Incendiary Letters (Seeking Follow-ups, Seeking Monthly Votes~)

Although he was grumbling internally, Ivan still noticed something amiss at the very first moment.

"The owner of this grocery store has a strange attitude toward Little George; he's actually sponsoring the Holy Spirit Society."

In his view, a job that paid 1 pound just for delivering some letters to a location could only be described as charity.

Ivan certainly didn't believe it was his own divine grace that had caused such a pie to fall from the sky for Little George.

"Could there be some conspiracy? Are these letters laced with some kind of contagion that infects you the moment you open them, or perhaps some curse that kills you upon reading?"

Countless sinister thoughts flickered through Ivan's mind, and he felt it was absolutely necessary to provide some protection for this bishop of his, who seemed a bit too naive.

If something really went wrong, he could still use faith energy to perform a rescue.

Little George excitedly picked up the letters and the gold pound, nodding vigorously.

"Mr. Miller, thank you for your generosity. Are these letters meant for anyone in particular?"

"Heh heh, no need. Just hand them out to the workers passing by the entrance of the Textile Factory."

Miller wore a harmless smile as he watched Little George leave the grocery store.

The moment Little George stepped out of the shop, his expression immediately turned rather peculiar.

"I wonder if I played the part well enough."

"This old Miller has run a grocery store in the East District for so many years and I've never seen him this generous. There must be some ulterior motive; whatever he's making me do can't be anything good!"

He waved his fist in anger, yet he didn't discard the letters.

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

"Brothers! I was kicked by that damn foreman again this morning.

The machines at the Textile Factory spin faster than a rabbit runs, and my hands have been pricked by that thing more times than I can count.

Yet, the weekly wage I take home is still a pathetic 8 shillings.

Damn it! What does that buy? It's only enough for some bread and sour milk; I can't even afford a bottle of gin!

The factory owner always talks about how hard it is to run the business, but I clearly saw him taking a steam carriage to the Royal Theater to enjoy himself last night!

The church tells us to be patient and that the Lord will look after us, but their silver cups are filled with imported wine while I can't even get my fill of beer!

They are lying to us together. The machines have stolen our jobs, the church numbs our pain—how much longer must we endure this?

Next Monday morning, we aren't going to the factory! We are gathering at the entrance of City Hall to demand a raise to 15 shillings!

Damn it, anyone who doesn't go is helping the factory owner oppress our own people! We don't bully others, but we won't be bullied either!

If you want to do this, gather on Monday morning! Remember, don't tell those constables; they are in league with the factory owner!"

Little George's mouth hung open after reading the contents of the letter.

This... this was an attempt to incite a strike among the textile workers?

But what benefit would a worker strike have for his grocery store? They wouldn't buy his goods just because of a strike...

Little George's original assumptions were shattered one by one, and the direction of events left him feeling quite confused.

Ivan, who had been floating behind him all along, quietly breathed a sigh of relief. When he saw Little George boldly open the letter, he had already prepared to mobilize faith energy to save him; fortunately, the letter itself held no anomalies.

However, the content of the letter was rather interesting. He wanted to incite the workers to strike and cause trouble at City Hall?

If Miller were a competitor of this factory trying to ruin them, Ivan could understand. But he was clearly just a grocery store owner...

"No, his identity is definitely not that simple."

Ivan pondered the impact this matter might have.

If a riot were to break out, the one with the biggest headache would certainly be City Hall, followed by the Church of Divine Grace, as these striking workers would surely complain about the church's unfairness.

"From this perspective, the beneficiaries must be those who hope to see the existing order broken; they would certainly profit from the chaos in the city."

He had a basic answer in his mind: behind Miller was either some evil secret cult or a gang looking to make a profit amidst the chaos.

Ivan also realized that if this matter really blew up as expected, it would be a good opportunity for the Holy Spirit Society.

"Take this opportunity to develop believers."

Little George's chaotic thoughts were stirred into ripples by Ivan's revelation.

He raised his head to look at the empty sky, his voice dropping low with a hint of uncertain tremor.

"Great Lord! Are you telling me to help him complete this task and use the potential chaos to spread your grace?"

The grand voice explained to Little George.

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

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

"At such a time, whoever can offer the workers 'hope' will be the one to gain their faith."

Little George was stunned, then suddenly realized.

"That's right! The workers are already dissatisfied with the Church of Divine Grace. If someone could help them during the chaos—like blocking a constable's baton or handing out bread to the hungry—they would surely be willing to believe in the great Lord of All Spirits."

"But... but we only have twenty-some believers. How are we supposed to help them?"

Little George felt a bit uneasy; the gold sovereign he clutched felt like a hot potato in his hand.

"No need to meet them head-on." Gais's voice drifted over from a distance.

He was still wearing his top hat and gold-rimmed spectacles, walking toward Little George with his signature smile plastered on his face.

The moment Ivan realized the stakes of this matter, he had summoned this believer over.

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

"While you're at it, throw in a few insults toward the Church of Divine Grace. If anyone echoes your sentiments, inadvertently let slip the existence of our glorious Holy Spirit Society."

Gais paused, then added.

"After that, buy some bread. We'll wait at the alleyway near City Hall next Monday morning."

"There will surely be workers who come to protest without having eaten breakfast. We just need to have our people hand out the bread, offer a little help, and mention that these are the merciful instructions of the Lord of All Spirits."

"Once the seed of curiosity sprouts in their hearts, they will come to watch the next Baptism Ceremony..."

"As for the rest, I'll leave that to you, Bishop George, to preside over the ceremony."

Little George's eyes slowly brightened. He had previously been fixated on the complex aspects of presiding over ceremonies and performing baptisms, forgetting that the most tangible form of faith actually lay in helping people resolve their suffering.

Just like when he opened the doors to the poorhouse last time, if he could help the striking workers now, he would surely attract more people to join the Holy Spirit Society!

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

He nodded vigorously, tucked the stack of letters back into his coat, and turned to run toward the direction where the textile factory workers were gathering.

"Hey, give me some as well. It'll be faster if we distribute them together."

"Right, thank you, Mr. Gais!" Little George hurriedly handed half the letters to Gais and then strode away.

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

"Great Lord! It seems that someone in the shadows wants us to grow and oppose the Church of Divine Grace?"

Heh, someone wants to invite Me to meet that person from the Church of Divine Grace.

"Hiss... that person from the Church of Divine Grace—could it be... that God? Does the great Lord of All Spirits intend to contend with Him on the divine throne?"

Gais quickly stifled his thoughts, not daring to imagine such a scene, while his desire for extraordinary power grew even more intense.

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

Ahem, Gais is letting his imagination run wild again. I can't exactly tell him that I don't dare to confront the Church of Divine Grace...

Sigh, I also need to find a way to get him the extraordinary abilities I promised.

Although he thought this, Ivan had no leads on the other Aspect of the church. The image of the man who looked like a priest during the Holy Blood Ritual flashed through his mind.

Ivan shook his head and looked toward the East District textile factories, where the smoke from the chimneys was growing thicker, as if signaling an impending chaotic storm.

"Well, let's secure the benefits right in front of us first."

St. Peter's Cathedral.

"Tsk, this one is just another fraud."

"Trouble you, Bishop, to clear this person's memories from last night."

As the voice faded, Abel dragged a middle-aged woman with greasepaint on her face, dumped her onto a chair in the cathedral's side hall, and left without looking back.

The man who looked like a priest stood to the side, watching his retreating figure, and nodded with a smile.

"My lady, your life seems to have taken a wrong turn. Do you require the Eyes of the Lord to guide you back to the path?"

The woman had clearly fainted and naturally could not answer the Bishop's question.

"Rest assured, your future life will be filled with meaning once more..."

The woman's slumped posture suddenly straightened in a grotesque manner, her eyes wide open, revealing vast whites.

The door to the side hall slowly closed, leaving behind only a solidified silence.