Chapter 76: Distributing Mushrooms

Chapter 76: Distributing Mushrooms

Maintaining his smile and calming his mood, Emlyn responded, “I can find helpers at a sufficient level.”

In this matter, he did not especially want to rely on the Sanguine’s forces, because if he did, without question, he would once again be reduced to a liaison, spectator, and messenger. When the spoils were divided at the end, he would have no say at all.

And among the Sanguine dukes and marquises, there was no shortage of direct descendants who wished to advance to demigod and become earls.

At first, Emlyn had believed in his identity as the Sanguine savior. He had believed that the major figures above would treat every matter and every member fairly. But as The Hanged Man analyzed, time and again, the hidden intentions buried within Marquis Nibbs and other high-ranking Sanguine’s orders, measures, and words, Emlyn gradually grew guarded.

Maric’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Sherlock Moriarty?”

Emlyn felt puzzled. After adjusting his sitting posture, he asked, “Why do you think it’s him?”

If this had been before, he would definitely have said outright, “Why bring up Sherlock Moriarty? He left Backlund nearly two years ago.” But the present him could keenly sense that Maric’s words concealed certain information, so he instinctively adjusted his own response.

In this Wraith’s eyes, Sherlock Moriarty is not simple? Mm, he indeed isn’t simple… While speaking, Emlyn made a guess inwardly.

Hearing Emlyn’s question, Maric’s gaze immediately turned rather strange, as though he were seeing this Sanguine viscount for the first time.

He soon restrained the abnormality on the surface and said in a voice devoid of emotion, “We need to consider it.

“I hope that when we meet next, you can present a more convincing plan.”

“No problem.” Emlyn secretly breathed out in relief.

He immediately stood and bowed with the bearing of a gentleman.

After agreeing on a method of contact, he put on his silk top hat, turned, and left the room.

On his way back to his own residence, Emlyn could not help running through his preliminary plan in his mind.

“As long as I reach a cooperation agreement with a demigod of the temperance faction of the Rose School of Thought, I can use it to apply to the marquises and dukes for the use of one of the race’s Grade 1 sealed artifacts…

“Using the partner’s demands as the reason, I can reject the race’s demigods and prevent them from directly interfering…

“Mm. To reach an agreement, I must display enough strength to convince Maric and the others… I can only issue a mission at the Tarot Gathering and see whether Madam Hermit, Miss Justice, Mr. Hanged Man, and the others are willing to accept the commission. Also, Miss Magician can be considered too. She can summon the projection of The World Gehrman Sparrow…

“The biggest problem right now is that I cannot offer enough payment…

“I can only try to pay in advance, or give a promise, then repay everything bit by bit after I become an earl…”

At this thought, Emlyn suddenly felt fortunate that he had joined the Tarot Club.

It was the only organization he knew where future promises could be exchanged for present resources.

Within the Sanguine, or in the orthodox Churches, one had to accumulate merits step by step before even gaining an opportunity to line up and wait for Beyonder characteristics and advancement rituals. Sometimes, a Beyonder might not accumulate the required contributions over an entire lifetime.

This is like a credit loan guaranteed by Mr. Fool. I can use it to issue missions, and after successfully advancing, I’ll repay everything at once or in installments… Emlyn habitually brought the essence of the matter closer to something he was familiar with.

Although he himself had never taken a bank loan, some Sanguine had rich experience and often exchanged knowledge internally.

Most of them had fixed hobbies that consumed great amounts of money. The precious things in their collections could not be liquidated quickly, so they had no choice but to borrow from acquaintances or use bank loans to make ends meet.

Emlyn remembered one Sanguine who was not good at business and earned money purely as a doctor. After setting his eyes on a precious artwork, that person had bought it through a loan from Backlund Bank.

Afterward, because he could not bear to mortgage his property, he relied on his sufficiently long life to spend a full two hundred years repaying it in installments. Of course, officially, the father died, the son took over; the son died, the grandson took over.

Emlyn’s evaluation of this was: very trustworthy.

…

Backlund, North Borough, outside Saint Samuel Cathedral.

Citizens lined up in several queues, receiving bread, dried mushrooms, preserved fruit, and other foods one by one from the staff of the Loen Poverty Relief Foundation.

The lines extended all the way from the cathedral entrance to the square, curling around several times. At a glance, heads were packed together in dense clusters.

Audrey stood on the steps behind Melissa, taking in the entire scene.

She saw citizens with sallow faces and longing in their eyes. She saw a mother holding an infant, soothing the child while anxiously studying the line ahead that seemed barely to have shortened. She saw many people dressed neatly, wearing formal suits or long dresses. She saw some press down their hats and put on veils, as though unwilling to let people nearby recognize who they were.

From time to time, someone tried to ignore order, only to be dragged out by priests and police officers helping maintain the lines, then thrown to the very back.

Portion after portion of food was given out. Behind the long tables, cloth sacks piled there shriveled one after another, then became empty.

At last, all the food had been distributed, yet that long line had diminished by only half.

The citizens who had failed to receive relief could not suppress the mingled emotions of disappointment, dejection, reluctance, and pleading. But they did not shout. They did not argue. Mechanically, they moved their feet and hurried toward other food distribution points.

Over the past one or two months, they had experienced such things far too many times. They already knew that unnecessary outbursts of emotion would only waste what little strength they had left and would not let them transfer quickly to another relief point or low-price food seller.

At that moment, their expressions were numb, their gazes faintly empty as they left the square like groups of living corpses.

During this process, a woman holding a child felt her legs soften and fell to the ground.

Her child immediately burst into loud sobs, obvious pain in the voice.

Crying and crying, the child choked out, “Mama, I’m so hungry…”

“There will be food soon, very soon. There’s food at Memorial Day Square…” The woman picked up the child and patted his back, speaking while tears streamed down her face.

Witnessing this, Audrey was about to speak, but she saw Melissa take a portion of food from a wooden crate beneath the long table and trot toward the mother and son.

“I didn’t see it just now. There’s one more portion…” Melissa crouched slightly and handed over the bread, dried mushrooms, and preserved fruit. Then she explained in a very quiet voice, afraid of provoking competition from the surrounding citizens.

That remaining food had actually been prepared for foundation staff members who had been busy for a very long time. The portion Melissa gave away was her own.

The woman accepted the food and, while handing it to the child, repeatedly said, “Thank you, thank you…”

The child clutched the food tightly and, in a childish voice, followed his mother.

“Thank you, thank you…”

Audrey subconsciously looked left and right. She discovered that the Church’s priests, most of the police officers, and the Nighthawks hidden among the citizens to guard against accidents all wore unconcealed expressions of sympathy, compassion, and sorrow.

After the citizens had mostly left, Audrey picked up her own portion of food and handed it to Melissa.

“You deserve this.”

Melissa looked at Miss Hall before her and shook her head.

“What I gave away was my own portion.

“Miss Hall, you don’t need to worry. I have food when I return home. My brother is a government employee…”

Audrey smiled faintly and pushed the toast, dried mushrooms, and preserved fruit into Melissa’s hands.

“You don’t need to worry about me either. My family prepared dessert for me while I was out working.”

As she spoke, she accepted a wooden box from her personal maid, Annie, and opened it for Melissa to see.

Inside the box were delicately shaped cucumber sandwiches, cream scones, and small carrot cakes.

Obvious astonishment appeared on Melissa’s face. She stared deeply at those desserts for several seconds, then looked up once at Miss Audrey Hall.

Then she lowered her head, said nothing, and began eating the toast with the clean water prepared by Saint Samuel Cathedral.

Audrey seemed to have been “petrified” by her gaze. Holding that wooden box, she stood frozen in place for several seconds, lips pressed tightly together.

…

After the fifth group of Moon City residents accepted purification and treatment and enjoyed the miraculous mushrooms, that ancient city-state became, with no resistance whatsoever, believers of The Fool and welcomed Saint and divine envoy Gehrman Sparrow into the city.

Klein then held a large Mass, using the Unshadowed Crucifix and the Staff of Life to cure the remaining people of Moon City.

High Priest Nim had emerged from quarantine observation. At the end of the Mass, he respectfully asked, “Lord Divine Envoy, what is the complete honorific name of the great Lord?”

Klein swept his gaze around, stiffened his face, and solemnly said, “The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era…”

After explaining the honorific name, he deliberately emphasized, “Do not recite the complete honorific name for ordinary prayers. Only do so for important matters.”

Otherwise, he, Mr. Fool, would be driven to mental collapse by “work calls.”

Nim was not surprised by this at all, because the ancient Sun God had been the same.

He thought for a moment, then asked, “Are there any specific requirements for rituals that worship the Lord?”

With the full air of a charlatan-preacher, Klein said, “God says: the Eighth Commandment. Serve Me with your heart, not with offerings.

“The most important part of the ritual is devotion. Nothing else is required. It may be extremely simple.”

In any case, the Lord doesn’t care… After speaking, Klein silently added that line inwardly.

After explaining matters on that front, he raised his right hand and pointed at the pile of mushrooms ahead.

“The Lord bestowed these mushrooms upon you so that you may have a harvest.

“These mushrooms use the flesh and blood of monsters as nutrients. They can grow and reproduce rapidly, and they accumulate all toxins, pollution, and madness into the pure-black type of mushroom. That can be used as a medium for curses, or as poison coating for arrows…”

The residents of Moon City listened with invigorated expressions. At the same time, they clasped their hands together, lowered their heads, and shouted loudly, “Praise The Fool!”

At that moment, Klein seemed to hear countless illusory voices emerging from the air. They mixed with the real praise, circling around him, anchoring him in place.