Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard entered the doors of St. George's Cathedral a quarter to seven, before Mass had even begun.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass panes of the high windows, casting patches of red and blue light onto the stone floor. Rows of long wooden benches stood side by side, with scarves and coats draped over the backs of the benches, and the air was filled with the scent of incense and old wood.

Richard carefully scanned the rows of bowed heads and found him in the third row, near the edge. Finba was sitting there, his back slightly bent, his hands neatly placed on his knees.

This time he was wearing a clean white shirt, perhaps the only one without patches. His hair was combed, but the white hair at his temples was more noticeable than before.

Richard walked over and sat down beside him, the wood of the bench creaking slightly.

"I didn't expect you to be religious too?" Finba's eyes were still fixed on the altar in front of him.

“I’m still searching for faith,” Richard said, lowering his voice as much as possible, “but… work leaves me no time to attend Mass.”

Finba's lips twitched, whether in a smile or something else, he knew it was an excuse.

The candles on the altar were lit one by one, and an altar boy dressed in a white robe came out, holding a tall cross in his hand. The Jesus carved on the wood cast a long, thin shadow in the candlelight.

Another boy followed behind, carrying a swaying incense burner in both hands. Milky white smoke drifted and swayed, carrying the scent of myrrh and frankincense, slowly rising towards the arched ceiling.

The high priest followed at the back, wearing a green tie and carrying a book of scriptures, walking slowly and solemnly toward the platform.

When the bishop finally took his place, the entire congregation stood up.

"Please kneel down," the chief priest said.

All the congregation knelt on the kneeling benches in front of the pews. When Finba knelt down, his knees struck the hardwood with a soft thud. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and his lips moved slightly, as if reciting some prayer.

"I confess to Almighty God and to all my fellow believers my sins in thought, word and deed," the priest's voice came from the direction of the altar. "I sin, I sin, I sin terribly."

The congregation responded in unison, "May the Lord have mercy on us."

The sound surged toward Richard like a tide. He did not kneel, but sat on the bench, head bowed, like a person deep in thought.

He is not a believer, so it is inappropriate for him to stand or kneel here. He can only sit, without blocking or offending anyone.

The priest opened the Bible and began his sermon, speaking of the Gospel of Luke, about the story of a lost sheep found by a shepherd. Humba opened his eyes but did not stand up; instead, he leaned slightly forward, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him.

"Greenwood has gone mad," Finbar told him. "The workers are working overtime every day, and they can't keep this up for long."

"I know," Richard scratched his head, "my plan was ill-considered."

Finba chuckled: "You've already taken in the second batch of people. Your foreman, Sean, told me that you arranged dormitories for them. One of the young men's wives had just given birth, and you even had blankets and eggs delivered to them."

"I could have done better." Richard had wanted to send some baby formula, but at the time, baby formula was a niche product and was almost sold as medicine.

"You kept your word, I didn't expect that." Finbar finally turned his head and glanced at Richard.

"I remember everything I said."

The sermon continued, the priest's voice flowing gently like the river in the background.

"The workers' conditions are getting worse and worse," Finba turned his gaze back to the altar. "Greenwood has a bad reputation outside and can't find any new people. The old folks are doing the work of two people. Some people collapse on the assembly line, drink a mouthful of cold water, and then push themselves back to continue working."

"So we must completely crush him," Richard replied, "so that he can never get back up."

Finba's body stiffened for a moment.

"I need you," Richard said. "You have to stand up and tell everything that happened at the Greenwood plantation, in the newspapers and in court."

Finba brought his forehead to the back of his hand, closed his eyes, and pondered for a while.

"You're asking me to testify against Greenwood," he said.

"That's right."

"it is good."

Richard was stunned.

"You...agree?"

"I agree," Finba took a deep breath, "but what do you want?"

Richard calmed himself down and readily agreed. Finba was now trying to confirm whether this was something Richard wanted to do, or something they both wanted to do.

“The ledger,” he said, “the payroll ledger at the Greenwood factory, with everyone’s hours and wages, which I guess are far lower than those of the average worker.”

Finba nodded: "I can get that."

"There are also work injury records."

Hearing this, Finba was stumped: "I've never even seen this thing before. I didn't even know they remembered it."

Richard nodded. This thing was most likely locked in the accountant's cabinet. An Irishman like Finbar probably couldn't even get into that office.

"Then I'll go check," Richard suggested.

Where can I check?

“Guy Hospital,” Richard said. “Greenwood doesn’t care about workers’ workplace injuries, so they have to go to charity hospitals, which are the most hopeful places.”

"You won't be able to find it," Finba denied.

Why?

"Because those medical records are written with anonymous names or pseudonyms," Finba said, looking at the cross on the altar. "Greenwood doesn't allow workers to register with their own names. All that 'protecting the factory's reputation' nonsense—if you go to the hospital, you'll only find a bunch of numbers that don't match up with anyone."

Richard frowned.

"But I can give you names," Finba turned his head, "everyone who has been injured, when they were injured, you can take their names to the hospital to check, the medical records won't be missing."

"You remember everything?" Richard asked, somewhat surprised.

Finba gripped the back of the chair tightly, and Richard saw the pain materialize on his face, wrinkles spreading like cracks.

"This is no ordinary thing," he said. "Of course I remember it."

Richard's heart sank. Seeing his compatriots fall one by one was no easy thing, and he could only imagine the harm these scenes had caused him.

"You need to think this through," Finbar warned. "You're going to take this evidence to court. Greenwood won't sit idly by; he'll fight back. He won't let you walk into court alive."

"I don't know either."

"The question is, do you have the guts?" Finba's voice rose, "to wager your own life."

“I’ve faced death a few times, Finbar.” Richard looked at him earnestly. “Believe me, he’s not the most difficult enemy to deal with.”

Finba stared at him for a few seconds, as if confirming something, and then slowly nodded.