When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1205 Choices Beyond Choices
Raindrops pattered against the wooden windows, staining the window frames of the Windmill Land Independent newspaper office building black.

Lemingston put down his pen, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stared at the manuscript in thought.

There were no other sounds in my ears except for the sound of rain and the creaking of the hand-cranked printing press downstairs.

After thinking for a long time, he opened his eyes, raised his head, and looked out at the sea through the steamy wooden window.

On the last day of September 1459, it had been raining for three days in Dam City.

The leaden-gray clouds hung low, coloring the sea and inland rivers the same.

At the dock, five black cargo ships flying red chalice flags had just finished unloading their cargo.

The deck was damp, with remnants of oats and rye still clinging to the crevices.

Right next to the wreckage, several vampire soldiers in red uniforms were directing local militiamen to load bags of food onto a wagon.

Lemingston remembered that ever since the day the royal court invaded, there had been five ships of food every day without interruption.

He clearly remembered the dam city port area a month ago—

The streets were filled with homeless people who had committed robberies, and abandoned houses were piled high with corpses that no one had taken care of.

But now, although there is no one on the streets, there are no beggars or homeless people, and no excrement, corpses or garbage.

Apart from a few pedestrians, the only people you could see were patrol teams.

The unit usually consists of two or three vampire soldiers with three to five locally recruited militiamen, who basically take over the night watch and security functions.

For two months, these vampires not only refrained from any brutal actions against Dam City, but were also exceptionally friendly.

Seventeen bandit gangs, totaling 2340 bandits, were completely wiped out within two months.

As for the refugees, they are refreshed every morning and disappear every night, their whereabouts unknown.

Many people in the windmill area actually understand this, but they still applaud it.

It would be best if these outsiders who take their jobs, steal their belongings, and even harass their female relatives every day died.

Serving as blood bags for vampire lords is a way of making use of waste.

As for the plague, it miraculously melted away like snow after the vampires arrived.

The vampires explained that it was due to the power of necromancy, but Lemington believed that the plague was definitely caused by them.

Lemingston's attitude toward vampires is quite complex.

From the bottom of his heart, he hated vampires; vampires, who feed on humans, are humanity's natural enemy.

There should have been no possibility of reconciliation between the two sides.

Unfortunately, compared to Fran and Leia, the royal court was actually a relatively better type of ruler.

Leaving aside public security, let's just talk about grain prices.

The price of grain has now fallen to 1 dinar for 7 pounds of bread.

The speed of this plunge is as fast as the speed at which speculators fall from the rooftop.

Even Lemington had to admit, well done.

But will Windmill Land fall under vampire rule again after hundreds of years?
"Boom boom boom——"

A rapid knocking came from downstairs, interrupting Lemingston's thoughts.

But as soon as he heard the knocking, he knew it was Mattis returning.

He put down his pen and walked down the creaking wooden stairs.

The others in the newspaper office had already opened the door for Mattis.

He stood on the doormat, his hair and shoulders soaked by the rain, clinging to his body.

But he was still holding a huge oil paper package.

“Mr. Lemingston!” He slammed the oil paper package on the table. “Guess what? Grain prices have fallen again!”

One dinar can now buy nine pounds of oats, which is about the same price as before the pandemic.

It's a shame there was no bread, just raw oatmeal, so I had to cook it at home. But it's better than eating potato starch noodles.

"It would be nice to eat some."

"Yes, two months ago, let alone oatmeal, we couldn't even get potato starch."

Lemingston grabbed a handful of oats, crushed them between his fingertips, and found the grains to be plump and free of sand. This was better than the grain many speculators had sold before the plague.

Just as he was about to speak, Mattis suddenly pulled out a gold-embossed invitation from his pocket and handed it to him.

“Mr. Lemingston, Governor Akadera of the City Hall asked me to bring this to you.” Wiping the rain from his face, Mattis spoke somewhat nervously, “He invites you to the Governor’s residence tomorrow morning for a meeting.”

Holding the invitation, Lemingston reluctantly tossed it onto the table.

He had heard about Wang Ting's trick before.

When they occupied the border knight territory last year, they summoned local gentry, workshop owners, and other local talents.

Give him the title of municipal advisor, grant him some real power, and rely on the locals to stabilize the situation.

Lemingston was renowned and practically the local religious leader of Dam City, which naturally attracted the governor's attention.

Lemingston, however, had mixed feelings about the matter. Instead of asking whether he would go or not, he asked Mattis, "Did you see anything at the port today?"

Mattis pulled up a chair and sat down, taking a cup of hot water: "Why didn't I see it? Two more big ships came this morning, and they still haven't stopped."

After unloading the vampire soldiers, they transferred to inland river barges and continued their journey.

I didn't dare look too closely; I was certain it was heading east, along the Nauan River.

Lemingston remained silent for a moment, then slowly sat down.

The French have been particularly furious since they learned two months ago that the royal court had occupied the Dam City.

So they joined forces with Leia, organized two armies, and after two months of rage, their anger had become super doubled.

Unfortunately, despite their anger, they still haven't sent troops; they're just stationing them on the border.

The royal court must know this now, which is why it keeps sending more troops inland, hoping to strike first.

“Mr. Lemingston,” Mattis asked in a low voice, “can the Francans win?”

He asked the question somewhat cautiously. When the Fran people were around, although they weren't exactly kind to the Windmill Land people, at least they were human.

He was different from those opportunists who would follow whoever offered them the most benefits.

Lemingston shook his head: "No need to rush, we'll find out in time."

"What did the Holy Alliance say? Have they sent any news?"

“You’ve asked the perfect question.” Lemingston pulled out a new roll of newspaper. “The Pravda has issued a strong condemnation of the Royal Court.”

"Condemnation? How was it condemned?" Mattis perked up.

"Forget about it, they're not fighting; they're just condemning the vampires for slaughtering refugees..."

After a moment of surprise, Mattis's excitement faded slightly: "What about my brother...?"

“They haven’t moved.” Lemington’s words carried a hint of sarcasm. “Even when beating a dog, you have to consider its owner. As long as the Holy Alliance remains neutral, they won’t make a move. Don’t worry.”

Mattis looked conflicted, unsure of what to say, and finally pressed on, "So, will you still accept the governor's invitation?"

Lemington leaned back in his wicker chair, gazing out at the rain outside the window.

The rain was still falling, and on the roof of the Governor's Palace in the distance, the red Holy Grail flag fluttered in the rain, like a burning blood.

"Let's put it off for now. Just say I'm sick, I have a fever, and I can't go."

“Yes! That’s what we should say!” An editor immediately put down his scissors and agreed. “If the French win, we’ll be associated with the royal court, which would be awkward. Let’s stall for time and see how things go.”

Another editor nodded in agreement: "Yes, we can't trust anyone right now. We can wait until one side gains the upper hand before making a choice."

Frowning, Lemingston irritably rubbed his fingers against the crack in the wicker chair.

Why do the people of Windmill Land always feel that they have to side with one side, either the French, the Royal Court, or the Holy Alliance?

He suddenly remembered Gilles, whom the royal court had previously wanted to surrender to.

Giyel refused outright, saying, "The Black Legion belongs only to the Windmill Lands."

On this point, he actually admired Guillermo del Toro, despite their political differences.

Why do we always think about relying on others?

Lemingston spoke softly, his voice low, yet it silenced everyone in the room.

Do we have any other options?

(End of this chapter)