When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 75 - 74: Prince Kongdai, Traveling Incognito

Chapter 75: Chapter 74: Prince Kongdai, Traveling Incognito

In the scorching midday sun, the noblemen’s hawks still soared between the towering spires.

About one-third of the way up the tower, there were layered red rooftops of varying heights.

Between the crowded wooden and stone houses, fences and low walls formed the streets.

On the potholed road, vagrants and cattle horses mingled together, all the same dung-yellow color.

When they stood side by side, you couldn’t even tell who was human and who was beast.

In the concentric circles centered around the High Castle Church, beyond the inner circle of residences, the outermost layer comprised various workshops.

These included a paper-making workshop, a leather workshop, a blacksmith shop, a general store, but mostly dye workshops and breweries.

The Thousand River Valley exported over fifty percent of the Leia Kingdom’s dyes and was the kingdom’s second-largest exporter of spirits.

Amid these workshops was the crooked Mermaid Tavern.

Guild masters with some spare change would come to this small tavern at noon to take a break and have a drink.

Standing to drink were the apprentice workers, those in black were papermakers, those in blue were brewers, those in colorful clothes were dyers, and the bare-chested ones were blacksmiths.

In the dim sunlight of the tavern, they leaned together muddily, loudly discussing strange tales and complaining about their wives and children.

"There are more and more vagrants on the streets," the blacksmith, who had just entered the tavern, couldn’t wait to grab a drink to wet his throat and said to the boss, "Bacon and meat rolls, Old Deng."

The tavern owner slammed the fried bacon and meat rolls onto a plate, doused them with a ladle of sauce, and carelessly tossed it in front of the blacksmith.

"It’s getting more and more unrestful lately," with a spoonful of blood pudding, the satiated Segal, the general store owner, mumbled indistinctly.

The tavern owner named Old Deng was still clearing empty glasses, "Isn’t it?"

"Hey, have you heard about that counterfeit pope in Gulag?"

"Didn’t Archbishop Banifus send nearly a thousand people to crush the bandits?"

Ever since someone claimed to be the Pope, this joke had been amusing the citizens of High Castle City.

That guest lowered his voice mysteriously, "Defeated."

"Defeated? Who says?"

"Tsk, it’s spread among those vagrants that the Gulag Pope is the True Pope, the Pope of the Thousand River Valley People."

When it came to such topics, the sleepy workers and artisan masters leaning on the bar or tables were no longer drowsy.

Even the guests sitting by the door tacitly closed the tavern door.

"Let me tell you, these rumors come from vagrants and Public Register Farmers who escaped from Gulag, saying they saw it with their own eyes, the church’s army was wiped out in an instant."

"Is it true?"

"Very true, the story goes that those Gulag rebels, each had a lightning stick blessed by Miseria."

"I heard that too, they say that lightning rod is powerful, with just a wave it’s a thunderbolt, instantly striking people dead."

"That’s nothing, let me tell you, those Gulag rebels even keep a Little Frost Giant."

"What’s that?"

"A Frost Giant’s cub, said to be not even ten years old, as tall as two adults."

The general store owner Segal said dissatisfied, "Aren’t these just rumors?"

"Hard to say." The tavern owner handed a beer to a new customer in black, "This morning, I just saw the guards arrest two talkative vagrants, I wasn’t sure before, but now I’m starting to believe."

"Do you know what’s the worst?" The blacksmith in a leather vest stuffed bacon into his mouth, mysteriously said, "I went to the church today to ask Priest Vesta, do you know what he said?"

He told me, this whole thing is just a rumor, it definitely won’t happen; absolute fake news, he and everyone said so."

"My God."

"Does the Chosen Pope of the Thousand River Valley people really exist?"

"How could such a thing be?"

"I don’t understand." The middle-aged man in a black robe, quietly drinking aside, suddenly turned, "Didn’t the priest say it’s not true?"

"Oh, hahaha, my friend, that’s what you don’t understand." The dyer in the corner wearing a red cap laughed, "Only what the church denies is credible."

"Friend, you need to know, some things that supposedly can’t happen, after the church denies them, perhaps they actually might."

"Years of experience."

The people in the tavern burst into laughter.

Unlike elsewhere, High Castle City was still under church control, not managed by a City Council like El Free City.

So the artisans here had some fondness for the Pope, but greatly despised the local church.

"Who cares? Once Prince Kongdai’s Holy Knights arrive, they’ll be pulverized," Segal always disliked the Secret Faction, "I just hope His Highness comes soon, or I’ll go bankrupt."

"Our Defender (Banifus’s nickname) isn’t having a good time." As the black beer entered his mouth, the blacksmith wiped the froth from his beard, "Wanted to show his face before His Highness the Prince, but ended up showing his behind."

"Hahahahaha."

Everyone burst into laughter, and the shop was once again filled with joyful air.

"Don’t bother looking." Tossing a dinar on the table, a middle-aged man wrapped in a hermit’s robe and hood pushed his empty cup and plate and stood to leave.

But then the tavern owner stepped forward and grabbed him.

"Hey, who told you it’s one dinar?" The tavern owner knocked on the cedar table with thick knuckles, "Two dinars."

"Wasn’t it always this price before?" The middle-aged man frowned with a troubled eyebrow, asking, puzzled.

"Before was before, now is now, look at this flood, where is there any wine? You think it’s expensive, I think it’s expensive too."

As if accepting his bad luck, the middle-aged man fumbled in his pocket, finally finding thirty coppers, "I only brought these..."

"Ah, this isn’t enough for one dinar, alright alright alright, I’ll consider myself unlucky." Snatching the coppers from the middle-aged man’s hand, the owner impatiently waved him off, "Bring it next time, off you go, off you go."

"By the way, Segal, is your distant nephew named Horn? Has he returned?"

"I’m so worried, his home is near the Gulag Monastery, maybe he was washed away by the flood, I was hoping he’d take care of me in old age."

"Don’t be so pessimistic, Segal, maybe he was captured by that fake pope."

"Hahahahaha!"

Ignoring the vulgar words of the artisans behind him, the middle-aged man in black stepped outside the tavern as a guard in black approached.

"Your Highness the Prince, those drinks and food are at most one dinar, these people are clearly insulting you, should I..."

"What do they know?" Interrupting the guard, Prince Kongdai looked up at the blazing sun, "This year’s seasons are indeed odd, heavy rains in summer, autumn feels like summer."

Putting on the hood to cover his face, Prince Kongdai patted the guard’s shoulder, "Let’s go, we’re going to the church to see Banifus."

A small town of two or three thousand people clearly couldn’t support an army of nearly eight thousand, so Prince Kongdai had nine regiments camp in the field.

He himself rode an old horse, taking only two guards, and arrived early at High Castle.

After all, this was considered half his hometown, Prince Kongdai had some affection for it, not wanting to ruin it or damage his reputation here.

"First go inform Banifus, tell him not to make a fuss, I suspect there are Secret Faction spies in High Castle City.

Tell him to prepare information on the Gulag rebels in advance, I’ll take it and leave.

Also, tell him I won’t spend much time with him, I’m not interested in those banquets he’s prepared."