Strike (Seeking Monthly Votes~ Seeking Follow-up Reads~)

"Watch out for the mentor? What does that mean?" Little George took another egg from the box and handed it to Gais.

"Mr. Gais, eat a hot egg first to build up your strength; your spirit is in a terrible state right now."

Gais nodded, took the steaming egg, cracked it, and began to nibble on it.

"I don't have a clue yet. I plan to pray to the great Lord after the strike ends, seeking an interpretation of the dream from Him."

Little George also cracked an egg, popped it into his mouth in one go, and mumbled:

"Hmm... the great Lord must know. Let me finish distributing these things first; there are still some workers who haven't..."

He grabbed the remaining bread and eggs from the box and sprinted toward the crowd gathered in front of City Hall.

"Eat something! You can only protest better with a full stomach!"

"Here, a freshly boiled hot egg, provided by the great Holy Spirit Society."

Little George wove nimbly through the crowded throng, his movements agile and practiced.

Clearly, this was a skill honed from handing out flyers around the Textile Factory over the past few days.

"You, kid, what are you doing!"

A constable maintaining order noticed Little George running back and forth distributing supplies and barked a stern reprimand.

Little George raised an eyebrow, rolled his eyes a few times, and flashed the same amiable smile as Gais:

"Oh, Mr. Constable, as you can see, I am just a breakfast vendor.

If you need one, I can give you one as well."

He walked toward the constable and reached out to offer a piece of bread.

"Hmph, I won't eat your things. Who knows if they're safe." The constable turned his head away, seemingly not wanting to deal with the boy.

Little George retracted his hand naturally, his smile undiminished, as if he had expected this.

He said in a slow, leisurely tone:

"Oh? Is that so?

Then I truly apologize, respected Mr. Constable. The food we commoners eat is never safe.

Unlike you, who can eat clean and hygienic food every day."

These words were like a needle, gently pricking the already tense atmosphere.

The constable's face flushed red instantly, his brows knitting together. Just as he was about to retort, a wave of indignation erupted from the crowd:

"...Heh, is it that we don't want to eat clean food!"

"...The factory owners take the goods we make with our blood and sweat to exchange for pounds, pay us meager wages that make it hard to survive, and now they turn around and accuse us of being unhygienic?"

"...We must have a raise! I demand a raise to 15 shillings a week—no, 1 pound!"

"...That's right! 1 pound! Let us see what clean bread looks like too!"

The shouting grew louder and louder. Workers poured toward the front of City Hall, and the shield-bearing constables struggled to hold the line, casting resentful glares at their colleague.

The constable realized he had said the wrong thing; his face turned a shade of green and white. He opened his mouth, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

Little George watched the scene before him, a flash of cunning in his eyes, and smiled genuinely.

He quietly took two steps back, melting into the crowd, not forgetting to wave the egg in his hand at the constable:

"Mr. Constable, if you need one, I still have more!"

Before the man could react, he dove into the throng and vanished from sight.

He left the constable behind, trapped in a dilemma by the workers' denunciations.

Gais watched Little George bouncing back, the gloom that had gathered in his heart swept away, and he shook his head with a smile.

He knew that Little George was doing this partly to continue inciting the strike, and partly to lift his own spirits.

"Our Bishop George is truly becoming more and more capable. I don't know who he learned these words from.

Hmm... simple, but effective."

Having received Gais's praise, Little George's smile widened.

"Mr. Gais, of course it's... the great Lord of All Spirits. It is His revelations every time that make my command of language stronger!"

The two chatted and laughed at the street corner, as if the chaotic scene in front of City Hall had nothing to do with them.

Inside City Hall, in an office.

Mayor Logan sat in a high-backed leather chair, several stacks of crumpled documents spread out on the desk before him, his fingers tapping the surface unconsciously.

He raised his eyes to look at the captain of the constables standing before the desk, whose figure was somewhat bloated and clearly lacking in exercise.

"When will the factory managers be able to arrive?"

The captain's forehead was covered in sweat. "Mr. Mayor, my men have already gone to all the factories separately. They should be here soon, just wait a little longer..."

"Wait a little longer?" Logan smiled, though his eyes turned cold. "By the time they arrive, I fear the gates of City Hall will have already been trampled down by the workers."

The captain of the constabulary was choked into silence. He turned to look at a young constable standing behind him, his tone turning abruptly stern:

"What about the Church of Divine Grace? Have they been notified? There must be a cult organization fueling this strike from behind the scenes. We must make the Church take responsibility for this!"

The young constable immediately bowed and replied:

"Reporting to you, sir, they have been notified. Bishop Tarik replied that Night Watchman Abel will come to assist in maintaining order at the scene."

"Only one person? That is utter nonsense!" The captain's voice grew agitated. "If so many of us constables cannot hold back the angry crowd, what use is one man?"

"That's enough." Logan shook his head, signaling him to stop. He leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window with a complex look in his eyes.

He knew clearly in his heart that this Night Watchman was certainly a Beyonder.

Ever since confirming the existence of Beyonders within the Church of Divine Grace, he had become somewhat wary of the Church, unwilling to communicate too much, and their cooperation was no longer as close as it once was.

Watching Logan's furrowed brows, the captain grew even more impatient: "Mr. Mayor, the Church cannot be relied upon. Why don't we use our guns..."

Logan slammed his hand on the table, cutting him off: "No, we haven't reached that point yet. The public already has grievances against our government; do you want to escalate the situation further?"

He stood up from his chair and grabbed his coat: "Let's go. Come out with me and take a look."

Seeing the mayor's actions, the captain immediately grew anxious:

"Mr. Mayor, it is too dangerous outside. I suggest you do not go! My men can control the situation. Once the factory owners arrive, they will surely be able to solve the problem."

Logan looked at his subordinate and sighed:

"If you could handle it, would it have dragged on until now? Hmph, our City Hall must give these workers an explanation today."

The man was left speechless, his stout body swaying as he followed Logan out of the office.

Ivan followed by Logan's side, quietly watching this scene.

He knew today was the day of the strike, so he hadn't gone to school with Diana; instead, he had boarded Logan's carriage early and arrived at City Hall.

Mr. Logan's attitude toward the Church seems to have become somewhat subtle. Is it because of the eyeball little Diana received?

He pondered to himself: It seems the City Hall and the Church are not as united as they appear on the surface.

He naturally also noticed Gais's inner thoughts.

Be careful of the mentor... it couldn't be Diana's Ancient Language professor, could it?

Ivan shook his head. He did not understand the meaning of these words, so he did not immediately provide a revelation to Gais, preparing instead to come up with an answer only when truly asked.

The fog outside the door remained thick, refusing to dissipate even under the fervent shouts of the workers.

Logan walked to the main entrance of City Hall and stood in the center of the shield-bearing guards.

Someone among the workers nearby seemed to recognize him and shouted loudly:

"...It's the mayor! The mayor has come out! Quick, we must have an explanation for us workers today!"

"...That's right, we must have an explanation!"

He stepped forward, signaling the constables in front of him to move their shields aside.

The constables were apprehensive, glancing at their leader behind the mayor for permission. Upon receiving the captain's nod, they hurriedly cleared a path.

Logan walked slowly into the center of the crowd. Wherever he passed, the workers automatically cleared a space, seemingly filled with a sense of awe.

He smiled politely at the people in front of him. He cleared his throat; his voice was not loud, yet it possessed a remarkable power of penetration.

"Citizens, I am Logan Gustav, the mayor of Trino. Please rest assured, I am not here to persuade you to return, but to listen to what is truly on your minds. I know that you did not set aside your work and come here on a whim, but because you are facing genuine hardships."