Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 890 - 12 The Dog Marching_2

Chapter 890: Chapter 12 The Dog Marching_2 Chapter 890: Chapter 12 The Dog Marching_2 The Church is a centralized and top-down organization, although the Pope is miles away, the selection of the next bishop still has to be decided by him—at least in theory.

However, how it is actually carried out involves internal power struggles within the Church, and Winters does not want to get involved in these murky waters.

“No, no, no.” Father Emmond shook his head desperately, “The appointment and removal of a bishop should be ordained by His Holiness the Pope, how dare I scheme!”

Winters, leaning on his iron shovel, did not respond, silently waiting for the other party to continue speaking.

“It seems you have been short of money recently?” Emmond tentatively asked, “What if Revodan Monastery donates a sum of cash to you again? Right! Let’s donate it in the name of bridge repair!”

Winters felt wronged, he really wanted to question the other side, “Bridge construction and road paving are public expenditures, how can you say it’s giving me money?”

But when the words left his lips, they turned into: “Then how much can you offer?”

...

Emmond carefully mentioned a weight—the weight of gold.

Winters cleared his throat, fetched two stools from beside him, and helped Father Emmond to sit down.

Then Winters sat down himself, face to face, and asked seriously, “Tell me, what exactly do you want?”

Emmond explained anxiously, “I, as well as the other brothers of the monastery, don’t want to ask you for anything, we just hope that you can respect a sacred and established right of the Church.”

“What right?” Winters observed Father Emmond with interest, “Worth two ponies plus most of your estate?”

Emmond swallowed, “The right to internal trials.”

…

After some time.

Andre led two miniature horses into the stables.

The small ponies were about one meter tall, barely reaching Andre’s waist, looking more like two large dogs.

“Where did these little guys come from?” Andre asked as soon as he entered: “They really are rare creatures.”

Playing with the puppies without looking up, Winters replied, “Do you want one? I’ll give you one.”

“I don’t want it; they are for old men and women to ride.” Andre found an empty stall and temporarily locked the small ponies inside: “Me riding them? That’d be like riding rabbits.”

“They were sent by Father Emmond of Revodan Monastery.”

“That makes sense then; nuns and monks ride these kinds of horses.” Andre dragged two large bundles of oat straw, rolled up his sleeves, and started bedding another stall. “But don’t look down on them, these horses are precious! Worth more than ordinary horses. They are also troublesome to raise, if I leave them with you, I bet they’d die sooner or later.”

“I’ll leave them to you then.”

“When will I have the time?” Andre spit out the straw from his mouth, standing outside the fence of the stables waiting for the dust to settle.

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Seeing the two small hunting dogs fighting at Winters’ feet, he couldn’t help laughing, “But really, I shouldn’t leave them to you, look what you are raising? Horses bark like dogs, dogs march in step, you can’t argue with that.”

Looking at the two high-stepping puppies, Winters covered his face and sighed deeply.

Gerard Mitchell’s hunting dogs had a litter of puppies, and when Mrs. Mitchell left Wolf Town, she took two of the puppies with her as companions.

Later, the two puppies were raised with Changsheng. The result was puppies walking in a military march, with Changsheng barking out of tune every day.

“Ronald brought back a prisoner from Iron Peak County.” Winters picked up a puppy and placed it on his lap to comb its fur, “Did you know?”

The puppy, which couldn’t stop for a moment, suddenly turned very obedient when Winters grabbed it, and tongue-lapped Winters’ fingers.

Andre, seeing that the dust had settled, led the two small ponies into the stable, “Heard it’s a clergy member from the Church?”

“Yes. Have you seen that person?”

“No, I didn’t come back with Ronald.” Andre picked up an empty bucket to get water for the small ponies: “What’s going on?”

Winters fiddled with the chubby ears of the puppy: “The Church wants to deal with that prisoner.”

Andre stopped, looking surprised, “Deal with?”

“Hmph, calling it dealing with is a polite expression. A more accurate term would be…” Winters put down the puppy, watching it dash away chasing its sibling, and slowly uttered a term: “[Religious tribunal trial].”

“Ah?” Andre was dumbfounded, “Ah?”

Winters and Andre were born after the establishment of the Alliance, not experiencing the religious oppression of the Imperial Era.

The term ‘religious tribunal trial’ gave both of them a visceral feeling, like seeing an old coat pulled out from the very bottom of a box—moldy, wormy, rotten-smelling—both familiar and strange, but mainly uncomfortable.

The frown on Winters’ forehead tightened slightly, “From the price Emmond started with, as long as I nod, Revodan Monastery would probably set up the stakes immediately.”

“Stakes? Wait?” Andre dropped the water bucket: “Where did they get so much hatred? Isn’t the prisoner just an old man? Are they going to burn an old man?”

“I don’t know.” Winters pondered deeply, “According to Emmond, the trial of clergy members is an internal affair of the Church. He opened a very high price, hoping I ‘respect their sacred right.'”

Andre’s jaws hadn’t closed in a long while, “The Church? Internal trial? Is that even a thing? Really?”

Winters shook his head, “I don’t know about that, at least according to Emmond— that’s the case.”