Chapter 196: The First Church

A mysterious new guest had arrived in the territory, but for most people, it was little more than a bit of gossip over meals—less impactful than, say, a new house popping up in some district. Especially now, when everyone’s attention was focused on a new building on the east side of Knight Street.

The very first church in the Cecil domain was finally about to be built.

After more than two months of worldly trials, Pastor Leight had passed the lord’s assessment and earned permission to preach the Holy Light within Cecil’s lands. He was granted a plot of land, along with the materials and manpower needed to construct the church. The pastor was clearly thrilled, bursting with enthusiasm and efficiency, and the little church rose from the ground at an astonishing pace—no doubt helped by the fact that he’d spent the past two months hauling bricks around the territory, honing his skills.

From the outside, the newly completed church was simple and unpretentious. It had all the essentials—a pointed steeple, a small tower, a prayer hall—but everything was practical and modest. There was none of the gilded, silver-inlaid extravagance typical of churches in the central regions. Still, it was a handsome new building. Paired with the small square in front and the neat rows of brick houses lining Knight Street behind it, the territory’s first truly “modern” neighborhood was beginning to take shape.

Before officially opening its doors, the lord arranged a small “inauguration ceremony” for the church.

To the common folk, this was a curious affair—having a high-ranking figure personally appear to celebrate the opening of a building was rare. Elsewhere, new facilities rarely warranted such formal events. Usually, there were only some rough folk customs: a craftsman’s shop might open with a clay jug of beer smashed at the door, both to celebrate and to spread the scent as a kind of advertisement; new churches typically held religious services organized by their own clergy, with sermons and distribution of communion bread; noble estates might throw balls or banquets for new stables or theaters, but those were exclusive to the upper class and irrelevant to commoners.

The “ribbon-cutting” ceremony that Gawain arranged was novel and somewhat baffling to the people.

But the peasants didn’t dwell on such things—they saw the lord’s arrangements as right and proper. And for them, any new development in the territory was a cause for celebration—especially when it was a church that could bring convenience to their lives.

A large crowd gathered in the square before the church, curiously eyeing the still-closed doors and the figures standing at the entrance: Gawain, Hetty, and Rebecca stood there, alongside the ever-present Pastor Leight, with a handful of soldiers maintaining order.

To suit local tastes and customs—and to imbue the event with symbolic weight—Gawain redesigned the ribbon-cutting ritual. He had colorful cords tied to the church doors and a rope barrier set across the steps leading up to the entrance, symbolizing that the building was still closed. Only when the sun reached its zenith would he appear, as lord, to officially open the church.

Under countless curious and reverent gazes, Hetty stepped forward. With magical amplification, her voice was soft yet carried clearly across the crowd: “Today is a day worth celebrating—the messenger of the Holy Light, Pastor Leight, brings us the teachings of the Light. Our lord, Duke Gawain Cecil, believes the path of the Holy Light benefits the territory, and thus has approved the construction of this church and personally offers his congratulations on the practice of the Light’s teachings. Now, the lord’s decree is read aloud:

“Upon the application of Holy Light preacher Leight, Lord Gawain Cecil of Cecil hereby rules that spreading the Holy Light on this land is lawful and beneficial. Permission is granted for preacher Leight’s missionary activities and for the establishment of this church.”

After a moment of puzzled silence, the crowd broke into applause, growing louder as Gawain cut the rope barrier, and Hetty and Rebecca untied the colorful cords from the church doors.

Pastor Leight watched the ceremony with curiosity. He sensed there was some deeper meaning to the ritual, but he was no schemer—having been practically cast out by the central church, he preached according to his own understanding and methods. So he quickly stopped overthinking: as long as he could preach smoothly, it was good. The lord’s personal congratulations were even better. As for the idea that the Holy Light needed Gawain Cecil’s approval to build a church here… well, that didn’t matter. The church was built.

In fact, Leight found the Cecil domain more to his liking. In other noble territories, he also had to seek permission from local lords to preach. Though most lords agreed, none were as formal or serious as Cecil. Elsewhere, lords tended to ignore the church’s growth, treating “permission” as a mere formality—a compromise between church and nobility, a matter of face. But here, the permission was official and clear.

Leight appreciated such clear rules. He had seen too many people suffer under chaotic regulations—many blamed their hardships on too many rules, but few realized that the real problem was arbitrary, ever-changing rules that even lords themselves didn’t intend to follow.

That kind of disorder simply didn’t exist here.

“Anyone interested in the Holy Light is welcome to come inside and sit! The prayer hall is quite spacious! Even if you don’t believe in the Light but have minor ailments or injuries, you can come—holy water treatments are offered daily!” Leight shouted from the church steps, his booming voice carrying across the square. “But if you have serious injuries or illnesses, please let us know in advance. Holy water is made from river water, so its effects are limited. For serious cases, healing magic is still necessary…”

Gawain stood to the side, watching the steady stream of people entering the church—whether believers or just there to receive holy water—and listening to Leight’s loud announcements. He couldn’t help but smile: it was the first time he’d heard a pastor openly admit that holy water was basically just river water, and even warn that it wasn’t very effective.

Hetty stood beside Gawain, having already grasped some of the deeper significance behind today’s ceremony.

Seeing some villagers enter the church while thanking the lord, she whispered, “Ancestor, are you trying to bring divine authority under your control?”

“I have no desire to seize divine power,” Gawain replied calmly, “but I dislike being controlled by it even more. The church is a good thing—divine magic, holy water, relics, battlefield chaplains—they’re all valuable. But if these things develop their own system and will, that’s a problem.”

“Many nobles fear the church’s overreach, but no one has thought to ‘box it in’ like this,” Hetty mused thoughtfully. “Using clear laws to require all religious activities to have the lord’s approval, and a ritual to show everyone who to listen to when lord and gods stand side by side. And you even show support for the church in the process… Ancestor, your methods are always unexpected.”

Gawain shook his head. “It’s not that no one has thought of using law and force to restrain the church, Hetty. There are plenty of clever people besides me. They just don’t have the conditions. We’re lucky—the southern lands are a wasteland, long neglected and backward. Many things can be built from scratch. Leight is a true believer in the Holy Light, not a schemer, so I could lay this foundation. But in the central and northern regions, where the church is deeply rooted, I couldn’t do this at all. Just as you see the meaning behind my actions, the shrewd bishops see it too.”

Hetty paused, acknowledging Gawain’s clear understanding of the situation, then asked curiously, “What would you do in those places?”

“Simple—just make sure my fist is bigger than theirs,” Gawain smiled. “Sometimes problems that can’t be solved with brains are the easiest—just use force.”

Rebecca, listening to their conversation, hadn’t understood a word of the first half, but she caught Gawain’s last sentence and wholeheartedly agreed: “Ancestor is right! If you can beat them, it’s not a problem!”

Gawain gave the stubborn girl a helpless glance. “Can you listen to the whole sentence? I said use your brain before your fist!”

Just as Hetty was about to chide Rebecca, a certain Amber suddenly appeared from nowhere.

“She thought it through and realized her brain wasn’t enough…” Amber teased.

Before Amber could get a hit in, Gawain grabbed her head. “You just can’t go a day without stirring up trouble, huh? By the way, what are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like places like the Holy Light church?”

“I’m here for the show!” Amber struggled in Gawain’s grip, then slipped away with a shadowy shift. “Honestly, this pastor seems alright—not like those annoying Holy Light priests I’ve met before…”

Gawain knew this half-elf well. After her rambling, he asked, “Besides watching the show, you have other business, right?”

“Tch, the old codger’s got sharp eyes…” Amber pouted, then quickly added before getting smacked again, “Pittman’s looking for you—he says there’s a breakthrough in the mass production of druidic potions!”

(End of chapter)