Chapter 346 - 254: Zog’s Public Relations Class

Chapter 346: Chapter 254: Zog’s Public Relations Class

Outside the church in Twin Tower City, a large crowd had already gathered.

They had completely surrounded the church, holding banners and chanting slogans, demanding that the Church explain the Steam Engine curse.

For now, however, they had yet to take any more drastic action.

Surrounding the church was one thing; a violent confrontation was another entirely.

A violent confrontation with the Church was a death sentence.

Behind the church’s magnificent stained-glass windows, the new Bishop of the Twin Towers City watched the angry crowd with a grave expression.

It was two in the morning. Nearly three hours had passed since the incident began, and the Archbishops in the Holy City still hadn’t reached a conclusion.

The Steam Engine curse affected the entire Continent, so as a Bishop responsible for only a single city, he could not decide how to respond on his own.

He didn’t know how they would ultimately handle the situation.

He didn’t want to resort to overly harsh measures. He knew most of the people outside.

Many of them were workers who had participated in the strike a month ago.

They had been fighting for one day off a week and a twelve-hour workday.

Similar protests had occurred several times before, but they were always broken up by professional thugs hired by the Factory owners. It wasn’t until last month, when a protest turned bloody, that the Factory owners finally compromised. They only did so after the workers proved they were willing to risk their lives.

The Bishop of the Twin Towers City had led many Priests to treat the injured workers for free and provide burial and a place of rest for those who had tragically lost their lives.

For many people here, "being too poor to die" was a common reality. The price of a burial plot was as high as a house, sometimes even more.

The relatives of the deceased had to pay an annual maintenance fee. Otherwise, there was no guarantee the body wouldn’t "accidentally" turn up in a Necromancer’s laboratory.

The Bishop deeply sympathized with these poor souls who could find no rest in life and no peace in death.

Having grown up in Twin Tower City, he had joined the Church in his youth, cherishing the ideal of alleviating suffering.

Later, however, he discovered the Church was not what he had imagined.

The Church was home to many different factions, some of which were not devout in their faith, nor were their motives noble.

’Placing a curse on the Steam Engines must have been a plan hatched by one of these factions.’

Although the Bishop didn’t know the details of the curse, he was certain from the demonstration in the video that it was a Divine Art.

’The corruption within the Church is even worse than I imagined.’

He even suspected that the Holy City’s final conclusion would be to completely deny the Church’s involvement.

’The Goddess must be disappointed to see Her servants fallen to such depths.’

The Bishop sighed worriedly.

"Bishop," a deacon from the diocese said, coming up behind him. "A decree from the Holy City has arrived."

"Is it the decision on how to handle this incident?"

"No, it’s for you personally."

***

「The Pope’s Country, the Holy City.」

Around a long table sat the current Pope, a Cardinal, and several Patriarchs of the Church.

The figures at the apex of the Church’s power were all gathered here.

Most were in their sixties or seventies and unaccustomed to discussing matters so late at night.

But the current situation was dire.

The Church profiting from a curse on Steam Engines was the biggest scandal to erupt in centuries.

It wasn’t the worst scandal, however.

The Church had been discovered doing even more extreme things, but none of those incidents had spread as widely as this one.

Back then, there was no internet, no Demon Vision, and not even any newspapers. News was easily contained within a single city, preventing tens of millions of people from finding out within a matter of hours.

If this wasn’t handled properly, it would damage the public’s faith in the Goddess.

Faith cannot be coerced.

They had tried.

Therefore, the Church had to maintain its benevolent and holy image.

"Patriarch Cedric, you can no longer hold this position." The Pope’s tone left no room for argument.

"On what grounds?" Cedric asked in disbelief. "Wasn’t everything I did for the Church?"

"The Church never asked you to do such a thing," the Pope replied calmly.

"Never asked? Then who was it who told me the Steam Engine was a fine invention? And who told me that the improper use of a Divine Art could result in a curse?"

"I merely warned you not to misuse Divine Arts, as that could invite disaster. You, however, did not heed my warning."

"Haha!"

Patriarch Cedric laughed with rage.

"If it weren’t for me, where would the money to renovate the churches have come from? How would we have built the holy statues? And how would we have managed to orchestrate those ’miracles’ every so often, just to pretend the Goddess still cares about Her servants!"

"Devout servants do not require the Goddess’s attention. We serve of our own free will. You have twisted the doctrine." The Pope clearly didn’t want to waste any more time on the matter.

"We shall now vote on whether Patriarch Cedric—who, blinded by profit, willingly fell into depravity and brought disaster upon the faithful—and his followers should be put to judgment."

Patriarch Cedric—or rather, the former Patriarch—watched helplessly as his erstwhile colleagues raised their hands, one after another.

He had been abandoned.

Without a moment’s hesitation.

From the day he joined the Church, he had anticipated such an end for himself. He just hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

Cedric’s reason for joining the Church had been simple: he wanted to climb his way up within the system.

But he had no connections within the Church, nor did he possess any outstanding talents. His parents weren’t even believers.

If he wanted more opportunities, his only choice was to do the dirty work others refused to do—to become a disposable glove, worn to handle filth and then thrown away at a moment’s notice.