Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 408: Chapter 87: A Story of Mortals

Turmoil erupted in the Holy City. Noe VII was trapped in the Sanctuary, his fate unknown.

The vast resources he had gathered in the name of "setting things right," which he’d intended for his reforms—the poor-relief systems spread across every parish, the de facto control over church property—instantly became ownerless.

Or rather, they became a coveted prize.

The College of Cardinals, led by Saint Cyril, was eager to bring these resources back under their control and make them their own, so as to provide the material and legal foundation for the upcoming coronation of a new Pope and the subsequent restructuring of power.

And to achieve this, the most direct method was to let the system left behind by Noe VII completely fail, collapse, and even become the "source of chaos." This would provide them with the perfect excuse to "set things right" themselves.

And so, those whose interests had been suppressed or infringed upon by Noe VII’s policies—be they powerful local figures, greedy Lords, or even vested interests within the Church Court who disagreed with his ideals—immediately smelled an opportunity.

The restraints loosened. Some even sent secret signals of encouragement.

Chaos was advantageous for a reshuffle.

In a disaster, land would be concentrated in the hands of a few at extremely low prices.

The population, whether voluntarily or not, would become a more dependent labor force.

Existing community structures and weak traditions of local autonomy would be utterly shattered, making forceful, top-down control more convenient.

It was just as in Murphy’s previous life: after great disasters, powerful families would always seize the opportunity to annex land at low prices.

After an economic crisis, they would take the chance to buy up houses on the cheap.

This current, widespread calamity was similarly being pushed forward by one or even multiple invisible hands from behind the scenes.

Under the perfect cover of natural disaster, man-made calamity spread wantonly with tacit understanding.

The Cardinals sought to harvest the political and material legacy left by the Pope, while the Great Nobles seized the chance to consolidate and expand their own territory and power. Like sharks that had scented blood, they were engaged in a silent, brutal feeding frenzy across this land of widespread misery.

The suffering Eleanor had witnessed and tried to alleviate along the way, the despairing eyes, the fleeting moments of minor kindness—they were all but insignificant specks of dust in this grand harvest.

However, when the carriage convoy finally crossed the southern border of the Phlanis Kingdom and officially entered the territory of the Pope’s Country, which was directly under the Church Court’s jurisdiction, the surrounding atmosphere changed noticeably.

Not to say it had instantly become a paradise.

The villages still couldn’t hide their poverty, and on the Paths, one could occasionally encounter sallow-faced pedestrians.

But, order seemed to have returned.

The Paths received basic maintenance. Though not perfectly smooth, the deep mud pits were gone.

Checkpoints still existed, but the Guards—dressed in the Church Court’s standard-issue, trimmed Hooded Robes—stood ramrod straight. Their inspections were strict, but there were no openly fabricated, endless pretexts for extortion.

The villages and towns along the way, while not prosperous, at least maintained a basic decency.

The houses were old but mostly intact, the streets were swept, and while there weren’t many goods at the market, trade was still ongoing.

They even saw a soup kitchen set up by a small local chapel. Clergy in simple Monk’s Robes were maintaining order, handing out thin vegetable soup to the poor who were lining up.

The line was long and the people looked haggard, but at least there was a place to line up and receive something.

Luke, riding his horse beside the carriage and observing it all, couldn’t help but whisper to his companion, "This place... seems a little different."

Knight Davies heard him. He gazed at the silhouette of the Holy Emblem on a distant village church steeple against the gray-white sky and said slowly, "The Pope’s Country is, after all, the heart of the Church Court’s domain, with the Holy City just ahead. No matter what tempests rage among the higher-ups, a basic level of decency must be maintained here. It can’t be allowed to descend into complete chaos like the lands outside."

That evening, the convoy made camp in an open woodland near the border of the Pope’s Country.

Not long after the camp was set up, a perimeter guard came to report that a sizable party was approaching from the rear. Judging by their banners and equipment, it was the retinue of the Duke of Orleans.

Before long, a Knight dressed in fine Armor and wearing a Hooded Robe bearing the crest of the Duke of Orleans was led by Knight Davies to Murphy’s carriage.

The Knight placed his right hand on his chest and bowed respectfully. "Your Excellency, Thunder Sword, my master, the Duke of Orleans, hopes for an opportunity to pay his respects. Is this a convenient time?"

"Please have the Duke come over," Murphy’s voice came from inside the carriage.

A short while later, a group of people walked toward the camp.

Compared to Murphy’s small and simply-equipped retinue, the Duke of Orleans’s party was far more extravagant. His escort alone consisted of dozens of Knights and Attendants, and there were even dedicated servants responsible for setting up a temporary command tent.

Even in the wilderness, the large tent, made of thick canvas and decorated with brocade, was quite conspicuous.

At the very front walked a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties.

He had a well-proportioned figure and a handsome face. His dark brown hair was impeccably trimmed, and his deep green eyes were bright with a hint of curiosity.

He wore a well-tailored, deep-blue velvet jacket, its collar and cuffs embroidered with intricate fleur-de-lis patterns in silver thread. At his waist hung an ornate ceremonial Longsword.

This was none other than the current Duke of Orleans, Charlie de Orleans.

Following slightly behind and to the side of the Duke was an old Knight whose hair was almost entirely white and whose posture was slightly stooped.

He wore a classical-style, full suit of dark silver Armor. The fleur-de-lis and shield crest on the Armor were still clear, but no matter how well-maintained, it could not hide the dullness left by the passage of time.