and I have both seen the royal family’s copper-powered locomotive with our own eyes. It’s like it’s falling apart when it’s running.”

It stalled after running less than a hundred steps, not even as fast as an ordinary post horse.

But the Holy Alliance is different. Their clockwork mechanisms are superior to our imitations. If their locomotives really have that level of sophistication…

"What can the royal family's useless fools compare to the Holy Alliance's machines?" Lemaître interrupted him.

The reader was now completely baffled: "So what you mean is? You know perfectly well, why..."

Lemaître smiled mysteriously: "Lord Lorenzo never places his hopes on those royal craftsmen. Rest assured, the Holy Alliance's machine is bound to lose!"

(End of this chapter)