‘The farm is managed directly by the High Tower witches! It’s become far more fertile!’
Rage boiled within him.
What had he done to deserve this? Why not simply raise the taxes instead?
‘May the ancestors never forgive them!’
The reverence and loyalty he had once held for the High Tower fractured.
In its place arose resentment, doubt, despair, and frustration.
One day, as discontent rapidly spread through the North, a high-ranking official descended upon the village of Shuen, one of the few lands still capable of farming even in the harsh Northern climate.
An enforcer from the High Tower had arrived.
The enforcers, an organization composed solely of elite knights, acted as walking embodiments of the law.
Even if the entire village were to rise against them, they wouldn’t manage to leave so much as a scratch on these iron-willed individuals.The imposing presence of the enforcer was overwhelming, almost otherworldly, making it difficult to believe they were human at all.
To the villagers, they seemed like beings from an entirely different plane, truly carrying blue blood in their veins.
Even from a distance, the mere sight of the enforcer caused the dissatisfaction and resentment that had swelled in their hearts to subside.
“I will patrol the village and its surroundings for a while. Leave only five people to assist me; the rest should return to their work. Those who help will be compensated with silver coins.”
“I’ll do it! Pick me!”
“No, me! I was here first!”
“Silence, you fools! Chief!”
“Yes, sir! Hey! You idiots, shut up and listen!”
The enforcer sent by the High Tower was somewhat unusual.
In their hands was a magic device roughly the size of two adult fists combined.
It was a circular frame crafted from leather and wood, with a flat magic stone, cut to resemble a mirror, embedded within. The surface of the stone emitted a faint magical glow.
“Careful… careful…”
The enforcer, despite their lofty status, handled the device with reverence, as if it were a sacred relic.
The five villagers, chosen through fierce competition, followed closely behind the enforcer, and the farmer was lucky enough to join their ranks.
They patrolled the village for what felt like hours.
When the sun had descended about a third of the way from its peak, the enforcer exclaimed with the joy of someone striking gold.
“Here! This is it! I’ve found it!”
“What do you mean? Wait just a moment…”
The middle-aged witch, who had been accompanying the enforcer, reacted immediately to their excited cry.
Planting her broomstick into the ground, she closed her eyes and focused her mind.
After about three minutes, the witch opened her eyes slowly.
“What do you think?”
“Wow! To think the barrier was this cleverly hidden! No wonder no one noticed it!”
“You’ve found it, then? The source of the problem?”
“Yes! I’ll break the barrier right away!”
Without another word, the witch began chanting incantations, pulling strange powders and liquids from a small, intricately designed bag at her waist.
“…”
The enforcer stood silently by her side, their expression fierce and intimidating, as if daring anyone to approach.
The farmer and the villagers, though uneasy and mistrusting of the witch’s actions, didn’t dare intervene.
“It’s done! Now we just need to dig!”
The incantation was shorter than expected, and the intricately set barrier was swiftly broken.
“Dig here! Now!”
At the enforcer’s command, the villagers with shovels began digging furiously.
When they had dug down to about thigh depth—
“Huh? What… is that?”
“It’s real! It’s actually there!”
Something emerged from the earth—a small black obelisk, ominous and foreboding just to look at.
“This… is the ritual of the Imperial Golden Tower?!”
The witch’s brows furrowed as she examined the object.
“Imperials! Those Imperial scum planted this here!”
Upon hearing her words, the enforcer drew their sword and shattered the obelisk in a single blow.
[SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!]
A bone-chilling wail echoed through the entire village like a reverberating curse.
“It’s the Empire! Those vile Imperial bastards colluded with black sorcerers to destroy the North!”
In an instant, the sentiments of the villagers turned completely.
“The Empire! Those wretched Imperial fiends!”
“May our ancestors punish you!”
The naive farmer, who had harbored resentment and anger in his heart, now directed all of it toward the Empire.
And this was not limited to his village alone.
Across the North, similar discoveries were made simultaneously.
***
“But… what do we do now?”
“It’ll take years for the land to recover its fertility… How are we supposed to survive until then?”
“Damn those Imperial bastards! Is that why they were so willing to lower the price of food?!”
“Ancestors, please have mercy on this pitiful descendant!”
The cause had been identified and eradicated, but the problem remained unsolved.
Around this time, rumors began to spread rapidly throughout the North.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Her Highness the Grand Duchess has been fasting and praying to the ancestors of the Renslet family.”
“Praying? For what?!”
“For blessings and salvation for the lands that have lost their fertility.”
“!!”
The news brought immense emotional relief to the disheartened Northerners, especially the farmers.
“We should pray too! Let’s offer our prayers!”
The wave of emotion swept across the North like a tidal wave.
“If Her Highness is fasting and praying, we should do something as well!”
“Let’s gather at the village square every morning to hold prayer meetings!”
“Haven will hold prayers as well!”
“If Haven’s doing it, our city can’t lag behind!”
“Her Highness has decreed that while prayer is important, we are not to fast!”
“Oh, to think I once blamed such a merciful ruler!”
“Still… Your Highness, even if I don’t want to fast, I have no food to eat.”
“Shut up and start praying anyway!”
The entire North erupted in a wave of prayer.
“But… who are we praying to? Should we hold ancestral rites instead?”
“No, this time we should direct our prayers to the ancestors of the Renslet family. It’s better to focus our devotion in one place.”
“Agreed! Let’s build an altar in the village to honor the Renslet ancestors!”
“Renslet! Rune Renslet!”
What was once a rallying cry only heard from the loyal knights and soldiers of the High Tower now became a chant echoed by all Northerners.
May the ancestors of Renslet take pity on this land.
May they grant us something to revive the dead soil.
Thus began the North’s first PR campaign and viral movement.
And in time, this event marked the beginning of what would become the official religion of the North: The Church of Renslet.
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