The Inciting Letter

Though he grumbled inwardly, Ivan immediately sensed something was off.

"The owner of this general store seems to have a strange attitude toward Little George. He's actually funding the Holy Spirit Society."

In his eyes, a job that paid one Gold Pound for delivering letters to a certain place could only be called a donation.

Ivan didn't think his blessing had somehow landed Little George a job that was too good to be true.

Could this be some kind of plot? Maybe the letters are carrying some contagious disease, and anyone who opens one will breathe it in and get infected. Or maybe they're cursed, and whoever opens one will die?

Countless wicked ideas flashed through Ivan's mind. He felt he had a duty to protect his bishop, who seemed a little too naive.

If something really went wrong, he could still use faith energy to save him.

Little George excitedly picked up the letters and the Gold Pound, then nodded firmly.

"Mr. Miller, thank you for your generosity. Are these letters meant for specific people?"

"Heh, no need. Just hand them out to the workers passing by the textile factory."

Miller gave him a harmless smile and watched Little George leave the general store.

The moment Little George stepped outside, his expression turned strange.

I wonder if I managed to act the part just now.

"That old Miller's run a general store in the East District for years, and I've never seen him this generous. He must have some hidden motive. Whatever he's asked me to do can't be anything good!"

He angrily shook his fist, but didn't throw away the letters.

Little George turned a few corners. After making sure no one suspicious was nearby, he quietly took one letter from the stack and held it up to the sunlight.

"Brother! That damned foreman kicked me again this morning.

The machines at the textile factory spin faster than a rabbit can run. I've lost count of how many times they've pricked my hands.

And yet my weekly pay is still a pitiful eight shillings.

Damn it! What can that buy? Just some bread and stale milk. I can't even afford a bottle of gin!

The factory owner is always going on about how hard it is to run a business, but I saw him riding off to enjoy himself at the Royal Theater in a steam carriage just last night!

The church tells us to endure, that the Lord will look after us. But they pour imported wine into their silver cups, while I can't even get enough beer to drink!

They're all lying to us. The machines steal our jobs, and the church numbs our pain. How much longer are we supposed to endure?

Next Monday morning, we won't go to the factory! We'll gather outside City Hall and demand that our wages be raised to fifteen shillings!

Damn it, anyone who doesn't show up is helping the factory owners oppress their own people! We don't bully anyone, but we won't let anyone bully us, either!

If you're in, meet next Monday morning! Remember, don't tell those Peace Officers. They're on the factory owners' side!"

After reading the letter, Little George couldn't help but gape.

Th-this is an attempt to incite the textile workers to strike?

But what good would a strike do for his general store? It wasn't as if people would buy his goods because of it...

Little George's expectations were being shattered one by one. He couldn't make sense of where things were headed.

Ivan, who had been floating behind him all along, quietly breathed a sigh of relief. When he saw Little George brazenly open the letter, he'd already prepared to use faith energy to save him. Fortunately, the letter itself wasn't anything unusual.

The letter's contents, though, were interesting. Someone was trying to incite the workers to strike and cause trouble at City Hall?

If Miller were a competitor of this factory owner, trying to ruin him, Ivan could understand. But he was only the owner of a general store...

No. There's no way he's just a shopkeeper.

Ivan thought briefly about the consequences of this.

If unrest broke out, City Hall would suffer the most, followed by the Church of Divine Grace, since the strikers would complain about the church's unfairness, too.

"From that angle, whoever benefits must want the existing order overturned. They must be able to profit from the city's chaos."

He already had a rough idea. Either Miller was connected to some evil secret church, or he was a gangster hoping to make a quick profit amid the chaos.

Ivan also realized that if things really unfolded as expected, this would be a good opportunity for the Holy Spirit Society.

"Use this chance to win over believers."

Ivan's revelation stirred a ripple in Little George's confused thoughts.

He looked up at the empty sky, his voice low and uncertain, trembling slightly.

"Great Lord! Are you telling me to help him carry this out, and use the possible chaos to spread Your grace?"

A majestic voice explained.

"Heh, someone wants to profit from the turmoil of a strike."

"The Church of Divine Grace will be busy suppressing it, and City Hall will be in chaos."

"At a time like that, whoever can give the workers 'hope' will win their faith."

Little George paused, then suddenly understood.

"Right! The workers are already unhappy with the Church of Divine Grace. If someone helps them during the chaos—say, shields them from the Peace Officers' batons or gives bread to the hungry—they'll surely be willing to worship the great Lord of All Spirits."

"But... we only have a little over twenty believers. How can we help them?"

Little George felt unsure. The Gold Pound in his hand suddenly seemed like a hot potato.

"We don't need to meet force with force." Gais's voice came from a distance.

Still wearing his bowler hat and gold-rimmed glasses, he walked toward Little George with his trademark smile.

As soon as Ivan realized the implications of the situation, he had summoned this believer.

"First, do as Miller said and hand out the letters to the workers."

"While you're at it, complain about the Church of Divine Grace. If anyone agrees, casually let slip that our great Holy Spirit Society exists."

Gais paused, then added,

"Then buy some bread. We'll wait in an alley near City Hall early next Monday morning."

"There'll definitely be workers coming to the protest without having eaten breakfast. We just need to have someone hand them bread, lend them a hand, and mention that it's the mercy of the Lord of All Spirits."

"As long as curiosity stirs in their hearts and they come to watch the next Baptism Ceremony..."

"The rest will be up to you, Bishop George, as the one presiding over the ceremony."

Little George's eyes gradually brightened. He'd been so focused on the complicated business of presiding over ceremonies and baptizing people that he'd forgotten where the most genuine faith was found: in helping people through their hardships.

Just as he had opened the Poorhouse's doors last time, helping the striking workers now would surely attract more people to join the Holy Spirit Society!

"I understand. Praise the great Lord of All Spirits!"

He nodded firmly, stuffed the stack of letters back into his arms, and turned to run toward the textile factory.

"Hey, give me some, too. We'll hand them out faster together."

"All right, thank you, Mr. Gais!" Little George hurriedly passed half the letters to Gais, then strode away.

Gais shook his head where he stood and prayed to Ivan inwardly.

"Great Lord! It seems someone secretly wants us to grow stronger and oppose the Church of Divine Grace?"

"Heh, someone wants to invite me to meet the one from the Church of Divine Grace."

"Gasp... The one from the Church of Divine Grace—do you mean their... god? Is the great Lord of All Spirits going to challenge Him on His divine throne?"

Gais hastily stopped himself from continuing down that line of thought, not daring to imagine such a scene. His longing for supernatural powers grew even stronger.

Ivan rubbed the spot where his nose should have been with a tentacle.

"Ahem, Gais is imagining things again. I can hardly tell him that I'm afraid to take on the Church of Divine Grace..."

Sigh, I need to figure out how to get him the supernatural powers I promised him, and soon.

That was what he thought, but he had no idea how to obtain another Aspect for the church. The image of the man who looked like a Father during the Holy Blood Ritual flashed through his mind.

Ivan shook his head and looked toward the textile factory in the East District. Smoke poured more and more thickly from its chimneys, as if heralding the turmoil to come.

"Right. I'll deal with the benefits in front of me first."

St. Peter's Cathedral.

"Tsk, this one's a fraud, too."

"Sorry to trouble you, Bishop. Please erase this person's memories of last night."

As soon as he finished speaking, Abel dragged a middle-aged woman with greasepaint smeared across her face and dumped her onto a chair in the side chapel. Then he left without looking back.

The man who looked like a Father stood to one side, watching him go with a smile and a nod.

"Madam, it seems your life has taken a wrong turn. Would you like the Eyes of the Lord to guide you back onto the right path?"

The woman had clearly already fainted, so naturally she couldn't answer the bishop.

"Don't worry. Your life will be filled with meaning again..."

The woman's limp posture suddenly straightened unnaturally. Her eyes flew open, revealing large expanses of white.

The side chapel door slowly closed, leaving behind only frozen silence.