A Wildfire Sweeps the Plains

On the journey back to the Southern Highlands, Zhou Beichen and Lorgar traveled almost day and night. The desert winds and sand could not disperse the urgency in their hearts, nor the excitement of a gathering storm. The moment they entered the settlement, before they could even take a sip of water, Zhou Beichen immediately assembled the core leadership—Lavoisier, Eric, the captain of the church guard, and several newly promoted technical personnel who had demonstrated administrative talent.

Without any pleasantries, Zhou Beichen spread the intelligence brought back from Ralte and the bold "home swap" plan across the map.

"...So simple defense, or even counterattack, only treats the symptoms." Zhou Beichen's finger struck Ralte's location heavily as his gaze swept across the room. "We will exploit their internal contradictions, light that fire, and make them collapse from within!"

The plan's audacity and disruptive nature made everyone present except Lorgar suck in a breath. Going into the enemy's heartland to incite rebellion? It was far riskier than reinforcing the walls and preparing for battle.

Yet a blazing light instantly erupted in Lavoisier's clouded eyes. His voice trembled with excitement. "Brilliant! Pastor Beichen! This is the true path to cleansing away filth and establishing a new order! We will use the enemy's decay to nourish our rebirth! I am willing to go personally and use these old bones to awaken those compatriots still lost in confusion!"

Zhou Beichen waved a hand. "Lavoisier, your value lies here—in the academy, in systematizing knowledge. The work on the front line requires forces that are more covert and more adaptable." His gaze shifted to Lorgar, who had stood silently and solemnly all along. "Lorgar, you will take full charge of this matter. I will select the most loyal and quick-witted personnel to establish a Propaganda Department directly under your command."

"Propaganda Department..." Lorgar repeated quietly. "I understand, Father. I will make the voice of Earthly Heaven take root beneath Ralte's shadow."

The Propaganda Department, with Lorgar at its core, was swiftly established. Its members were rigorously screened and included the earliest converts with unwavering conviction, former vagrants skilled at disguise and infiltration, and even one or two former low-ranking priests whom Lavoisier had won over and who had become utterly disillusioned with the Covenant Church.

Before long, the first members of the Propaganda Department split up and used the secret routes they had long since mapped out to slip back into Ralte like droplets seeping into sand. This time, they carried not weapons, but bundles of simple yet deeply stirring pamphlets printed on Colchis paper. They depicted the orderly labor of the Southern Highlands, children studying at the academy, rules for the fair distribution of supplies, and the distilled core doctrines of the New Covenant—emphasizing striving in this life, collective well-being, and the true hope brought by Lorgar, the Son of God.

The underground work unfolded with astonishing efficiency and secrecy. The first safe houses were set up in the homes of several craftsmen who were deeply dissatisfied with the current state of affairs and had houses of their own. Gatherings were usually held late at night, with doors and windows covered by thick cloth and only a dim oil lamp burning.

At first, there were only a few participants, all deeply wary. But as members of the Propaganda Department—especially the former low-ranking priests—spoke of what they had personally seen in the Southern Highlands, comparing Ralte's decay with the vitality of Earthly Heaven in plain language, an unprecedented force shook the listeners to their core.

They began organizing "complaint meetings," allowing long-exploited craftsmen and farmers to speak of crushing taxes, the greed of high-ranking priests, and the hopelessness of their lives. Long-suppressed resentment found an outlet, fermenting and resonating within the enclosed spaces.

An even more effective tactic was "invitation visits." Under absolute secrecy, a small number of carefully selected potential leaders who had shown strong leanings were secretly taken to the Southern Highlands. When they saw that land filled with life, hope, and dignity with their own eyes—when they saw smiles on the faces of ordinary people just like themselves, free education, and a fair order—the shock and yearning in their hearts surpassed anything words could convey. After returning to Ralte, they immediately became the most steadfast and fervent advocates. Their testimony was more persuasive than any pamphlet.

The underground network quietly spread like a spider's web. Its members developed a rigorous set of contact codes and methods for identifying one another. The most central and symbolic gesture was to clench the right hand into a fist, extend the index finger and thumb, and lightly place them over the heart on the left side of the chest. The angle formed by the index finger and thumb symbolized the sharp point that broke shackles and the foundation that bore hope; placing it over the heart represented the belief that the New Covenant and Earthly Heaven would forever remain in one's heart. This simple yet powerful gesture became a silent bond beneath Ralte's shadow, linking comrades and conveying faith.

As the organization grew, propaganda alone was no longer enough to face the coming storm. Zhou Beichen sent remote instructions to begin secretly transporting weapon parts into Ralte. These parts were disguised as ordinary metal construction materials and tool components, brought into the city in scattered shipments through different channels, and quietly assembled in several absolutely reliable craftsmen's safe houses. Members skilled in the work used workshop equipment to turn them into crude but deadly swords, spears, and even modified some old-fashioned gunpowder weapons.

What delighted Zhou Beichen and Lorgar even more was that the infiltration had reached the lower and middle ranks of Ralte's ruling class. Some frustrated junior officers, clerks responsible for allocating supplies who despised the corruption of their superiors, and even a handful of young pastors who had begun questioning the church's rigid doctrines underwent subtle changes after encountering the Propaganda Department's ideas—especially after seeing or hearing some of the truth about Earthly Heaven. They might not have dared to rebel openly, but they showed obvious sympathy by secretly passing along intelligence, turning a blind eye to underground activities, and even offering whatever assistance they could. The hidden flames of revolution had already spread into the cracks of the ruling machine.

The situation advanced in tense but orderly fashion. Ralte's sluggish military machine finally managed to cobble itself together. A motley force from the surrounding settlements, mixed with part of Ralte's standing guards, formed a sizeable but poorly commanded and demoralized "punitive army." Urged on by several fanatical bishops, it finally broke camp and slowly marched toward the Southern Highlands.

The news was relayed through secret channels to the Southern Highlands at once, as well as to the underground Propaganda Department's headquarters in Ralte—a crude command post hidden in a cellar.

Lorgar stood in the center of the cellar, his sharply defined profile lit by the dim yellow glow. Before him stood several core Propaganda Department leaders, every face carrying the gravity and excitement before a decisive battle.

"The punitive army has set out," one leader reported quietly, his voice slightly hoarse with tension.

Lorgar slowly raised his hand and made the familiar gesture, clenching his right hand while extending his index finger and thumb, then lightly pressing them over his left chest. His gaze passed over every person present. Beneath the calm in his violet eyes lay lava ready to erupt.

"The enemy's main force has left the nest. Their nest is empty." Lorgar's voice was not loud, but it carried the power to determine fate. "We have prepared for so long and scattered so many sparks. It is time to let them become flames that blaze into the sky."

He paused before giving the final orders.

"Notify every action group. Begin the operation in full according to the plan."

"Distribute the weapons. Take control of the city's key points—the warehouses, barracks, and city gates."

"Send signals to all sympathetic mid-ranking personnel. Demand that they make their choice."

"And..." A cold glint flashed in Lorgar's eyes. "Send word to the Southern Highlands: 'The home swap has begun. Proceed as planned—close the gate and beat the dog!'"

The air in the cellar seemed to freeze, only to be filled at once with a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve. The leaders all raised their hands, made the same gesture, and placed them over their hearts in a silent oath.

"For Earthly Heaven!"

"For the Son of God!"

Ralte's night remained shrouded in gloom and oppression. But in unseen corners, the undercurrents had already become roaring waves, ready to smash through the decayed embankment. And far away in the Southern Highlands, Zhou Beichen stood high above the academy, looking toward Ralte. He tightly gripped a freshly received intelligence report written in a special cipher, and a cold, expectant smile slowly curved across his lips.

The storm had arrived.