Chapter 426: Information Bombardment
For Greenwood, with the priests of the Church present, no matter what strange phenomena occurred, the people could always be reassured.
As for the Streams of Light in the sky, the priests guided the faithful to interpret them according to the Lord's Will.
"That is the Will of the Lord, a prophecy for our world. Those Streams of Light are like individuals, like many beings, all converging in a single direction. That signifies that the Lord is guiding our world to be united as one."
So the priests said.
This explanation, of course, was issued after discussion among the bishops.
They could no longer contact the Pope.
After a brief moment of panic, the bishops quickly calmed down.
Their faith was resolute. And that faith was not just in a symbol, but in the belief that resided in their hearts.
Thus, after the four bishops conferred, they interpreted this strange phenomenon based on the future plans of the Kingdom of Lundex.
The other five newly appointed bishops had not yet been fully recognized, nor had they completed the construction of their cathedrals. For now, they still had to follow the orders of the York Territory Church headquarters.
Though the explanation did help to soothe the common folk, the bishops themselves remained uneasy.
Especially Jeremiah of the Doyle Diocese.
The war in the Woodlands was both smooth and difficult.
It was smooth because every strategic step aligned with their prearranged plans—to establish a foothold in the Woodlands, then gradually erode their influence, and engage in negotiations, beyond mere words, with the nobles inclined toward Greenwood.
These nobles, regardless of whether they were influenced by unknown forces, wished to defect to Greenwood but still wanted to retain their lands and titles.
They knew well what had happened after Marquis Shalier defected to Greenwood with his subordinate nobles.
All of their lands were stripped, redrawn in unfamiliar regions, and their powers diluted by appointed officials.
That was something these nobles could not accept.
Of course, this inability to accept things was beneficial to the frontline strategy.
The unwillingness of these nobles could be used to entangle the Greenwood nobles who were reluctantly dragged to the front.
The forces brought by the Greenwood nobles had not yet been fully integrated and thus were no match for the local nobility. Naturally, there was friction between the two sides.
Driven by resentment or hunger for military achievements, the Greenwood nobles acted fiercely, nearly reverting to old ways—slaughtering villages outright.
The Woodland nobles, however, dared not retaliate lethally. The main Greenwood war corps focused on stabilizing the occupied areas, while the ferocious Red Dragon Knight Order silently watched them.
A few Woodland nobles, driven mad, retaliated against Greenwood nobles and killed them, only to be slaughtered in turn by the Red Dragon Knight Order.
For the crime of killing a Greenwood noble, the entire bloodline of such nobles was eradicated.
This behavior from the Red Dragon Knight Order caused both Woodland and Greenwood nobles to start composing mocking poems and stories about them, akin to what bards sang of on the battlefield.
Stories like "The brave hero slays the evil dragon in its lair and wins the glory of a dragonslayer," or "The knight defeats the wicked dragon and rescues the princess."
Initially, these tales were whispered in secret, but seeing that the Red Dragon Knight Order made no response, the nobles grew bolder, and such dragonslaying stories began to proliferate.
Eventually, shared grievances brought Woodland and Greenwood nobles together. Scenes emerged where they fought one day and the next held outdoor feasts together, a bizarre display of unity.
They seemed to realize that the Greenwood army simply meant to keep them pinned down.
Yet what unsettled Jeremiah was the fact that not a single Woodland noble had fully knelt at the cathedral.
That defied the survival instincts of nobility.
Just look at Marquis Shalier. His newly assigned land was only slightly larger than a viscounty, and he had no subordinate nobles, yet he still diligently adapted to the current system.
He struggled with officials when necessary and cooperated when managing his fief.
Grievances naturally existed, but under the might of the Greenwood army, they dissipated before they could be voiced.
No matter how great one’s power, the survival of the bloodline mattered more.
Jeremiah felt that the Woodland nobles couldn’t possibly be so foolish as to not realize that the Greenwood army was only waiting to purge them once they had served their purpose.
With the presence of officials, and proof that postwar administration did not falter in their absence—in fact, mobilization and productivity had improved—the nobles were dispensable to Greenwood.
Therefore, logically, many Woodland nobles should have come to Greenwood in secret to discuss surrender, then cooperatively eliminate certain undesirables during the ongoing war.
Such as certain gentry, or nobles too foolish to be negotiated with.
But from the semi-formal start of the war until now, Jeremiah hadn’t seen a single Woodland noble do so.
He was almost certain that some powerful force was at play.
Perhaps it was the Gods, or perhaps the Original Sins and Lords of Annihilation.
After all, for so many nobles to remain unified and not betray each other despite being checked by Greenwood's forces—that kind of discipline was far beyond what nobles were known for.
The bishops themselves relied on magic to communicate across dioceses without leaving their cathedrals. The Woodlands had no such luxury; the technology remained restricted to bishops and governors.
Despite his concerns, Jeremiah could only be patient.
He had no way to see the Gods or understand their thoughts.
Compared to Jeremiah’s worries, Gregor was bored. He couldn’t go to war, and officials managed his territory, so all he had to do was sit and wait for taxes to arrive.
But after his blood relatives and lovers at the old castle were slaughtered, his new castle, though filled with maids, didn’t satisfy him the same way. After Jeremiah’s warning, he tried to restrain his lower half.
Compared to his nightly indulgence before, he now only exerted himself after several days.
Still, life felt dull for Gregor.
So, bored, Gregor began to pester the busy Camilla.
He had his men bring white horses and the common doves raised by the Church for the peasants, dressed them in gaudy clothes decorated with flowers, and galloped down Flower Path beside Lake Saron to publicly proclaim his love for Camilla.
Or he set up dueling stages beside the lake, pitting his knights against each other in mock battles, claiming his victories were displays of his vow to become her Guardian Knight.
When told by Jeremiah to ignore the Streams of Light in the sky, Gregor even said, "Those Streams in the sky bear witness to my love for Camilla."
This idle nonsense led Camilla to complain to Jeremiah.
All of this made it hard for her to seriously consult with other nobles on how to counter the officials.
Yet Jeremiah, watching Camilla’s face flush despite her complaints, was quite helpless.
Clearly, Camilla feared Gregor might be punished by Jeremiah for disturbing him.
Living in Greenwood had made her realize just how vast a bishop’s power was—enough to decide a marquis’s life or death at will.
"His performance does liven up the lakeside. I believe the bards would gladly collaborate with him on how to stage such performances," Jeremiah remarked, tacitly approving Gregor's antics.
This both delighted and intrigued Camilla.
How could she not be pleased? In all recorded history, when had a noble marquis made such a public display of affection for his fiancée?
Usually, if a marquis desired a woman, telling her outright was already considered courteous.
More often, he’d simply have her seized, cleaned up, and thrown onto his bed.
If satisfied, she might become a lover; if not, a servant in the count’s castle.
Even daughters of minor nobles weren’t spared such treatment.
Marquises were far too powerful—lesser nobles dared not resist.
And official marriages were usually political arrangements, often made with barely an introduction.
After childbirth, the wife was frequently ignored.
So while Camilla knew Gregor only did this out of boredom, as the beneficiary, she couldn’t help but feel happy.
But after the joy came reflection. Why did Jeremiah approve of this?
As Jeremiah had once praised her—after she united the nobles with a naive but effective move—Camilla was slowly becoming a political creature.
And as such, she knew Jeremiah wouldn’t do anything without purpose.
The meaning behind it was simple: to glorify love.
Once Bishop Jeremiah nodded in approval, bards suddenly appeared.
They praised Gregor and Camilla’s love, compiling their courtship into tales, spreading Gregor’s fame as the White Horse Knight, the Flower Knight, and so on.
Gregor didn’t care much for titles; as long as his knightly name spread, he was satisfied.
When lacking ideas, these bards even gave him new, more flamboyant suggestions.
Thus, the Doyle love stories circulated, stirring the hearts of noble ladies and madams.
Camilla began to realize: this was using love to influence the nobility, to gently steer noble marriages.
And also to make commoners believe that nobles cherished love—teaching the people to learn from the nobility’s devotion and fidelity to family.
Once she understood this, Camilla suddenly noticed that the officials were all married—but their wives and children were left behind in York Territory.
These officials had before them the power they so desperately craved; why would they care about their wives and children?
Their families offered no advantage.
But perhaps, Camilla thought, though useless to the officials, those wives and children could be useful to her.
After living so long in Greenwood, she understood the bishops' ambitions. They wanted Greenwood to become the future they envisioned.
Clearly, Bishop Jeremiah was promoting "the glorification of love," and behind that came the subtle empowerment of women, long treated as tools by the nobles.
At the very least, it meant women might be granted limited freedoms, like being allowed to dine at the table.
And since few had yet realized this, perhaps it was her opportunity.
Camilla didn’t hesitate. She decided to gamble.
With Gregor supporting her, she could risk failure.
And even if Gregor failed, she still had Bishop Jeremiah above her.
As the celestial Streams of Light faded, Camilla took action. Meanwhile, in York City, Agamemnon was exhausted.
The heavenly display had thrown Greenwood's political center into chaos.
Anyone surviving in York City—even the vagrants—was no fool.
But when many clever people gather with nothing urgent to do, wild speculation arises.
Having eaten and vented, these idle elites began speaking nonsense.
Though the bards were organized into a guild, when the powerful desired amusement, lesser folk found ways to oblige.
So those who weren’t real bards but mimicked their storytelling to amuse the nobles and officials of York City emerged.
They were of lower birth than true bards and didn’t mind clowning around for coin.
Despite Councilor Hastings’ efforts to corral them and label them "jesters," the idlers among the elite seemed to invite them deliberately to gatherings.
Since bards had been officially conscripted, they were barred from such events.
And although everyone knew these dinner conversations would reach the ears of the Council, having their informants present was too uncomfortable.
After the Streams of Light appeared, at these parties, nobles began interpreting the phenomenon—either seriously or with feigned caution.
"The stars fell because royal authority has vanished."
"The stars represent the councilors—their fall means they will die."
"The stars are nobles, and their fall heralds the nobility’s end. Soon it will be the era of officials and magnates."
Hearing these reports, Agamemnon was both angry and amused.
Angry, because the comments betrayed their inner thoughts.
Amused, because they had grown wiser—learning to use information bombardment to cloud Agamemnon’s judgment and raise his administrative costs.
And they did so without breaking any laws, so he couldn’t stop them.
He had to admit, it was effective. After the Streams of Light streaked across the sky, the amount of information Agamemnon received daily quadrupled or quintupled.
Though he believed none dared rebel now, he had no choice but to analyze each report meticulously.
Agamemnon dared not relax. At his level, a single mistake could impact tens of thousands.
Yet, from amidst this torrent of useless data, Agamemnon did uncover some valuable intelligence.