Free Web NovelChapter 1193: Chapter 1122: The Newly Born Dawn Federation Republic, Jeanne, and Love
On the dawn of November 11, 1456, morning mist like ice-mixed gauze enveloped the southern part of Dawn Island’s Creekwood Town.
Frost coated the cobblestones in the town square, crunching underfoot.
In such cold weather, nearly two hundred people were crowded here.
Their breath pooled into puffs in the cold air, quickly dispersed by gusty winds.
On the east side of the square were farmers and helpers in coarse short jackets, along with a few veteran soldiers of the Defensive Army wielding clockwork muskets.
On the west side were small merchants in fine wool robes, stewards of old noble families, and even two guild leaders wearing feathered hats.
They clutched brass hand warmers, their boots polished bright, full of impatience.
"I say, we’ve been waiting for half a day, is the Holy Alliance playing tricks again?" The baker Temmler wrapped his mink vest tighter, "And they said they’d reduce our rent, yet the Tax Collector comes more often than the Leia people."
Farmer Matt, standing on the east, immediately retorted: "They’re measuring the land because the Holy Alliance stabilized grain prices, pressing down your bread prices, isn’t that why you’re resentful?"
"What did you gain, speaking up for them like this?"
"Of course, I gained! My youngest son joined a literacy class run by the Holy Alliance. He won’t have to be illiterate like me, and guess what, it’s free and they provide meals!"
"Can literacy fill your belly?" Temmler sneered, "When the Holy Alliance takes away your land, you won’t have food to eat. What do you peasants know about the dangers of politics?"
"Is politics you selling us moldy bread?" Defensive Army veteran Puke thumped his clockwork musket on the ground, "I bet you’re a leftover of Valeris’ ten-member gang!"
"Hey, what do you mean by that?"
"Don’t spew nonsense, or I could say you’re one of the Shadowless Men!"
Both sides immediately erupted, these weren’t casual accusations.
If caught with such claims, they might be hauled away by the legendary Cheka for questioning!
Amidst the clamor, the two sides moved closer, the insults growing nastier.
Just as a fight seemed imminent, the crisp sound of hooves suddenly came from the town’s entrance.
"Clip-clop, clip-clop!"
Though not loud, it quickly drowned out the commotion in the square.
Everyone looked towards the entrance, where, through the morning mist, a messenger in a gray uniform was galloping on horseback.
He waved a freshly printed newspaper, his voice hoarse from shouting: "Good news, good news, Valeris’ ten-member gang has been toppled!"
The square fell silent for a moment, then exploded in a burst of chatter like a spark in dry grass.
Temmler’s face went pale, instinctively stepping back while Matt leaned forward, ears pricked high.
The messenger reined in his horse and nearly fell onto the frosty ground as he dismounted.
Supported by eager farmers, he steadied himself, held up the newspaper, and shouted again: "Valeris, Grading, and Gartz, the three leaders, were all hanged! Right in Longbow Castle’s square, executed yesterday at noon!"
"Good!" Puke was the first to cheer, raising his clockwork musket above his head, "Those traitors had this coming!"
The farmers cheered along, some helpers whistled, even throwing up the Holy Alliance’s black and red flag.
It was sewn from ink-dyed coarse cloth, fraying at the edges.
The western crowd looked livid, Temmler gritting his teeth and cursing: "A bunch of rebels! Dawn Island is doomed!"
The messenger, still out of breath, lifted the newspaper again and shouted: "Breaking news! Under the leadership of the great Saint Joan, 715 representatives voted to pass!
Longbow Castle, Waterwheel County, Wonyu City, and all regions are forming a new nation—the Dawn Federation Republic!"
"Republic?" Matt was momentarily stunned, then he understood, slapping his thigh and exclaiming, "It’s our own country!"
"The Republic’s Shepherd Leader, confirmed by vote, is Her Excellency Joan! Deputy Shepherd Leader is His Excellency Bradak..."
The messenger’s words were drowned out by the overwhelming cheers.
Without a target for celebration, the men of the town simply lifted the messenger, tossed him into the air, and he shrieked in surprise.
Some elderly women traced the symbol of the Holy Father, murmuring prayers, while a few farmwives even shed tears.
Seeing this, Temmler and a few members of the Falan faction tried to slip away, only to be blocked by the farmers after taking a few steps.
"What? Not congratulating our Republic?" the farmers laughed and asked.
Temmler flushed, muttering unintelligible words, awkwardly pushing through the crowd and running away.
Behind him, the sound of uncontainable laughter resounded.
As they cheered, beyond the town’s road, a convoy of hundreds slowly advanced.
Inside the carriage, Jeanne leaned against the cushion, her fingers idly caressing the sword at her waist.
It was a holy steel sword gifted by Horn, with the word "Devotion" inscribed on its hilt.
Hearing the cheers outside, she was momentarily stunned, then lifted a corner of the curtain, listening intently.
Through the morning mist, cries of "Long live Her Excellency Joan," "Long live the Republic," "Long live the Saint’s Grandson" drifted intermittently.
Her lips subconsciously curled upwards, warmth flickered in her eyes.
Scenes from a month ago played out in her mind continuously.
Farmer representatives clutched ballots, hands trembling, while some who couldn’t read had monks read the names for them.
During Parliamentary debates, Bradak argued fiercely with merchant legislators, faces flushed red.
On the day of the Shepherd Leader vote, when the name "Joan" was read out by the teller, the applause in the chamber nearly shook the dust from the ceiling.
Without even voting, they conferred the title of Shepherd Leader on Jeanne through cheers and applause.
This Republic is still very young.
Most of the representatives haven’t been educated, and their debates often veer off track.
The tax system is not yet streamlined, with some counties still paying in kind.
Even the national emblem isn’t decided yet; some propose a black and red flag, others want a white flag, and some suggest the Joan Pain Flag.
Yet, no matter how clumsy they may be now, these people who were once oppressed and despised by Leia nobility are learning to govern their own lands and decide their future.
Just like the Holy Alliance did, stumbling along at first.
And the Holy Alliance has also expanded its territory by at least 300,000 square kilometers and gained millions of people thanks to this new Republic.
The first national policy decree of the Dawn Federation Republic is to join the Holy Alliance.
"It seems Dawn Island is truly decided." Vivian suddenly spoke, her voice tinged with fatigue, "My mission is complete; I should return to Thousand River Valley."
Jeanne’s smile instantly faded: "What do you mean your mission is complete? If it weren’t for the fact that you are Patrick’s widow, you’d be sitting in a prisoner cart right now."
Vivian chuckled, lightly shaking her wrist, causing the iron chains to clatter: "Then I really must thank you for your leniency."
She paused, her gaze drifting outside the carriage.
Another carriage followed behind, the outline of a black wooden coffin faintly visible through the morning mist; inside it housed a vampire from the Sorrido Clan.
Once, decades ago, when Serafe was still in Black Snake Bay.
Vivian was responsible for their communication, but with Serafe’s disappearance, that line was severed.
Jeanne’s gaze turned cold: "I still don’t understand why you would betray the Holy Alliance.
Patrick was a pioneer of the Holy Alliance, you being his wife should protect his legacy."
"Betrayal?" Vivian shook her head, her smile carrying a hint of complexity, "The Holy Alliance was his life’s greatest achievement, how could I possibly betray it?
If we’re talking about betrayal, I’ve betrayed the Sorrido Clan instead, otherwise, why would I have confessed to you?"
Jeanne furrowed her brows: "Then why did you pass messages to the vampire? What ties do you have with those blood-sucking monsters?"
Vivian fell silent for a moment before slowly speaking: "Jeanne, the binary opposition between vampires and humans ended a century ago.
The current Royal Court is neither the blood-sucking monster den of the past nor the later compromised loose clan federation.
There is a great terror behind Serafe; the past Serafe and the present Serafe might not be the same person at all.
Only the Sorrido Clan from which she originates knows her past, knows her weaknesses, and understands what she truly wants."
"So you reached out to them under the pretense of attending Patrick’s funeral?" Jeanne’s voice rose, "Isn’t that betrayal? You’ve betrayed your love for Patrick and all he sacrificed for the Holy Alliance!"
"Love?" Vivian softly repeated the word, "Do you know, I’ve always thought that love is a form of religion, and marriage is the ritual of this religion.
Pure love is the orthodox sect, a harem is a dissident sect, actively seizing others’ partners is heresy.
See how similar this is to the Miseria religion?
Miseria religion says you must be baptized to be considered human; without baptism, you’re a heretic.
Love is the same; it must go through the rituals of emotional stirring and commitment to be considered true love, or else it’s fake."
She looked at Jeanne, her gaze penetrating, as if seeing through the heart: "Like you and Saint Son Horn, you always agonize over your feelings, agonize over the Horn in your heart.
You wish for him to be devoted only to you, for your relationship to be untainted, for him to love you as you love him.
But Jeanne, have you ever considered that perhaps what you love isn’t His Majesty Horn, but love itself?
Do you love the essence of love or Horn, the person?"
Vivian paused, then continued: "Patrick and I, we haven’t had that many moments of emotional stirring.
He busied himself with supporting the secret party’s uprisings everywhere, while I was preoccupied with supplying grain to Black Snake Bay.
We would go three to five years without seeing each other; we rarely said ’I love you,’ but we knew we were striving for the same goal.
Must we rely on love to prove our affection for each other?
Must we hold grand ceremonies to count as devout to the Holy Father?
Can we not bypass these formalities and simply love and believe directly?"
She looked at Jeanne, her gaze gentle: "You’re a smart child; you’re better at fighting and governing than many men.
But you tend to get stuck on things, trapping yourself within frameworks.
You always feel Horn doesn’t love you enough, but he has the whole Holy Alliance to take responsibility for; his love has never been solely for you."
Opening her mouth, Jeanne couldn’t utter a word.
She sat there, her fingers trembling slightly, wanting to say, "I’m not."
But as the words reached her lips, she couldn’t speak them.
For some reason, she recalled Horn staying awake for days and nights during reforms for the Holy Alliance, remembered his lengthy debates in parliament.
Remembered his gaze when he looked at her, filled with gentleness, but also a weight she couldn’t comprehend.
The morning mist gradually dispersed, sunlight streamed through the carriage window, falling upon Jeanne’s face.
She looked out at the passing fields, at farmers working in the distant farmland, and for the first time, a sense of unprecedented confusion arose in her heart.
