When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1155 The Promise of the Galloping Horse
As he reached for the calendar on the bedside table, Sir Spencer paused.

Although he had anticipated it, he was still somewhat nervous when September 12th, the opening date of the Holy Union World Expo, arrived.

“My Lord, do you need my service?” The old butler walked gracefully from beside the fireplace.

Sibangqi, sitting on the edge of the bed, waved his hand: "Your old hands are not those of a young girl. I'll wash up by myself."

"As you wish." The old butler stepped aside.

Jumping off the edge of the bed, the Great Prince stepped onto the thick wool blanket, walked past the long framed artwork of the Thousand Rivers Valley Wolf Hunt, and arrived at the dressing table against the wall.

On the washbasin stand next to it were brass basins, worn smooth enough to be used as mirrors.

Next to the washbasin stand were cups, toothbrushes, and tooth powder—not Cecil, but the milder Robert brand.

Of course, it's also more expensive.

Beside the dressing table stood a coat rack with a wooden pole carved with scrolling grass patterns and a copper deer head-shaped hook at the top.

Reaching out to touch the deer's head, the Great Khan shrugged: "It's alright."

There are two types of hotels in Saint Union.

One type is the kind of ordinary hotel, like the Beetle Hostel or Green Day Hostel.

Another type is the high-end hotel with only three to five guests.

If you ask the Holy Alliance, "You said you were equal, so why are you still creating differences?"
The only response the Holy Alliance could give was that unreasonable demands do not mean they do not exist; after all, they need to make a living.

Dajun dipped his toothbrush in tooth powder and began brushing his teeth in front of the mercury mirror. But after only a few strokes, a commotion broke out outside the window.

Although it was only four o'clock in the morning, the lights outside were already on.

The cries of street vendors, the hustle and bustle of the crowd, the neighing of horses, and the shouts of coachmen filled my ears.

The king knew that they were all travelers going to the opening ceremony.

"Hmph, Expo, hmph, Horn Galar." The Great Lord suddenly increased the force of his brushing.

The opening ceremony will be held at around 7:00 a.m., and the venue will be the suburban park on the north bank.

People rushed to get a spot, some even setting up their tents a day in advance.

After all, the area is only so big, and in the past two months, as many as 50,000 travelers have come to the Holy Temple, which is enough to build a small town.

Many people even stayed at Jeanne d'Arc Castle because they were on the road or thought the St. Regis Hotel was too expensive.

Since it was the first time the event was being held, the Saint Union Expo had a limited selection of exhibits.

If you really want to watch it, you can finish it in three to five days.

This expo will last for three whole weeks. Wouldn't it be better to wait until the peak season is over and then take your time to enjoy it?

The noise of the crowd outside the window subsided over time, but the Great King was in no hurry.

He knew that, no matter what, the Holy Alliance would give him the best viewing spot.

Because the first program of the expo's opening ceremony was the "Galloping Horse Motorcycle Rendezvous".

Water dripped from the towel into the basin. Sibangqi looked up at himself in the mercury mirror.

Stripped of his royal aura and makeup, he was just a somewhat disheveled middle-aged man with dark circles under his eyes.

Despite having a full head of black hair, Lord Spongi was nearly seventy years old, and Theodora was his daughter born late in life.

How could she get involved with a dwarf? If you like short people, then the Holy Grandson is quite short too.

Thinking of his children, he couldn't help but sigh.

Needless to say, her son had long since sidelined her.

But Spongi knew his abilities were limited, and besides, he preferred hunting and banquets to dealing with affairs in the castle every day.

In his view, the purpose of being a great king is to be able to hunt and feast without restraint, and all kinds of political affairs are responsibilities and obligations that must be undertaken.

Now that this obligation has been taken on by the son, isn't that good?

Now that his son controls the purse strings, he, as a father, has no dignity in front of his son and can only be subservient.

Thinking of his daughter, Grand Duchess Spongi's veins throbbed even more. Recalling her and Halkin's state that day, it was nothing like her at all.

But clearly, although unlike her, it was the state that most easily stirred the emotions of Prince Spongi.

He had only one thought in his mind at that moment: he couldn't let his daughter be deceived by this dwarf! So he readily agreed to the bet: whoever was faster, the galloping horse or the chariot, would give Halkin ten years if he won, and if he lost, his daughter would have to break up with Halkin.

The question is, what does the speed of a galloping horse or a motorcycle have to do with his daughter's marriage?

He was completely led astray by his daughter's emotions; to put it simply, he got carried away with his passion.

This was clearly a setup by the saint's grandson and saint's daughter!

It was his own daughter playing support, and maybe she even orchestrated the whole thing herself.

But the words had already been spoken, and after being disseminated in newspapers, coupled with the huge success of "Criston and Eugénie"...

Now that things have come to this, he can no longer bring himself to admit that he was just making things up back then.

The Holy Alliance has achieved its goal: the question of whether a galloping horse or a motorcycle is faster, which was previously of no concern to anyone, has now become a hot topic in the Empire.

News like the Frontier Knights getting beaten up by both vampires and Norns on the border, turning a single-minded person into a double-edged sword, no longer makes the front page.

However, the Holy Alliance must have the means to fulfill the bet before they can entice him to accept it.

He smiled gloatingly at himself in the mirror, because he had already heard that the Holy Alliance's motorcycles had been bombed; it was all over the newspapers.

There was a copy of Pravda in the drawer under the dressing table; it was yesterday's newspaper that the housekeeper had bought.

Scone bent down and took it out, his fingertips tracing the headline on the front page.

"Saint Sun leads the clockwork industry; Saint Union produces fifteen more clockwork locomotives in ten days; the Galloping Horse Appointment is held as scheduled."

He chuckled, unfolded the newspaper, and the smell of ink hit him.

The report said that Leonardo built a new precision lathe, and the dwarven craftsmen worked through the night to produce parts, even using the "Pilgrimage Efficiency Law".

"Fifteen vehicles in ten days?" He sneered and cursed at the newspaper, as if the saintly grandson were right in front of him.

He had seen dwarf craftsmen before; they would spend three days working on a single axle and scrap more than a dozen blanks.

To build fifteen locomotives in ten days is impossible unless he can urinate honey grapefruit tea.

"Still holding on." He put down the newspaper, but within two seconds, as if driven by something, he reached for it again.

What if? What if the Holy Alliance really has that ability?

He recalled the awe he felt when he first saw the Wien Dam, and the tinplate and metalwork workshops in Hot Springsburg.

Impossible, still impossible. Even if those things existed, it would still be impossible.

He shook his head, put down the newspaper, and cursed himself for being paranoid.

But less than half a minute later, Mr. Sponge couldn't help but pick it up again and stare at the "Leonardo-style lathe" in the report.

Can that thing really produce high-precision parts?

He picked up the newspaper and put it down, put it down and picked it up again, for almost half an hour.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and the Great King snapped out of his reverie: "Come in."

"Your Majesty, the carriage is ready." It was his captain of guards who opened the door.

"Alright, then I'll be going." The Great King put down his newspaper, said goodbye to the steward, and stood up.

Walking through the corridor and outside, the surging crowds had already left, and the streets were empty except for the lights and starlight.

Looking around, the houses on both sides of the street are neat and orderly, all made of red bricks.

The wooden frames of the windows were painted beige, and even the signs hanging at the entrances were placed at the same height.

There were no haphazardly parked carriages, no homeless beggars, and even the sound of the wind seemed orderly.

"It feels so quiet, and there aren't any Horngalar people on the street."

The guard knew he was referring to the infamous Cheka and the Night's Watch who forbade him from riding and hunting in the park.

Three days after arriving at the Holy See, the High Lord had already clashed with the Cheka and the Night's Watch, and it was uncertain when he would run into the Gendarmerie.

"Ah, maybe they transferred the Cheka and the Night's Watch to the North Shore Suburban Park."

"Let's go." The Great Khan climbed into his black luxury carriage, and with a shout from the coachman, the carriage slowly moved forward.

(End of this chapter)