Grosien shrank his body, sitting on the hard wooden bench, swaying along with the swaying of the canopy-topped carriage.

Occasionally, when the wheels were bumped up by pebbles or potholes, Grosien's skinny body would briefly lift off and then land heavily, feeling as though the bones in his buttocks were about to crack.

Eight people were sitting inside this canopy-topped carriage.

The one wearing the high-end fringed cloak was the Town Mayor of Sour Melon Town, wearing a tricorn hat and maintaining a trim beard, lounging at the front of the carriage with eyes closed, resting.

To his left sat three low-level monks, dressed in hooded robes, anxiously and worriedly discussing in low voices.

Opposite the low-level monks were ordinary villagers like Grosien, all wearing brimless caps or straw hats and donned in linen tunics.

Though these eight people came from different classes, at this moment their identities were the same: they were the representatives of public opinion from their respective regions.

From gathering to boarding the carriage, these few individuals quickly divided themselves into circles based on their origins and gathered around to chat, rarely interacting with each other.

However, these low murmurings quickly ceased amidst the approaching sound of horse hooves.

The public opinion representatives all straightened their bodies; even the Town Mayor opened his eyes, listening intently with a tense expression.

Some of them even placed rough hands on their waists, almost drawing their dueling swords.

A few days earlier, a canopy-topped carriage had been intercepted and killed by the Robber Knight. Those representatives coming to attend the Believers' Assembly at Joan of Arc Castle were all hanged on trees.

They dared not be sure if this was an attack by the Robber Knight.

"Old Salawa, what's going on?" the Town Mayor asked tentatively.

The coachman's voice came from outside the canvas canopy: "No worries, it's the lords of the Holy Gun Cavalry Brigade, they're patrolling."

Seeing the coachman unharmed and even chatting a bit with those cavalrymen, these representatives of public opinion finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The Holy Gun Cavalry ran past one side of the carriage, and watching the ten cavalry disappear into the dust, the people finally relaxed their guard.

"Didn't even come for money, that's rare." The Town Mayor discreetly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, pretending to be calm as he spoke.

"They dare to waive our tithing for a year, just shows they don't care for money." The coachman overheard the exchange, chuckling as he spoke.

"No one in this world doesn't love money. They're just not lacking it." The Town Mayor snorted coldly.

"Why?" Grosien asked instinctively.

The Town Mayor sat up supporting himself on the bench: "I heard rumors, this bunch of rebel heretics defeated the Decree Lian and began looting monasteries and knight manors around.

After pillaging one after another, they must have at least 80,000 pounds of gold; do they need our 8,000 pounds of taxes?"

"Really?"

"Nonsense, I'm telling you, a couple of days ago a caravan passed through our village, said Joan of Arc Castle executes over a hundred knights and priests a day!" Priest Squall patted his chest, "There's a pile of ownerless Holy Image Talismans on the execution platform!"

"Burned Dean Juanuo, made blue blood wine, isn't it deserved for them?" Grosien retorted.

Squall reacted as though his tail had been stepped on: "Was it the bishop killed by the Salvation Army who burned Dean Juanuo? Was it the noble killed by the Salvation Army who made blue blood wine?"

"They, they..."

"Holy Father——" A Wandering Priest suddenly couldn't bear it anymore and started crying: "I said I couldn't be a priest, but they insisted on buying me a holy office, and now look, the office is achieved, but I'm off to Joan of Arc Castle to die."

"Relax." Hearing the increasingly chaotic discussions behind him, the coachman helplessly explained, "You're just a low-level monk; unless you've committed a crime, you won't be settled with."

Grosien consoled along: "My cousin in Gray Furnace Town told me the monks in the monastery were unharmed, just some ruffians, the Abbot, and agents were executed."

"Oh, since your cousin said it, now I have to believe." Squall retorted sarcastically.

Chastised by Squall, Grosien lowered his head miserably, but the companion next to him spoke up:

"Are you sympathizing with those demons? Be careful that I go to the Salvation Army and accuse you of sympathizing with the demons!"

Squall jumped up as if sitting on a sewing needle, stomped two steps forward, pointing at the speaker, almost poking a finger into his eyes: "Don't groundlessly accuse people of things, or I'll report to the Master Bishop and let you..."

"Master Bishop..." The Town Mayor interrupted Squall's speech irritably, flipping his right thumb downward coldly, "is already dead!"

Squall's voice seemed to be blocked by something invisible; he couldn't utter a word despite his Adam's apple bobbing.

He sat back in depression, leaning against the canopy, looking jittery at the wild grass in the middle of the dirt road behind the carriage, without saying a word.

These representatives of the public opinion all came from remote areas of Kush Territory; otherwise, they wouldn't be arriving near Joan of Arc Castle so late.

They had little interaction with the Salvation Army, plus the closed-off conditions of rural and manor life made information flow extremely slow.

For them, the lord over their heads changed from Dane to the rebels to Decree Lian, and back to the rebels in half a year.

Currently, rumors outside are rampant, with both crazed praise and crazed slander for the Salvation Army.

Overall, from their simple values, rebels are undoubtedly the evil side.

Yet when the Holy Gun Cavalry rushed into the manor, demanding each manor send two to three representatives of public opinion, the villagers obediently sent representatives.

Decree Lian had been crushed; the Extraordinary Knight was chased like a dog by the Salvation Army—how could they resist?

As for why Horn called them over, naturally there was a reason.

Occupying a region isn't like capturing a city in a game, where the entire territory falls under one's control.

Up to now, Horn's orders can only be relayed and executed in the area from Joan of Arc Castle to Wild Spider Forest.

Specifically, it includes five towns with Joan of Arc Castle and 89 manors with about 100,000 people.

This roughly covers one-third of Kush Territory's land and half of its population.

Outside this area, however, it's only verbally and nominally submitted.

To solidify subordinate relations and achieve substantial control, thus there's this Believers' Assembly.

If no mistakes occur, then these representatives will be the future administrators of their respective areas.

Horn currently lacks enough talent to manage so much land and populace; even managing these 100,000 is challenging for him.

Thus, the Salvation Army plans to adopt the old method of "knocking off the top and supporting the second-in-command, locals governing locals" for regions not under actual control yet.

Once a trustworthy batch of management talent is ready, they'll "transform soil into flow" and switch from a hereditary bureaucratic system to an appointed bureaucratic system.

On this level, it's necessary to precisely cut through, setting a target easy to hit and distinguish, and locate an appropriate second-in-command to support.

As for this second-in-command, they must be selected from these people present.

As per Horn's requirements, each manor must send two to three public opinion representatives, including one Public Register Farmer.

Each small town representative must include one laborer.

The structure of public opinion representatives in each area follows this pattern.

The representative from the manor is a Wandering Priest and a Public Register Farmer; the representative from the small town is a citizen, an artisan, and a laborer.

Even though Horn sternly eradicates church powers, the eradication targets classes and forces, not individuals.

For Horn, these low-level holy personnel getting their positions by purchasing positions are, precisely because of their non-devoutness, object of potential recruitment and transformation.

Yet these representatives are confused by half-truths and rumors, filled with dread for the upcoming days that could change their fate.

Finally, amidst their endless anxiety, by the evening of March 11, this group became the last batch of arriving representatives.

The next day would be the official start of the Believers' Assembly.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.