Chapter 168: Chaos Beneath the Calm
The Lord of York Territory had killed Marquis Demitri and then officially declared war on the Patlin Family. Almost immediately after the declaration, the knights of York Territory apprehended three barons—news of which had reached even the chaos-ridden Belair.
That party had merely brushed past Knight Julian, and yet even the exaggerated tales from the returning warriors of the Church had reached his ears.
Although he could immediately tell that the story was fabricated—after all, he hadn’t heard a single one of the noble names mentioned—he still managed to glean two key points from it.
First, the three barons had come forth to receive them personally, a gesture entirely unbecoming of noble status, especially toward a group of men born as guards.
Second, the Church’s influence had grown immensely—so much so that it was nearing that of a lord.
Still, he had not witnessed any of this with his own eyes, so everything remained conjecture.
Even so, just from observing these knights, he felt that this plea for aid might not go smoothly.
Speaking with a lord or their representative was a completely different matter than dealing with the Church.
The Church’s Holy Scriptures were lying in his room, being used as bedtime joke books.
As these thoughts ran through Belair’s mind, the party gradually neared York Town.
Suddenly, Knight Julian’s voice called out urgently, “Sir, look over there.”
Belair was stunned, then followed the direction Knight Julian pointed—and his pupils constricted sharply.
What lay before him was a massive complex the size of an entire village, surrounded by verdant growth, with towering structures resembling spires.
Even from such a distance, he could tell—it was unmistakably built from stone.
Only structures piled from stone could reach such heights.
These buildings, constructed solely for aesthetic rather than defensive purposes, spoke volumes about the Church’s confidence.
As for how he knew it belonged to the Church? One look at the glaring cross atop the tower sufficed.
Belair took a deep breath.
All prior thoughts collapsed. He now understood that he would likely be conversing with the Church’s representative.
This was the worst-case scenario.
Even though he was in the north of York Territory, practically abandoned in a sense, he could still gather some information through the Rat Path, if he had the coin.
For instance, the Church truly adhered to the Holy Scriptures in both practice and in their demands of believers.
And if the one conversing with him turned out to be from the Church…
Recalling the things he had done, and mentally comparing them to the Holy Scriptures line by line, Belair felt a chill creep over his scalp.
“Magnificent, isn’t it? That’s the Clock Tower of the Church of the Sanctuary,” Knight Borien rode up beside Knight Julian as if he had expected their awe.
“But that’s all you can see from here. Once Sir is done with his discussions, during your rest, you should visit the Church grounds. I guarantee—after you return, you’ll never forget the Church’s beauty,” Knight Borien said with pride.
“If there is time, I will certainly visit,” Belair replied, albeit somewhat reluctantly.
“Hahaha! Honestly, Sir, if you’d come next year—or even the year after—the Church would already be part of York City by then!” Knight Borien laughed heartily.
After swallowing the territories of three barons, the total domain under York Territory had already approached the size of a count’s fief. Now that the lord had declared war on the Patlin Family and stood as an independent noble, he was qualified to establish a city.
Thus, during the recent agricultural lull, voices had begun to call for establishing York City anew with the Church of the Sanctuary as its center.
Of course, Knight Borien—who still maintained ties with his family—knew well that these voices mostly came from villagers and local gentry. Their goal was simple.
Seize power.
And it was precisely because of this blatant ambition that the people of York Town opposed the idea of city-building.
Without a city, they remained townsfolk with a special status.
But if a new city were to rise, they’d have to find a way to reestablish themselves within it.
As for demolition compensation?
How many warriors does your household have? How many knights? How many officials?
Dare you ask the noble lords for demolition fees and compensation?
Do you think your life has been long enough?
So, the people within the town resisted.
Given how close the Church of the Sanctuary was to York Town, expanding it into a city would mean destroying at least half the town.
Naturally, Knight Borien, who now resided in Glory Fortress, knew even more clearly that behind these calls stood the apprentices of the Monastery and the Senate.
They too sought power, but unlike the lower-class civilians, the Monastery’s apprentices aimed to restructure the power framework, making room for the first generation of graduating apprentices during the city’s construction.
Even during construction, personnel would be needed to manage affairs. Once completed, a city-level administration would require multiple times the current number of officials.
So long as they could enter the power structure, they could consolidate and seize even greater authority.
They believed the old geezers in the town needed to get lost. Those old ones had ruled the territory for too long—how could they possibly increase population, taxes, and production?
The second cohort of apprentices understood this principle and thus largely participated as well.
The scholar-teachers of the Monastery tacitly approved of this situation.
The Senate were no fools either—they were still nobles, after all. Naturally, they could guess the intentions of these apprentices, and so they had to oppose it firmly.
Well, not that firmly.
After all, they didn’t have many warriors under their command.
Still, they had to voice opposition—only that way could they gather the old-school power-holders who had offended the apprentices or been offended by them, ensuring their own interests in any future power shift.
Of course, Knight Borien didn’t particularly care about any of this. He was a swordsman—his job was to kill. He only knew, based on his family’s speculation, that the new city’s construction would likely begin after next year’s planting season.
Judging from how long it took to build the Church of the Sanctuary, he figured it would only take one or two years to build the new city.
That’s why he had mentioned the timeline to Belair.
However, upon hearing this, Belair was left a little stunned.
He was of noble birth. Even if he didn’t understand the intricate web of power in York Territory, he still knew that the founding of a new city meant the collapse—possibly the destruction—of the old order.
Such a transition inevitably came with chaos.
Especially in York Territory, where the lord was currently absent—yet even in such a state, they were pushing to build a city. And judging by the knight’s tone, it was already a done deal.
Belair felt an even greater headache coming on.
Back where he came from, things were simple. They needed more warriors, more knights, stronger fists. Though the threat of annihilation by Werewolves loomed, the power structure remained traditional, a familiar game.
But York Territory, on the surface calm and beautiful—with the Church of the Sanctuary more breathtaking than anything he had ever seen—was hiding power struggles that would shatter the current order.
Was this truly the York Territory he should be seeking help from? Could they really send aid?
Belair sighed inwardly.
But he had no choice.
York Territory could still choose to march south—but he was nearly torn apart by Werewolves already.