Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 95 Standing Before the People

A peculiar sight has appeared on the streets of St. Petersburg:
Every day, the black-robed priest would push a cart through the streets distributing holy bread. All he asked for was a small piece of linen, and the entire city flocked to him for it.

You must know that was Father Pugin, a big shot who could freely enter and leave the Winter Palace. The holy bread he distributed must have even more divine power.

Besides, it's just a piece of linen; even the poorest family in St. Petersburg could afford it.

Cartloads of holy bread were accepted by the citizens, and pieces of linen were loaded onto small handcarts, quickly filling an entire room at 64 Gorochovaya Street.

The citizens spoke highly of Father Putin's approachable nature, while his adversaries and surveillancers were baffled.

"Perhaps he's gotten confused from reading too many hymns." This was a nobleman's exact words upon seeing the report.

But when that day came, everything was different.

East Prussia suffered a crushing defeat, Warsaw fell, and millions of wounded soldiers began pouring into St. Petersburg.

The streets, usually deserted, were suddenly filled with wounded soldiers, groaning, cursing, and swearing, yet still unable to receive proper care! Some collapsed in agony on the streets of St. Petersburg, and the entire city transformed into a scene of purgatory.

At the Winter Palace, Queen Alexandra, unusually, lost her temper.

"These misers! Parasites on the country! A bunch of seemingly loyal old foxes! What do they take my orders for?!"

"Father Putin gave me time to prepare, but what have these gilded parasites been doing?!"

An account book lay on the ground—it recorded the supplies donated by the nobles, the largest being no more than ten thousand rubles, while some were as stingy as a few hundred rubles.

With over a million wounded soldiers, roughly one ruble could be given to every four of them, which, at current prices, wouldn't even buy a large loaf of black bread.

Not only that, the nobles who were involved in the black market trade that the Queen investigated also resumed their black market business after paying their fines, and even became more and more brazen in order to make up for their losses.

The head maid, watching the queen's outburst, sighed inwardly.

Alexandra's indecisive nature prevented her from forcefully implementing her previous policies. At a crucial moment, she chose to compromise with the nobility, which not only resulted in the failure to collect the expected resources but also caused her reputation to suffer another blow.

After all, once you compromise, you'll do it again.

After venting for a full ten minutes, Alexandra finally managed to control her emotions. She turned around and asked anxiously, "Where is Father Putin? At this point, we can only rely on his wisdom."

"Your Majesty, Father Putin, he..."

"What's up with him?"

"He should be on the street right now."
-
On the streets of St. Petersburg, a soldier lay quietly on the terrace of a train station. On his left leg was a blood-red wound that had festered and smelled foul, with flies and mosquitoes swarming around it.

He was wounded in the Battle of Warsaw; a piece of shrapnel from a shell took a chunk of flesh from his calf, but miraculously spared his life.

Then came the rout, climbing onto a train, and then another rout. By the time he arrived in St. Petersburg, the wounds on his legs were rotting beyond recognition.

Without medicine, without a hospital bed, and even without bandages, he was simply left lying on the street like a lump of rotting meat waiting to decay.

What am I doing this for? And who would care about someone like me?

In his hazy state of consciousness, it seemed as if someone appeared before him, slowly reaching out their hand to him.

Am I...am I going to die? Are angels coming to take me away? The soldier's thoughts were hazy and incoherent.

But... why is the angel wearing black clothes... and why are his wings black too?
The next moment, when he opened his eyes and saw the person opposite him, he realized that it was a priest who was not very old, with a large black bird perched on his shoulder.

"Father, am I...am I going to die?" the awakened soldier asked in a trembling voice.

"No, you won't die, but you'll have to bear with it for a bit." The other person took out a piece of burlap and bent down to treat his wounds.

A searing burning sensation spread from his legs, but this only fueled the soldier's survival instincts, and he gritted his teeth and endured it.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but the pain gradually subsided, and he found that his wound had been re-bandaged. The other person had even left him a piece of bread and some water.

Recalling what had just happened, the soldier couldn't help but mutter to himself.
"Have I witnessed a miracle?"

The same thing happened on the streets every day, and only then did people realize that the priest's exchange of the holy bread for linen had such a profound meaning.

He had long foreseen this tragedy and wanted to save everyone in this way.

For a time, words like "saint," "holy man," and "hermit" were frequently heard among the citizens.

Then followers began to appear, and within a week, dozens of people were following the black-robed priest.

Every day, these people and the priests pushed carts filled with burlap and food through the streets, seeking to treat the seriously wounded soldiers. At least several hundred people received their kindness.

For a time, the voice of the black-robed saint resounded throughout the streets and alleys of St. Petersburg. However, compared to the enormous number of wounded, these efforts were merely a drop in the ocean, and the situation in St. Petersburg continued to deteriorate.

At the tram station, medic Sasha, carrying her medical kit, jogged toward a wounded soldier whose leg had been amputated. The soldier was just about to crawl toward the tracks where the tram was approaching.

"Don't do this! Don't waste your life!" the medic shouted in the other man's ear as he dragged him away.

"Leave me alone! Let me die! Get out of my way!" The soldier angrily cursed the young man who was trying to help him.

He struggled, resisted, spewing filthy, vulgar language, and as he cursed, the soldier suddenly burst into tears!
"Waaaaah~~~ Please let me die! I won't be in so much pain in the other world. You're a good person, go help others."

"Huff...huff..." The young medic, panting heavily, pulled bandages from his backpack, knelt on the ground, and looked at the soldier with incredibly earnest eyes, saying...

"The road to heaven is long, and some things can be done along the way. The road of life is too short. I only hope to help you in the present moment."

"This is what the person I respect most taught me, but I was too cowardly to face it back then. Today, I will never give up on you!"

Tears welled up in the eyes of the soldier with the broken leg. He had always been treated like a gray animal, and no one had ever spoken to him like this before.

If only someone in heaven would treat him like that.

But a shout shattered this harmonious scene.

"You pig! Why are you blocking the way! Get out of the way! Move the terrace!" a Cossack cavalryman on horseback shouted.

“Please wait a moment, he is badly injured!” Sasha waved his arms.

But the other party actually walked up to the front arrogantly and raised the weapon in his hand!
"Get away!!!"

The riding crop was raised high in the sunlight, dazzling to passersby.

Sasha closed his eyes, bent down, and used his body to shield the wounded soldier on the terrace.

call! ! ! !

The whip fell with a whoosh of wind!

A dark figure suddenly rushed into the middle of the group!
Snapped! ! !
The sound of a whip cracked, and a black bird squawked as it flew into the sky!

The black-haired man in the black robe stood in the middle with his back, leaving a long whip mark on his back.

The young medic looked up and saw a familiar face appear before him.

"Father Pugin!"

“Hey, Sasha, you’ve grown up,” the black-robed priest said with a smile, a bloody welt on his cheek where a whip had pulled.

For a moment, the tram platform was completely silent.

The Cossack, whip in hand, looked around blankly, almost everyone glaring at him angrily.

The next moment, the raging volcano erupted!
"He attacked the priest! Go!"

"How dare you harm a priest! You son of a bitch! Don't let him get away!"

"Repent! How dare you lash out at a saint!"

The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, engulfing the Cossacks.

This became the starting point for a widespread riot among wounded soldiers throughout St. Petersburg!
The crowd surged toward the Winter Palace. Faced with the massive wave of people, the military police dared not suppress them, and some soldiers even turned around and joined the rioting crowd.

In less than half a day, thousands of people had gathered in the square of the Winter Palace.

The soldiers guarding the area frantically raised their guns, but none dared to pull the trigger.

A bloody conflict seems imminent.

A man dressed in black robes stepped forward from the crowd, spreading his arms like a martyr and facing the soldiers' gun barrels with his chest.

"Make way, I need to see the Empress." His voice wasn't loud, but it made the guards on both sides lower their heads and dare not look him in the eye.

The man gathered his black robes and slowly ascended the steps of the Winter Palace.

Behind them came a deafening roar of slogans.

Putin!!
Putin!!
Putin!!!
(End of this chapter)