novelbin Chapter 140 : Chapter 140
Chapter 140 : Chapter 140
Chapter 140. The Cleric
After parting ways with Phoenix, the two did not immediately go looking for that unfortunate fat tax officer to settle accounts. Instead, they strolled through White Harbor’s Upper City like genuine tourists.
The prosperity here was truly astonishing.
Both sides of the wide streets were filled with rare treasures from all over the world.
Shop windows displayed exotic goods, including several items that were clearly funerary artifacts dug out of ancient tombs—openly priced and sold without the slightest concealment.
Well-dressed nobles and wealthy merchants moved through the streets, their servants trailing behind them with arms full of shopping bags.
And most ironically, on the most prominent public notice board in the city, the old tax laws from before Sylvia took office were still posted.
Only now, those decrees had turned yellow and brittle, shoved into a corner and buried beneath a thick layer of colorful promotional flyers labeled “Special Taxation Laws of the Tarassa Territory.”
“The new laws have been treated like toilet paper, and the old ones reduced to scrap.” Sylvia stood before the board, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses as she stared at a torn tax reduction order. Her voice was low. “This is the answer Tarassa has given me.”
“At least the handwriting is decent.” Logaris pointed to a nearby sign that read “Today’s Special: Slaves 20% Off,” his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You see? This is the ‘vitality’ of a market economy.”
Sylvia said nothing. She simply turned and walked away.
They found a relatively clean inn and stayed the night.
The next morning, before the first rays of sunlight could pierce through the sea mist, they left the perfume-saturated Upper City and followed a winding downhill path toward the other side of White Harbor—the Lower City.
If the Upper City was a reflection of heaven, then the Lower City was a live broadcast from hell.
As the elevation dropped, the scent of spices and sea breeze quickly disappeared, replaced by a thick, nauseating stench.
It was the smell of clogged and fermenting sewers, of rotting fish and shrimp, and of tens of thousands of people struggling to survive in cramped, suffocating conditions.
The streets became muddy and filthy, with black sewage flowing freely.
The buildings on either side were no longer elegant stone structures, but makeshift shacks cobbled together from rotten wood, torn canvas, and scrap metal—like festering sores growing on the body of the city.
Logaris’s expensive leather boots squelched in the black mud with each step.
“There are no branches of ‘West Medical’ here?” Sylvia frowned as she looked at several emaciated figures curled up on filthy straw mats by the roadside, coughing incessantly.
In Winter City, the affordable pharmacies Logaris had promoted already covered every district. Basic healing potions were accessible to nearly everyone.
“The mountains are high and the emperor is far away.” Logaris shrugged. “Over nearly a thousand kilometers, some people treat our orders as nothing more than passing wind.”
Sylvia’s fist clenched tightly within her sleeve.
At that moment, a sudden commotion erupted ahead.
“Someone’s dead! Someone’s dead!”
A shout rang out, and the lifeless street instantly came alive.
But this was not the kind of excitement born from fear or grief. It was a chilling kind of frenzy.
Sylvia and Logaris exchanged a glance and quickly moved forward.
At the entrance of a dilapidated tavern lay a corpse.
It was a man who looked no older than thirty, so thin he was little more than skin and bones. His ragged clothing suggested he had either frozen to death or succumbed to illness during the night.
The body was not even cold yet.
But the ragged vagrants around him did not call for guards, nor did they show the slightest hint of pity. Like vultures that had caught the scent of blood, they rushed forward with red eyes.
“The shoes are mine! I saw them first!”
“Get lost! This coat is still wearable—strip it off him!”
“Check his teeth! See if any are good!”
One filthy hand even reached straight into the dead man’s mouth, prying open his stiff jaw.
Sylvia felt her stomach churn violently. It was not just disgust—it was a surge of anger and sorrow rising from the depths of her soul.
“Stop.”
Her hand moved toward the soft sword at her waist.
But someone was faster.
“What are you doing?! Back off! All of you, back off!”
A crisp yet slightly youthful voice rang out.
A figure pushed through the crowd.
It was a young girl who still looked like she should be in school. She wore a faded white robe of the Holy Church, clearly too large for her frame. The sleeves were rolled up several times, giving her an almost comical appearance.
But there was nothing comical about her actions.
She tightly gripped a standard-issue staff—its paint chipped and worn, the holy crystal at its tip somewhat dim, yet it was undeniably a genuine casting medium.
Like a mother hen protecting her chicks, she stood in front of the corpse, slamming her staff onto the ground with a dull thud.
“This is a person! Not garbage from a trash heap!”
Her face flushed red, her pale blue eyes blazing with anger. “The scriptures say the dead should return to the earth, and their souls deserve rest! To desecrate a corpse like this—you will all go to hell!”
The vagrants were momentarily intimidated by her sudden presence.
But soon, someone realized she was just a young girl, barely grown, wearing an oversized robe like a child playing dress-up.
“To hell with your scriptures!” a man with festering sores spat. “What rest? He is dead—what does he need clothes for? I am freezing to death here! Has the Holy Church ever cared about me?!”
“Exactly! Little nun, if you are so kind, why not take off your robe and let us warm ourselves?”
Lewd laughter erupted from the crowd.
The man reached out, about to shove her aside, even trying to grab her staff.
“Get lost!”
The girl’s brows furrowed sharply. She did not retreat even half a step. The staff in her hand suddenly lit up.
HUM—
A blazing, pure radiance burst from the tip of the staff. The surging magical energy swept outward instantly, filling the air with a sharp, ozone-like scent.
Third-Tier Divine Spell—Holy Light Impact.
The man had not even touched her before he was violently flung backward by the invisible force, crashing into a filthy puddle behind him. He clutched his hand as if it had been branded by molten iron, screaming in agony.
The surrounding crowd, which had been on the verge of action, instantly recoiled as if they had seen a ghost, covering their eyes and scrambling backward.
In the Lower City, a fully ordained cleric with Third-Tier strength—even one so young—was an overwhelming presence.
“The gods may forgive mankind, but holy flames exist to purify filth.” The girl’s face was cold, the light in her staff still blazing. “Does anyone else wish to try?”
Silence.
A deathly silence.
The vagrants who had been shouting obscenities moments ago now did not dare make a sound. They scrambled away, crawling back into the shadows of the alleys.
Only after the crowd dispersed did the girl slowly dim the light of her staff.
She turned around, showing no disgust toward the filth or stench on the corpse. Bending down, she lifted the body under its arms and dragged it toward a broken wooden cart nearby.
“May the Goddess forgive your sins. May your soul… even in this mire… find its way home.”
As she adjusted the body and carefully straightened its disheveled clothing, she softly recited a standard funeral prayer.