Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 867 - 3 One bottle is water the other is
Chapter 867: Chapter 3: One bottle is water, the other is sand_2 Chapter 867: Chapter 3: One bottle is water, the other is sand_2 During the two hundred years of the War of Faith, generations of missionaries repeatedly faced setbacks, and ultimately, developed a strategy incorporating traditional Northern beliefs to assist with evangelization.
The veneration of saints gradually replaced monotheism, new chapels were erected on the sites of old sacrificial grounds, and the pantheistic festivals were transformed into public church festivals.
Thanks to various “localization” strategies, the second-generation missionaries found great success.
Then… they were all declared heretical by the Pope of the Second Protection.
If in the previous two centuries, the struggle between pantheistic faith and the public church could still be described in the literal sense as “persuasion,”
then in the following two centuries, “the critique of weapons” completely replaced “the weapons of critique.”
Because the two hundred years of the Northern public church adaptation were also the years of rapid development when tribal-regional structures were smashed and feudal states took shape.
At the same time, the once devastated and fragmented Holy Empire was once again unified under a single banner, historically known as the “Falconburg Dynasty.”
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[Note: The current ruling dynasty is different from the Falconburg Dynasty, which has become extinct; the crown of the Empire now belongs to the Dynasty of the Blazing Sun.]
The war continued, only now lords replaced missionaries, swords replaced scriptures, and increasing political factors intermixed with sectarian conflicts.
In the end, “the campaign against heretics” had become a glorified excuse, leaving only two powerful entities attacking each other in the name of holy war.
The fighting paused and resumed, paused and resumed. Over two hundred years, the Empire nobles and the Northern “barbarians” scarcely had any truly peaceful years.
But all this was about to come to an end—or was it?
…
Three days had passed since the boy’s coming of age ceremony. No, he was now a man.
The young man, “Karl,” clutched his grandfather’s cloak and stood dumbly by the bedside.
His grandfather, who had personally fastened the cloak around him, lay on the bed, no longer breathing, his blood soaking the sheets.
A 48-pound cannonball shot from the artillery had struck the charging old king off his horse, and the elderly man had passed away before he could be brought back.
For the old king, dying in his final charge may have been the best way to die, sparing him the grief of witnessing his army collapse and his nation perish:
Brand new cast-iron cannons had destroyed ancient walls, spears and muskets had overcome shields and swords, and disciplined armies had triumphed over the brave yet unfearless forces;
High-ranking warrior bishops who slaughtered like demigods, clad in heavy armor and wielding warhammers, were executed en masse by “nameless foot soldiers”;
Company formations, light cannons, and medium cavalry that balanced striking power and speed shone brilliantly.
The sound of spurs striking the floor echoed down the corridor.
The bedroom door swung open, and a nonchalant, magnetic voice inquired, “Where is Karl XI?”
The owner of the voice stopped abruptly upon seeing the body of the old king on the bed.
He removed his helmet, revealing fair blonde hair and a handsome face.
At any countess’s banquet, this face would have surely been the favorite amongst both married and single ladies.
Yet for a general commanding an army, this face looked surprisingly young. Thirty years old? Perhaps younger?
The blonde-haired young general bowed deeply to the body of the old king.
“Are you the prince?” The blonde-haired man bent down, asking Xiao Karl gently, “Where are the others?”
Xiao Karl shook his head.
The blonde-haired man scoffed and instructed his accompanying officer, “Fetch the royal steward from the palace, prepare the funeral for Karl XI.”
The officer hesitated but ultimately turned to carry out the orders.
Another vice general removed his helmet, revealing chestnut-colored hair.
With a sense of resignation, he said, “Duke Congrif is the chief commander, you should ‘consult’ him regardless.”
“Fine, you go,” replied the blonde-haired man casually, “I have other matters to attend to.”
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The chestnut-haired sighed, turned, and left to take care of his friend’s affairs.
“There was something I wanted Karl XI to do himself,” said the blonde-haired man, looking at Xiao Karl, “Now you must do it.”
Xiao Karl was led out of the castle, and he watched in horror as the city, blanketed in snow, was defiled by blood and fire.
The invading Imperial soldiers looted, set fires, and raped without restraint; the army had just fought a grueling siege in the harsh winter, and their pent-up negative emotions needed only a spark to explode.
In the city’s central square, a temporary execution platform had been erected.
Clergy, once considered sacred and untouchable, were now herded like sheep to the guillotine.
The great axe spared no mercy, and “heretic priests” were beheaded one by one.
The blonde-haired man clearly disliked what he saw, but he clearly didn’t intend to stop it.
A dizzy Imperial soldier barged towards the blonde-haired man’s bodyguards, but immediately sobered up upon seeing the blonde-haired man’s banner and knelt to pay his respects.
Unimpeded, the blonde-haired man led Xiao Karl out of the city.
After they left the city, they turned northwest, and soon reached the shore.
The Narrow Sea stretched out before them.
The blonde-haired man waved his hand, and an attendant took out a plain wooden box, offering it with great care.
He unlocked his gorget, removed a key hanging around his neck, and solemnly opened the box.
In the center, cushioned by silk and cotton, lay two bottles.
Two very ordinary bottles, made of glass;
Yet also two exquisitely delicate bottles, for the glass was devoid of any impurities, purely transparent.
