A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 862: Revolt! Destroy Those Sacred Icons!

Even though the king berated them harshly, even though they might be labeled as "beggars," and even though the entire Nederland might be mocked by the continent's nobility for centuries as "beggars"...

After the Archbishop intervened with a solemn yet kind mediation, the king, out of faith in the Radiant Lord, respect for the church, and compassion for the people of Nederland, finally issued a new decree:

Nederland ships are allowed to dock at the kingdom's ports, but they must apply for a permit in advance, one permit per ship, with no exceptions.

Merchants entering the port cannot trade freely; they can only trade at designated exchanges, during designated times, with designated merchants.

The wool export tax is slightly reduced, but only merchants who purchase a significant amount of the newly issued national bonds this year can enjoy the preferential tax rate...

In summary, it was a small concession, but... still very restrictive.

One could say it was better than nothing. As long as industry and commerce could start moving, even slowly and with many obstacles, there was hope.

Industry and commerce are interdependent. Only by moving, circulating from goods to money and from money back to goods, can these two industries survive. Without a fresh flow, there is only death!

Consequently, the Archbishop also agreed to temporarily suspend the Black Knights' inquisitions. In return, the people of Nederland were to conduct their own inspections, destroy contraband items, expel heretical workers, and sever ties with heretical merchants...

After the buffer period, the Inquisition would conduct a thorough inspection. If no major issues were found, they could be spared.

It seemed much more lenient and conciliatory.

So, the nobles of Nederland could only hold their breath, respectfully thank the Radiant Lord for His grace, thank the church for its mercy, and thank the king for his benevolence. After the thanks, the king issued another decree:

Due to the distance between Nederland and the capital, the king could not promptly hear the people’s grievances. Therefore, he appointed a governor to rule Nederland on behalf of the king—

What?

Who will be sent?

This matter is significant. The great, wise, and benevolent king needs to study and carefully consider before making a decision. After all, to let the kingdom's light shine upon Nederland, the selection must be cautious!

The nobles of Nederland returned to their territories with anxious hearts. One order after another was issued, met with small cheers and large sighs in private. Who would the king appoint as governor?

Clearly, given the king's current temperament, he would likely choose someone who was closest to him, gave the most gifts, and flattered him the best...

Wait and see. The governor chosen in this manner would surely strive to recover his costs upon taking office!

Before that, Nederland was forcibly given a lifeline, and the production machines roared to life.

"Sigh..."

Old Corry squatted at the door of his workshop, tapped his pipe on the green stone steps, and sighed with a worried face.

He was the owner of a carpet workshop in Flanders City, the woolen weaving town of Nederland, fifty-two years old. He employed four workers in the workshop, two carpet embroiderers, and two weavers.

Including himself, his three sons, daughters-in-law, and grandson, the workshop could produce about a hundred carpets a year.

Among these carpets and tapestries, the best and most valuable one would always glorify the Radiant Lord.

Old Corry and his three sons would personally design and hand-weave it, with no involvement from daughters-in-law, grandchildren, or workers. Upon completion, they would respectfully offer it to the largest church in Flanders City.

No payment required.

This tradition had continued for over thirty years, passed down from his father to him, year after year.

However, this year, Old Corry's carpet workshop faced unprecedented challenges.

"Hey, Old Corry, when can you deliver the goods?"

Jingle jingle, a mule cart slowly approached the workshop entrance. A young man in his twenties jumped down from the cart, his woolen coat clean and neat, though the cuffs were a bit worn, and the style was not the latest.

He carefully avoided a puddle, bowed slightly before Old Corry, and smiled before speaking:

"Can you deliver tomorrow? How many can you deliver? The ship is leaving the day after tomorrow, and the goods must be on board by tomorrow evening at the latest!"

"Sigh..."

Old Corry sighed again. Supporting his knees, he stood up with difficulty and guided the young man inside. From the workshop door inward, ten looms were lined up against the wall.

The carpets on them were bright in color and intricate in pattern. Most of them already showed a general design, some about one-third done, some halfway, some nearly finished.

Judging by these looms, business seemed good. But looking at the manpower—only half the looms were being worked on!

Old Corry, trembling and stiff from long hours of weaving, led the young man through the production workshop to the warehouse. The warehouse was nearly empty, with only ten or so rolls of carpet covered in dense burlap.

"Only this much?"

The young man glanced around, and his face darkened instantly. Even if these were the best quality, ten rolls of carpets would be less than a third of their usual yearly purchase!

"Old Corry, don’t hide the good stuff. We’ve been doing business with you for years. Save some good ones for us! With just these, our shipping costs won’t be covered! We placed a deposit before the new year!"

"We want to make more too..." Old Corry continued to sigh. Supporting his waist, he led the young man to the adjacent warehouse. The heavy, damp-proof warehouse was almost empty, with only a few small bags of dyed yarn on the long wooden shelves.

"Without wool, there’s no yarn. Without yarn, there's no dyed yarn for weaving carpets. Our workshop has been out of raw materials for a month!"

"......"

The young man understood the difficulty, as did all the merchants running sea trade. In fact, anyone older than three in Flanders City knew. Since the king’s new policies, everyone’s lives had become hard.

"……During this period, the workshop couldn’t operate, but wages still had to be paid, and workers had to be fed. Day after day, only outgoings and no income, with flour prices already five times higher and salted fish three times higher..."

And these workers had been with the workshop for ten, twenty years, some for two generations. Dismissing them hastily would ruin the workshop’s reputation in the industry.

The young man silently supplemented Old Corry's explanation. After tying the last bag of yarn, Old Corry turned to the young man eagerly:

"Is there any new stock? If you can get half a ton of dyed yarn, we’ll deliver fifteen carpets next month! No, twenty! I’ll lead everyone to work day and night and ensure we don’t delay your business!"

"I don’t know... Honestly, the boss had to mortgage a house to run this ship. We don’t know how much we can sell, how much we can bring back, or how much money we’ll need for bribes before returning..."

The young man sighed deeply, finished the accounts with Old Corry, and loaded all the finished carpets onto the mule cart. Fully loaded, the cart clattered towards the port. Sigh, some goods are better than none, as there is hope for a return...

Old Corry carefully locked the gold coins in the money box, picked two more for his purse, and hired a taxi carriage, swaying towards the carding, dyeing, and spinning workers' district. Radiant Lord bless, they must have new materials!

With ships coming and going, with new dyed yarn, Old Corry's carpet workshop creaked back to life.

The embroiderers used special needles to stitch the yarn into the woven warp and weft, then pulled it out, stitch by stitch, revealing the patterns on the loom;

The weavers' fingers flew, wrapping the yarn around adjacent warp threads, tying knots at the back, cutting the yarn ends with a knife; then they passed the weft through the warp, pressing it down with a comb. A square foot of carpet required thousands of knots.

The workshop was filled with flowers, animals, people, and landscapes, woven with the workers' sweat and blood.

Weaving and weaving. A carpet sold to the palace could let noblewomen dance on it day and night;

A carpet sold to the Radiant Holy City could ease the pain of priests kneeling to pray;

A carpet woven with special threads and sold to the Kingdom of Kent could even be turned into a flying carpet by mages!

None of this mattered to Old Corry. He only knew that a carpet sold to a sea-trading merchant, after deducting all costs and wages, could support his family for half a month.

And the path for his family's upward mobility was slowly accumulated from these carpets.

A loom, a loom, adding another loom;

A house, a house, from renting to buying, to buying land to build a workshop;

The eldest son became a weaver, the second son became a weaver, and the second generation all became weavers. By the third generation, the eldest son's smartest grandson could even be sent to study at the church.

—If lucky, if favored by the priests, he might even become an honorable clergy member!

By then, the whole family could rise to nobility!

Oh, a new governor is coming, and who knows how many more taxes will be added. Before he takes office, we must weave as many carpets as possible and sell them to save more money—

"Everyone

, work harder! Tonight, everyone gets an extra spoon of lamb!"

"Old Corry! Old Corry!"

Suddenly, someone shouted outside. The hurried footsteps quickly approached, and a familiar young man rushed into the workshop, grabbing Old Corry's arm:

"Hide the carpets!"

Old Corry's arm trembled, and the fingers flying behind the warp immediately made a wrong knot. He looked angrily at the intruder, but the regular buyer’s young man had no time to apologize, speaking urgently:

"The Black Knights are coming! Hide all your carpets, especially the special ones, hide them all, or burn them! Hide all the yarn! Unload the looms! I have to go, still need to warn the next house, the ship leaves tomorrow to avoid trouble!"

With that, he turned and left. Old Corry shivered, raised his voice, and shouted to his sons, daughters-in-law, and workers:

"What are you standing there for! Get to work! Bata, Will, come with me!"

The family scrambled, unloading and hiding the carpets and yarn. Barely two days later, the Black Knights’ iron boots smashed through the workshop’s door:

"Someone reported that your workshop is producing goods for heretics?"

The leader, a knight in black armor, with his face hidden behind a helmet and visor, making it unclear how he looked. He pressed his sword, glanced around, and waved casually:

"Search!"

"Search every nook and cranny! The warehouse walls, secret rooms, cellars, rooftops, leave nothing unchecked!"

The Inquisition Knights, along with their soldiers, thugs, and various others, spread out, digging everywhere. Old Corry, trembling, approached to bribe them, but was ruthlessly shoved against the loom by a soldier:

"Get lost! We are here to uphold the Lord’s glory! Do not tarnish us with filthy money!"

After a thorough search, the hidden carpets in the beams, yarn bundles under the beds, were all found. Then came the clinking chains, and Old Corry, his wife, three sons, three daughters-in-law, the whole family, and four workers, were all dragged out—

"Let me go! Let me go! I have always devoutly believed in the Radiant Lord! Every year, our workshop offers carpets to the great cathedral! My grandson studies under Father Rude at the great cathedral—"

Torture, interrogation, extortion. By the time the family barely saved their lives, dragging their half-crippled bodies out, their home, workshop, looms, everything had fallen into others' hands.

"I am innocent... I am innocent..." Old Corry, with a crippled leg and a large burn mark on his face from a branding iron, horrifyingly disfigured, gritted his teeth, leaning on a crutch, limping towards the great cathedral:

"I want to see my grandson... I want to see Father Rude, I want to see the Archbishop... I want to appeal..."

"You’d better not go." A neighbor of thirty years, full of pity, stopped him halfway. "Your grandson..."

He quietly led Old Corry to his home. In a side room, an old sheet covered a small, slightly raised shape, silent and still.

Lifting the sheet revealed a small body, covered in unbearable marks.

Old Corry exploded.

"My workshop... my grandson... damn you, Radiant Lord... my family believed in you for so many years!"

He walked onto the street. His sons, workers, followed him.

From every house, every workshop in Flanders City, every farm in the countryside, every farmhouse and granary, angry artisans, small merchants, and small workshop owners flooded the streets, forming a mighty torrent:

"Tear down those churches!"

"Burn those monasteries!"

"Destroy those sacred icons!"

"Radiant Church, get out of Nederland!"