A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 863: Chaos in Nederland! Show Garrett Some Sincerity
“Flanders City is in chaos.”
“Yes, finally it’s in chaos.”
In the shadow of a corner of the back wall of a dyeing workshop, dyer Arval Brison whispered with delivery boy Frank, who often ran errands for the workshop. Their bright eyes were fixed on the surging angry crowd without blinking.
“Finally, it’s in chaos. You can finally get away. It’s been hard for you, staying here for five years.”
“Yes... five years...”
Arval sighed lightly. His real name was not Arval Brison, nor did he come from a family of dyers. In fact, he was a magician, specializing in transmutation and alchemy.
Born as a commoner, he was admitted to the Magic Academy through a general school. After graduating from the Magic Academy, due to his qualifications, he couldn’t get into any of the mage towers in Nevis. At over 30 years old, stuck at level 3, he couldn’t advance any further.
For a magician of such age and level, he could either idle in a low-tier mage tower in a distant land or accept an invitation from a small noble to become a family advisor, living a comfortable life; or he could find employment in some workshops as a technical advisor, earning more money despite the slightly lower status; or he could venture far and wide, risking his life for higher chances of advancement, but his old body couldn't handle the hardship.
To advance and obtain resources, he accepted the council's task, hid his identity, and came to Flanders City. Disguised as a professional who once ran a workshop but was forced into bankruptcy and fled, he quietly took root here.
In a blink, five years passed.
“Remember to pack up your things and destroy anything that could reveal your identity.” The delivery boy, also a council member, whispered quickly and softly:
“At 10 o’clock tonight, at 15 Rose Street, in front of the ‘Perfumed Rose’, someone will meet you. The code is ‘A rose, half gold, half silver’. Remember it!”
After saying this, he jumped onto the mule, swung an empty whip, and turned away. He was busy today! In such a large city as Flanders, there were many people to notify and places to observe!
He was a magician of the enchantment school, specializing in group psychology. Today was a rare opportunity!
Arval stood at the corner for a while, watching the delivery boy disappear into the crowd. He sighed softly and returned to the workshop. Before he reached his room, the opposite door creaked open, and the boss lady's loud voice poured in:
“Arval, you’re back? What’s for dinner tonight? Stewed veal or fish? I bought a big bass!”
“Bass. The boss lady’s fish cooking skills have always been superb.” Arval forced a smile at her and walked toward his room. Footsteps clattered behind him as the boss lady hurriedly caught up, lowering her voice:
“What’s wrong? Not happy? You’re not planning to join the chaos, are you? — I tell you, don’t join those people. Our small household can’t afford the trouble! The church nobles haven’t been ruthless yet, but when the Black Knights come, these people will die!”
Arval took a deep breath and nodded heavily, quickly entering his room. He walked so fast that his coat caught on a wooden splinter in the door frame, tearing a large hole with a “rip”. The boss lady immediately exclaimed from behind:
“How careless! — Daisy! Daisy! Stop playing around and mend Mr. Brison's clothes!”
A little girl of about six or seven responded, running out. She had a pin cushion in one hand and a small basket of various scraps of fabric in the other. She rushed to Arval and almost bumped into him:
“Sir, I’ll mend your clothes...”
“Go back. I have things to do. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
Arval waved his hand without looking back. After packing for a while, he suddenly turned around to see the little girl still standing there timidly. Arval sighed, took off his coat, and tossed it to her:
“Take it and mend it slowly. I’m not in a hurry to wear it...”
He quickly packed his things, filling a small suitcase and locking it tightly. While packing his backpack, he suddenly heard an exclamation from outside, getting closer and louder, like a tidal wave:
“Black Knights! Black Knights!”
“Run! The Black Knights are coming—”
“Dad! Dad...”
The exclamations, running, and the thunderous sound of hooves all blended into one. Arval’s heart tightened. Without thinking, he shut the door and pushed open the back window.
He didn’t jump out but instead turned back, throwing out a “Living Rope” to pull himself up to the rafters. Holding his breath, he listened intently:
“Here!”
“There’s someone here too!”
“Boom!”
The sound of the workshop door being kicked open.
Clang, clang, clang, the sound of iron boots stepping on the floor.
Screams, questions, pleas...
And then, the sound of a sword slicing flesh.
Arval held his breath, motionless, quietly casting an invisibility spell on himself. Soon, someone kicked open the room door, looked around, opened the cabinet, checked under the bed, and then fixed their gaze on the still-swaying back window:
“Went out through there!”
“Chase!”
Arval curled up on the rafter. For a long time, until the entire workshop fell silent, until all the hoofbeats and clanging swords were far away, he finally climbed down carefully.
What he saw were bodies everywhere. Some were lying down, some were face down, some were half-submerged in dye vats, some had one leg in the door and the other outside...
Dyer Tom, fabric worker Roy, cloth bleacher Parker, George, who was only eight years old and had just started as an apprentice...
The boss lady, who had been loudly asking him what he wanted for dinner, lay in a pool of partially dried blood. She had her arms outstretched as if protecting something.
Arval carefully turned her over and saw the small body of Daisy curled up. The little girl had her arms wrapped tightly around his torn coat, which was stained with a large patch of blood.
Arval stood silently in the middle of the dye workshop for a long time. Until the sky turned completely dark, he bent down to close the boss lady’s eyes and then picked up little Daisy, placing her gently in the boss lady’s arms.
Finally, he spread the bloodstained but mended coat over them.
“I will avenge you.”
He whispered. Then, he returned to his room, opened the suitcase, picked out a few items, packed them into his backpack, and quickly left.
“We can’t do it without gathering together!” Under the dim candlelight, Arval, the dyer, former level 3 magician, and Brison, faced the survivors—combers, dyers, weavers, and workshop owners—his face full of anger, raising his arm and shouting:
“None of us in the dye workshop joined the chaos, but they killed us all! From the boss lady to the little apprentices, even six or seven-year-old girls weren’t spared!”
“We have to unite to fight them! We have the numbers! Yes, they are strong, they are knights, one of them can kill a hundred of us! But we have more people! If we all gather together, the governor and the inquisitors can’t kill us all!”
“Weavers, fishermen, farmers, everyone, gather together! Down with the church! Destroy the churches!”
“Down with the church! Destroy the churches!” Elderly, angry voices rose from the crowd:
“That church has thirty tapestries I donated. I’m going to destroy them!”
“Destroy them!”
“Destroy the churches!”
The fire of anger burned among the people. From Flanders to Nederland City, and from Nederland City to Delft, to Dodderemet...
People left their villages, workshops, and took to the streets. Wave after wave, they charged at the churches and monasteries they had once worshipped.
“The Knights of the Rose are blocked! The Black Knights of the Inquisition... haven’t been seen yet!”
“Sir, there are too many enemies ahead! The brothers are tired, and our sabers are broken after cutting through two handles!”
“The divine spells are not enough!”
“The power of faith is exhausted! Those rioters, those rioters—they not only refuse to pray but also curse the Radiant Lord, raising weapons against our Lord!”
“Father Land, you are a good person. Step aside, we won’t kill you—”
“Boom!”
For a whole month, the uprising led by city dwellers and rural poor swept across all provinces of Nederland. Nearly a million people participated in the uprising, destroying (including suspected bombings) more than 5,000 churches.
A large number of holy relics, holy bones, and other sacred items, as well as paintings and statues in the churches, were all destroyed. The church’s influence in Nederland and the accumulated faith power within the churches suffered a heavy blow.
The new governor of Nederland, Louis de Foix, the queen dowager’s lover, fled back to the capital in panic. Without divine spell support, the Knights of the Rose and the Black Knights of the Inquisition, fighting alone, achieved some results but were ultimately pushed back by the waves of anger.
For a time, the whole of Nederland was filled with the sound of killing and smoke everywhere.
And the noble families of Nederland sent another plea for help to the council’s desk.
“Help? They want people
and supplies? They want powerful grand magi?”
The transmutation school council member, Eliza Usman, glanced at the plea and handed it to the divination school member beside her without comment. The enchantment school member leaned over, scanning the letter quickly, and asked casually:
“Have they sent troops themselves?”
“...No formal troop deployment. Of course, they sent some people to participate secretly and used the explosives we gave them—otherwise, they couldn’t have destroyed so many churches.”
“And now they want us to send people?” The transmutation school member snorted unhappily.
In this wave of uprisings, many council spies were lost. One of the transmutation school magicians even rushed into the Black Knights of the Inquisition and self-destructed to cover the escape of the commoners—although just an unremarkable level 3 magician, the report made him feel bad ever since.
“If they send troops, we send people. If they don’t deploy their main forces, relying on us to send people and lots of supplies, are they expecting us to fight their war?”
“The point is correct.” As usual, the meeting was presided over by a defensive school magician. He first affirmed the transmutation school’s point, then proposed a supplementary opinion:
“But since the situation is already this bad, we have to show some support. So, we’ll send some supplies to show we still support them and send a few lower-level magicians as observers.”
“That can be done.”
“Yes, it can.”
“By the way, I’m very curious about the use of divine spells after the destruction of the churches and the widespread resistance of the people against the church—”
The members nodded in agreement. The defensive school member looked around:
“Any other opinions?”
“I have one.” The conjuration school member specializing in healing raised his hand calmly:
“Aren’t we collaborating on a project? With Garrett Nordmark, who is treating the Count of Ostend’s son? Let’s check his progress. If there are results, it would also show some sincerity—”
“The count’s son or the other children they sent...”
