The Spark of Thought

Ralte's city walls looked an even duller dark red in the fading light of dusk than Zhou Beichen remembered, like a solidified, ominous scab of blood clinging to the edge of the desert. Zhou Beichen and Lorgar once again disguised themselves as travel-worn wanderers, blending into the sparse stream of people entering the city and silently slipping into this city where a storm was brewing.

Compared to their last visit, the guards at the gate seemed even more lax. Beyond their usual weariness, their eyes held a barely perceptible unease. Their inspections remained listless, and Zhou Beichen easily bluffed his way through with the story he had prepared in advance—they were merchants from a more remote settlement, here to buy needles, thread, and sundries. Lorgar's massive frame still drew attention, but perhaps because of the subtle shift in the city's atmosphere, the guards merely glanced at him a few extra times instead of probing the chilling impression he gave as deeply as they had before.

The moment they entered Ralte, that familiar, overpowering smell rushed at them—a mix of sweat, spices, rust, and religious incense. This time, however, Zhou Beichen keenly caught the undercurrent of unease churning beneath that familiar scent. The streets seemed filthier than he remembered, and the numbness on people's faces was laced with concealed anxiety. Whispers sprouted in alleyways and at street corners, only to abruptly cease whenever patrol guards passed by.

Like two drops of water merging into sewage, they moved through Ralte's labyrinthine alleys, using Lorgar's extraordinary senses to avoid the main patrol routes while gathering every piece of information they could. After several days, two clear pictures gradually emerged before them.

The bad news was certain. Through every possible channel—the boasting of drunks in taverns, the complaints of market vendors, even impatient fragments of conversation from low-ranking guards—they confirmed that the Covenant Church in Ralte really was gathering its forces. Orders had been issued for several small settlements and outposts dependent on Ralte to draw guards and conscripts from their own ranks and converge on the city. Though this motley force was assembling at an infuriatingly slow pace and coordination was bound to be chaotic, once formed, it would possess an overwhelming numerical advantage over the Southern Highlands settlements. The clouds of war were no baseless rumor.

Yet the good news was just as obvious, even giving Zhou Beichen a pleasant surprise. Whether due to absolute overconfidence in its own authority or because its bloated, inefficient bureaucracy had yet to fully react, Ralte's current military strength was astonishingly hollow. Other than the limited city guards maintaining basic order and some ceremonial church knights who looked impressive but impractical, there was hardly any proper, organized fighting force to be seen. Most of the regular, experienced guards seemed to have been sent outside the city, either to oversee the sluggish assembly of the vassal forces or to carry out other unknown tasks.

This meant that Ralte's core—its center of rule—was currently in a relatively vulnerable period.

At night, they hid in the cramped room they had rented during their last visit, a place that could barely be called an inn. Under the dim yellow lamplight, Lorgar sat like a silent rock, his violet eyes glimmering coldly in the shadows.

"Father, the situation is clear." Lorgar's voice was low and steady, carrying an almost cruel rationality. "The enemy's main force has not yet assembled, and its heart is exposed. Based on my observations and senses, the guards at the lord's hall are insufficient to present any effective obstacle. I can infiltrate directly, find that fat bishop who issued the orders or the so-called lord, and twist off his head. With no leader, the assembly will naturally fall apart."

He said it lightly, as though he were merely stating a simple fact he was about to accomplish. Given his inhuman strength, speed, and senses, it was no empty boast. A decapitation strike, clean and decisive, seemed to be the most direct and effective way to resolve the current crisis.

Zhou Beichen said nothing. He walked to the small, grime-covered window and looked out at Ralte's silent, oppressive nightscape. Scattered torches swayed in the hands of distant patrol guards like ghostly lights in a graveyard. His fingers unconsciously tapped against the window frame, producing faint clicking sounds.

After a long while, he turned around. There was neither approval nor opposition on his face, only a deeper expression, as though he were studying a complicated chessboard.

"Lorgar, I believe you can twist off his head," Zhou Beichen said slowly, his tone calm. "You might even be able to twist off the head of anyone else who dares sit in that position afterward. But then what?"

Lorgar tilted his head slightly, showing his confusion.

"Fear may temporarily suppress resistance, but the seeds of hatred and humiliation will be buried even deeper. The Covenant Church's foundations—its tangled doctrines, the authority it has built over centuries, and people's instinctive fear and rejection of 'heretics'—will not disappear because one or several bishops die." Zhou Beichen walked before Lorgar, his gaze sharp. "We eliminate one visible enemy, but the invisible enemy—that old ideology rooted in people's hearts—will remain. After we leave, it will grow again in the hands of a new ruler. It may even become more entrenched because of bloody suppression. We would only be creating more enemies for our future selves, and more hidden ones at that."

"And haven't you noticed? Ralte's residents, even some of the lower-ranking guards, have plenty of complaints about the church here." Zhou Beichen lowered his voice, guiding him gently. "I heard them complain about heavy taxes, scorn the extravagant lives of the upper clergy, and express dissatisfaction with the restraints of rigid doctrine... But long oppression and a lack of hope have left them too afraid to resist. They can only bury their discontent in their hearts."

Lorgar focused and thought back. His exceptional senses had indeed caught many similar fragments of emotion, but he had previously been more focused on evaluating military targets. "Yes, Father. I sensed many... emotions where resentment and numbness were intertwined, like undercurrents beneath the earth."

"That gives us another choice." A calculating curve lifted at the corner of Zhou Beichen's mouth. "One more thorough, and more 'economical,' than simple slaughter."

"What is it?" Lorgar asked. He realized that his father seemed to have another plan that went beyond the level of brute force.

"The spread of ideology." Zhou Beichen spoke a term still unfamiliar to Lorgar, though its meaning was beginning to emerge from the context. "Or rather, a 'color revolution' from within."

He walked to the table, dipped a finger in water, and began roughly drawing on the dust-covered surface.

"Look. Ralte's military deployment is so inefficient that the window of time available to us is longer than expected. We do not need to, and should not, be satisfied with merely killing a bishop. We can use this time to organize an underground 'propaganda department' here." He tapped the tabletop, representing Ralte.

"A propaganda department?"

"Yes! One dedicated to spreading the doctrines of our New Covenant and publicizing the true reality of our Earthly Heaven—not through any evil secret art, but through a fair order, practical technology, and the hope and dignity every person can possess!" Zhou Beichen's voice held a bewitching force. "We must tell these long-oppressed people that resistance is possible, that another, better world truly exists! Right in the Southern Highlands!"

"We will ignite the fire in their hearts and turn the sparks of resistance into a blaze that sweeps across the land! When that force becomes strong enough, they themselves will rise up and wipe out this rotten center of rule from within!"

Light flickered in Lorgar's violet eyes as he quickly understood Zhou Beichen's intention. "Make the enemy collapse from within... We do not need to attack the city ourselves. We only need to provide the spark of thought and let them burn on their own."

"Exactly! And that is not all." Zhou Beichen drew a line across the tabletop, connecting Ralte and the Southern Highlands. "Once chaos erupts within Ralte, what will those motley forces from the surrounding settlements, still assembling at a snail's pace, do? Will they return to reinforce their home base, or continue attacking us?"

He answered his own question, his tone certain. "Most likely, they will return to reinforce it! Because their families and their foundations are in Ralte! By then, the pressure on our settlements will drop sharply. And we can even strike while the iron is hot, coordinating inside and outside with the uprising forces in Ralte to defeat those returning enemy troops—stripped of unified command—one by one in the field or beneath the city walls, and swallow them whole!"

Zhou Beichen slapped the table hard, sending dust flying. "This is called a home-base swap tactic! They want to raid our base, so we will first stir up the people and raid theirs! Then we close the door and beat the dog!"

The room fell into brief silence. Lorgar digested this vast and risky plan. It was far more complicated than a simple assassination, involving a precise grasp of human hearts, sharp judgment of timing, and immense uncertainty. Yet if it succeeded, the gains would be revolutionary—not merely removing the military threat, but completely bringing the city of Ralte, along with its population and resources, into the system of Earthly Heaven, completing a true "reverse acquisition"!

"You can certainly twist off the head of a lord or bishop and solve a temporary threat." Zhou Beichen looked at Lorgar, his tone profound. "But only by changing the direction of people's hearts can we fundamentally solve all the similar problems we may face in the future. That is... an 'investment' that solves everything once and for all."