Chapter 482: First Comes the Newspaper

The clergy of Luan City had no idea what was happening beyond the sealed city walls. In fact, even without the blockade, they likely wouldn’t have noticed the infiltration and sabotage spreading from the lowest strata of the populace. Since that public burning at the square, the city had settled into a temporary calm. The cathedral priests believed that destroying the propaganda materials had solved the problem, at least halting further damage from the Cecilian faction. But in truth, a far more turbulent force was brewing beneath this veneer of peace—stirring in every corner of the sealed city.

Mysterious rumors began to spread throughout the city. After nightfall, people secretly gathered in homes to discuss the dwindling food supplies and the locked gates of the cathedral district. Some claimed to have seen carts loaded with grain being hauled into the cathedral area; others whispered that the underground vaults of Luan Cathedral held enough food to feed the entire city for a year. More unsettling still were reports that the clergy were preparing to flee. These varied rumors seemed to sprout overnight, quickly spreading through the outer districts.

Meanwhile, more leaflets and pamphlets slipped into the city through covert channels amid this undercurrent of unrest.

The public burnings and executions in the square had indeed instilled fear, deterring many commoners. When new leaflets appeared, many turned themselves in immediately. Yet another group chose to secretly keep the materials. The second batch of leaflets not only exposed the Holy Light Church but also described a different, better life: a more enlightened faith, greater prosperity, and a Holy Light that belonged to everyone. For the people of Luan, long suffering under harsh blockade and oppression, these promises held an irresistible allure.

Thus, while many leaflets were voluntarily surrendered, others circulated through more secretive routes—passing through neglected alleys, under the cover of darkness, among hungry and fearful citizens. Though harder to spread, these leaflets left a deeper impression on the hearts of the people. In this way, Luan City was quietly fracturing in ways almost imperceptible.

The cathedral clergy would never truly understand why these leaflets held such power over the common folk. But the intelligence agents conducting sabotage within the city understood perfectly: before the rise of Cecilian power, no group of supernaturals or nobles had ever spoken to the people as equals. Even if it was just a few printed words—greetings, encouragements, promises—the warmth they carried was precious in this cold age.

The commoners of Luan were among the better-off peasants—they were wealthier, more dignified, and more literate than most. Yet they were still commoners, the lowest rung in a rigidly stratified society. In peaceful times, they might live better than others elsewhere, but when hardship struck, their conditions plummeted. This stark contrast only deepened their resentment and widened the gap between them and the clergy.

Of course, the cathedral was not entirely blind to these developments. The edges of the cathedral district maintained countless subtle connections with the outer city. As more leaflets were discovered and turned in, the high-ranking priests finally grew alarmed. Shocked by the volume and rapid replenishment of these materials, they launched repeated searches and interrogations across the city. During this time, Archbishop Flamberon convened a citywide gathering and preached in the square. He told everyone that the city’s hardships were caused by the Cecilian blockade—that the Cecilians were the true culprits. He urged the people to remain devout to the Holy Light and loyal to the Church, to face these difficulties with steadfast resilience.

The sermon was somewhat successful; Flamberon managed to restore some faith among the populace. But after the sermon, dozens of commoners suspected of privately discussing the Church or the leaflets were publicly whipped. With each lash, more resentment and hostility toward Luan Cathedral grew.

The city might be blockaded by the Cecilians, but it was the monks who wielded the whip and seized the grain. For most ordinary people, the details of this conflict were irrelevant—they only cared about their own lives.

Meanwhile, more visual evidence was swiftly transmitted outside Luan City—to Cecilian territory, to the four new industrial cities in the southern region, and to printing presses there. These images were turned into tens of thousands of newspapers and distributed throughout the south.

With the advent of industrial printing presses, the circulation and frequency of the Cecilian Weekly increased dramatically. It was no longer just a weekly publication but came out twice a week, with occasional special editions.

The Cecilian Weekly’s growing readership included merchants sniffing out business opportunities, scholars accumulating knowledge, and literate commoners tracking grain prices and government decrees. Even the illiterate gathered around those who could read, listening to news about changes affecting their daily lives.

Benny, a boy living in Carol City, was closely connected to the newspaper. Every Monday and Saturday morning, he arrived early at the newspaper stand to get the latest issue—often taking many copies at once.

He was a newsboy.

This was a new kind of “job,” barely even a profession. To help newspapers reach readers quickly and ease the burden on the press, officials from the Department of Administration recruited children from the newly established general education schools. The criteria were poverty and good grades. These children worked on Monday and Saturday mornings when they had no classes. Though the half-day wages were small, they were a precious supplement for the children and their families. Benny, having learned some spelling from his father and excelling at school, had earned this valuable position.

At dawn, while the first rays of sunlight hesitated on the horizon and the city’s newly installed magic crystal street lamps still glowed, Benny was already at the newspaper office’s door. Behind him stood a dozen others, half of them children like himself.

Greeting his friends, chatting about city news or teachers at the general school, time slipped by pleasantly. Benny enjoyed this relaxed feeling—though he couldn’t quite explain it, he knew the Cecilians’ arrival had changed everything. Many adults worried about these changes, but Benny thought life was pretty good now.

Shortly after the first sunlight crested the horizon, the newly built mechanical clock two streets away chimed. As the day’s first bell rang, the magic crystal lamps along the streets went out one by one, and the newspaper office’s doors opened.

Before long, Benny received the day’s newspapers to deliver and sell. He carried two large satchels—one filled with subscription copies for delivery, the other with papers for retail sale.

Wealthier customers—merchants and scholars—wanted the news first and often paid extra for a month-long “home delivery service,” with someone bringing the paper directly to their door. In larger southern cities, this was done by professional postmen, but Carol City lacked enough postal workers, so newsboys like Benny took on the job.

With his heavy bags slung over his shoulders, Benny hurried toward the streets. He quickly finished delivering to his assigned block, then found a quiet corner to pull out a copy and read.

This was a bit of a cheat, but in a hidden street corner, no one would bother him.

Benny wasn’t worried about failing his sales quota—more and more people were reading the paper, and demand always outstripped supply.

At least, that was the case for now.

He read carefully, finishing the front-page news and current affairs, then turned to a new section that had recently caught his attention.

The section was titled “Faith and the Church.”

It was a new addition, first appearing three issues ago in a special edition of the Cecilian Weekly.

In the first few issues, this section contained nothing unusual—classic religious stories, simple parables, explanations of rituals and divine knowledge. Whatever was written was interesting to Benny, who read them as entertaining tales.

But this time, the content seemed different. Instead of short stories and parables, the entire page was filled with an article under a bold headline:

“How the Northern Holy Light Church Operates—Where the Clergy’s Wealth Comes From”

Curious, Benny was about to read on when a curse from nearby interrupted him.

“Damn it!”

Startled, Benny turned to see Old Tom from his neighborhood—an elderly tanner—holding a newspaper and looking furious. He cursed again, “I don’t believe a word of it!”

Benny shrank back. He was afraid of Old Tom, a devout and stubborn follower of the Holy Light. After his wife died, Tom had donated half his estate to the Church and lived a frugal, solitary life. His craftsmanship was impeccable, but his cantankerous, reclusive nature made him hard to get along with.

All the children feared him.

Old Tom continued muttering curses under his breath, clearly displeased with the article. Yet despite his grumbling, he couldn’t help but keep reading—cursing after every sentence.

Benny grew more frightened. He thought the old man might be losing his mind, so he quietly backed away, hoping to slip off unnoticed. But before he could move, the grumpy tanner called out:

“Kid! Tell me, is this newspaper nonsense or what?!”

Benny shrank again but mustered courage to look up and offer a few words to appease him. Yet the moment he met Old Tom’s gaze, he froze in shock.

The old widower’s eyes were bloodshot, and his usually cold face twisted in anguish.

“This is all lies! It has to be lies!” Old Tom gripped the paper so tightly it crumpled in his hands, his voice trembling. “They told me… told me… that when the gold coins jingle, my name would be written in the Kingdom of God, and Martha would be waiting for me there…”

Benny blinked, unsure of what the old cobbler in front of him was saying. Yet his eyes drifted to the newspaper in his hands, where the words penned by the “White Knight,” a so-called “theological commentator,” were clear and unmistakable:

“…These pastors excel at using unverifiable empty promises to swindle money from their followers. The most common claims include things like… the jingle of gold coins securing one’s place in the kingdom of God, or sending the souls of recently departed loved ones into the divine realm. But in truth, none of this aligns with the teachings of the Holy Light…”

“The original scriptures of the Holy Light contain explicit statements about the salvation of souls, yet the clergy never allow ordinary people to see this part, nor do they offer detailed explanations…”

Old Tom’s emotions seemed to finally settle a bit. His eyes were still red, but he no longer cursed. Instead, he picked up the newspaper and quickly scanned the words once more.

“Bah.”

He spat to the side, hesitated as if unsure whether to toss the paper away, but in the end, he stuffed it into his coat and hunched over as he slowly walked off.

Benny watched this unfold, puzzled. Then he noticed more people around him clutching copies of the same paper.

Small groups gathered, discussing the contents. Some looked worried, others angry, and some simply confused.

No one seemed to react as fiercely as Old Tom, but there was no doubt everyone was deeply engaged with what they’d read. Even those without a paper in hand appeared to be asking their neighbors about it.

Benny thought for a moment—and suddenly knew what he had to do.

He raised his newspaper high and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Extra! Extra! New Cecil Weekly! Inside scoop on the church’s operations! Firsthand news—get your copy here!”

(End of chapter)