Soot Street Scamps faced an unprecedented crisis, and not only did Griff feel this way, but Mordy, the gang leader, shared the same sentiment.
Shortly after returning from the cathedral, Blackbeard went missing. Mordy recalled the events of that night and the more he thought about it, the more he felt that the person who had knocked him unconscious looked familiar.
Bishop Lacus, that figure, why does he look so much like Lacus?
Mordy couldn't help thinking about it, and he couldn't help thinking about it a lot. He knew very well that ever since that guy from the Pureblood Order came looking for him... No, ever since he and Blackbeard started doing dirty work for Bishop Lacus, he had put himself in a very dangerous position.
Mordy was just a chimney sweep at first, but he was brave and fought hard, establishing his position as a member of the Soot Street Scamps through countless street fights.
If that woman hadn't suddenly come looking for him, he would have been fine as a local thug, at least he wouldn't have had to live in fear.
But Bishop Lacus promised to make Mordy a Pathseeker.
For an ordinary person, this was simply too tempting to resist.
When he agreed, Mordy thought he had already come to terms with life and death. But after gaining access to abundant resources and becoming one of the few major gangs in the Rust District, he began to feel fear.
At first, he thought he was just afraid of losing everything, but gradually, Mordy realized he was simply afraid of dying.
The other members of the gang watched as Mordy slowly descended into madness, none of them understanding what was happening—except Griff.
That night, Edrick contacted Griff and told him about Mordy's loyalty to Bishop Lacus, also giving Griff some new tasks.
"Proselytizing…" Griff looked at the idol of the demonic god in his hands, his face grim.
Griff didn't care whether he went to heaven or not. With so many poor people in Stellaxis, there were probably very few true believers. If praying had any effect, Griff would definitely be the most devout follower of The Luminous One!
But that was a crime punishable by burning at the stake, and there would be no mercy.
Griff had dug through manure and crawled through chimneys. He had been burned countless times by chimney soot, which was why he had become a member of the Soot Street Scamps, even if it meant becoming a villain.
He feared fire deeply.
But now he was under Edrick's Cat Control Spell and couldn't even think of resisting. This strange and heretical magic could even control his thoughts, which was truly terrifying.
Now, Griff could only do his best to carry out his master's will.
Griff crouched beside a cesspool in the dock area, the stench like a rag soaked in sewage blocking his nostrils. Seven Nightmen were stirring the cesspool with long-handled wooden spoons, and the surface of the sewage was covered with frozen bread crumbs and lace handkerchiefs discarded by the nobles.
He deliberately rubbed the ragged cloth on his shoulder, mixing the coal dust from the boiler room the day before into the filth. His fingertips pinched a mixture of dandelion roots and rat bile, stored in a pig's bladder, to make a hemostatic agent.
"Old Joe, the wound you got from falling into the sewage pit last month is still oozing pus, isn't it?"Griff suddenly spoke, startling the Nightmen who were spitting and causing their hands to tremble. The man with a leather patch over his left eye instinctively covered his waist, where there was a festering wound cut by a manure fork.
"None of your fucking business..." Old Joe's curse was mixed with the sound of swamp gas.
Griff plopped down beside the frozen dung pit, pulled up Old Joe's torn trouser leg, and saw the festering wound glowing purple in the moonlight. He chewed some purple groundsel and applied it to the wound, then poured some herbal juice over it. "The thing I mentioned three days ago in the boiler room—the skinny guy broke his wrist climbing the chimney two days ago, right?"
He looked at the young man clutching a wooden spoon beside him, "But this morning he said that a black cat brought him a piece of cloth to bandage his wrist, and now he can move it again, thanks to the protection of the Village Deity, which is a hundred times more effective than the holy water of the Luminous Pontificate."
Of course it was effective, because these herbs were combined with Edrick's knowledge and the blessing of Bishop Lacus of the Luminous Pontificate. These mud-covered peasants had never seen anything so sophisticated before, and they stared wide-eyed.
Old Joe stared at the wound on his waist. The area covered with herbs was emitting a faint heat, and the rotten flesh at the edges of the wound was visibly shrinking.
He knelt down trembling, his forehead touching the frosty edge of the dung pit: "God... What does God want us to do?"
"Be devout, pray to Him, and praise His name." Griff took out a simple idol made from the iron ring of a dung bucket, "Village Deity Edaos."
Griff carefully selected his targets for proselytizing and the timing, choosing a midnight after work in a coal boiler room where the chimney still emitted residual heat and the floor was covered in coal ash.
Twenty-seven Nightmen and nineteen coal pullers, covered in filth, huddled around the rusty boiler. Griff stood on a pile of coal, and three black cats jumped between the steam pipes.
"Brothers, look at the black ash under your fingernails! This isn't dirt, it's the blood of the aristocrats who carved our flesh!"Griff grabbed a handful of coal dust and threw it into the air. The black particles swirled in the dim light. "At three o'clock every morning, we climb chimneys with sacks of coal on our backs while the noblewomen warm their hands by the fire, cursing us for 'polluting the air.' We scoop night pots from the latrines, while their sons eat candied fruit with golden spoons!"
Low curses rang out from the crowd, and a coal miner with a beard covering his face suddenly shouted, "What's the point of saying all this? The Luminous Pontificate says we were born lowly and should serve the lords like cattle!"
"The Luminous Pontificate?" Griff sneered and pulled a pagan idol smeared with coal ash from his tattered coat. "Their God lives in a church lined with gold. Can He see our toes rotting under our boots? But do you know what? There is a god in this city. He doesn't eat bread and wine, He only drinks our sweat and gnaws on our calluses!"
"A god?" A lame Nightmen leaned on a wooden spoon, his cloudy eyes full of suspicion. "If there is a god, why didn't he save my daughter who has tuberculosis?"
"He is called 'Village Deity' and lives at the bottom of the deepest mine, with coal as his bones and soot as his blood vessels." Griff lifted his shirt to reveal his healed scars. "Last week, Blackbeard broke three of my ribs, but He appeared to me in a dream and told my cat to bring me some moss to stop the bleeding!"
Three cats meowed obediently around Griff, one of them jumping onto his shoulder and gently patting his wound with its paw.
"Cats can understand human speech? Do you think we're three-year-olds?" another coal miner scoffed.
Griff knelt down and dug out half a piece of moss with claw marks from the coal pile:The cats brought this from the cliff edge of the lighthouse at the pier, where even goats dare not go. Smell it, it still has the smell of coal dust on it. This is medicine given to me by the Village Deity!"
He handed the moss to the nearest worker, who sniffed it and gradually relaxed his furrowed brow.
"Even if there really is such a god, what can he change?" A young Nightmen's voice trembled, "The patrolmen still steal our wages, and the overseers still whip us with their whips."
"The Village Deity won't take the whips for us, but He will give us strength.Griff softened his voice and pointed to the rough outline of the god's image. "Starting tomorrow, we will sprinkle the first scoop of manure water on our doorsteps and smear coal ash on the handles of our tools. These are offerings to the Village Deity. His roots will grow along these marks, and when He touches our suffering, He will naturally teach us how to survive."
"But the Luminous Pontificate says that heretics will be burned at the stake..." Someone stammered and took half a step back.
Griff suddenly grabbed the hot stove, and white smoke rose from his palm, but he refused to let go. "Is the stake terrifying, or is watching our children starve to death terrifying? The Village Deity doesn't want us to shed blood. He only wants us to keep a corner in our hearts for him, just like we hide half a piece of moldy bread in our broken house for those who need it most."
In the silence, the black cat crouching on Griff's shoulder suddenly rubbed against his cheek and let out a soft purr. The lame Nightmen trembled as he stretched out his cracked hands and gently touched the statue: "My daughter... Can she rest in peace with the Village Deity?"
"She has been sleeping in the Village Deity's blanket of coal dust for a long time." Griff placed the statue in the man's palm. "Before you start work tomorrow, call out 'Village Deity' three times toward the chimney and listen for the sound of a cat in the wind. That will be the deity's response. He is very close to us, much closer than The Luminous One, who has never responded to our prayers!"
More and more hands reached out, the workers' rough fingertips brushing over the coal-stained deity statue, as if touching a hope they had never dared to imagine.
In the corner, a black cat nimbly jumped onto the coal pile, its golden pupils reflecting the shining eyes of the crowd, quietly recording this scene in its heart. With the help of the three cats and the Fogport Raven children, the deeds of the Village Deity spread throughout the Rust District, so much so that an unexpected visitor came to listen to Griff preach.
After the preaching ended, the crowd dispersed, and a mysterious figure approached Griff. This person was completely shrouded in a cloak, even wearing a black-and-white mask with a voice-altering function, making their gender indistinguishable.
This person referred to themselves as "N."
"N?" Griff repeated in confusion.
Griff couldn't help but think that in the Rust District, where poor laborers gathered, someone dressed like N was practically shouting "I'm suspicious" from head to toe. After all, laborers neither needed nor could afford such a cloak.
If Griff dared to walk around the streets of the Rust District dressed like Mr. N, he'd be arrested by the police within half a day or beaten senseless.
However, since Griff and his group were already here illegally, he had no right to suspect Mr. N of anything.
"So, Mr. N... or Miss N? Um... Mr. N, what do you need from me?" Griff asked.
As long as Mr. N wasn't a police officer or a patrolman, they could be friends.
"I found your preaching earlier quite interesting."His Excellency N said in a voice that was impossible to distinguish as male or female or old or young. "I must admit, you are very brave to dare to preach under the nose of the Luminous Pontificate."
"You flatter me, I'm just trying to make a living," Griff waved his hand dismissively, but inside he was full of resentment. If his life wasn't in the hands of that devil Edrick, he wouldn't have come here to do something so dangerous!
Seeing Griff's attitude, N was taken aback: "Aren't you afraid I'm a cop?"
Griff shook his head: "Your style is off. If you were a cop, you could have moved in when the crowd gathered earlier and caught more people. With the evidence and the culprits in hand, the police wouldn't even need to interrogate me."
"Hmm, you're smart," N seemed to be looking at Griff with approval. "Interested in joining the resistance?"
The word 'rebellion' made even the bold Griff shiver involuntarily. He looked at N in astonishment: "If this were a week ago, I'd have arrested you and taken the reward money!"
Although Grif probably couldn't beat this Mr. N.
"But now..." Griff shrugged again, "It's hard to say who's more guilty between the two of us."
The resistance army was not a unified organization, but a general term for those who resisted the Luminous Covenant throughout the western continent, or rather, the free world.
Some were unwilling heretics, some were peasants stripped of their land, and some were fallen nobles. In any case, their backgrounds were diverse, but they all harbored deep grievances. As long as they could survive, who would risk being burned at the stake to rebel?
"If there is an opportunity, I hope we can collaborate," said N with genuine sincerity.
"Collaborate? You haven't even unified your own ranks yet," said Griff with a hint of disdain, looking at N. After all, the rebels were a highly diverse group, with large resistance organizations reportedly numbering in the thousands, while smaller ones might only have a few dozen members, and some were even smaller than the Soot Street Scamps.
"There will be a chance," said His Excellency N, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a piece of parchment, which he handed to Griff. "I am very interested in the Village Deity you mentioned. I hope you can give this to... your master."
Griff instinctively took the scroll. As a lowly thug, he always took whatever was handed to him first, believing that anything in someone else's hands was bad, but in his own hands, it was good. And as a Nightman, even if the other person handed him a pile of dung, it would still be a good thing.
His Excellency N had no idea what Griff was thinking and smiled, "Tell him it's an invitation to the Shadow Mansion."
"Shadow Mansion? You're a Shadow!" Griff exclaimed belatedly, "That envelope, the Goddess of Decay's shadow cult... I mean, the leader of the rebel Shadow Legion, Nyx!"
In the blink of an eye, His Excellency N was gone, leaving Griff standing alone, muttering to himself, "Damn... the Pureblood Order, the Holy See, the royal family... now even a cult has arrived. Isn't Stellaxis chaotic enough already... I'd rather he had given me manure."