July 12, afternoon, the Capital underground, “Heaven’s Haven.”
Allen and Marianne had pulled themselves away from that mobilization meeting filled with bourgeois hypocrisy and greed, returning post-haste to the heart of the revolution.
As he stepped into the great meeting hall of “Dawn’s Children,” the heated discussions inside instantly fell silent.
Within the hall, the most core members of “Dawn’s Children” were all present.
They sat upright, their eyes burning with intensity like soldiers awaiting inspection. The moment they saw Allen’s figure, every gaze was set ablaze.
Finn, the “Preacher,” was the first to stand and clap his hands forcefully.
In the next second, thunderous applause erupted, merging into a scalding torrent that echoed throughout the underground space.
‘This kid seems a bit too eager for progress.’
Allen looked at Finn’s face, which was flushed with excitement, feeling a bit helpless but also a hint of gratification.
As of now, Finn’s work as a “Preacher” in terms of ideological propaganda and organizational building was indeed impeccable.
Allen calmly accepted their welcome and walked to the center of the presiding platform to sit down. Marianne quietly took her place at the recording desk beside him.
Allen did not rush to speak. Instead, he slowly scanned the faces that were both familiar and yet slightly strange.
They had changed.
Those “Wild Dogs” who once scrounged for food in the mud, those mercenaries who lived on the edge of a blade—their images were now entirely different.
They wore clean, tidy work uniforms, having washed away the filth of their past. Their messy hair had been trimmed, revealing youthful, vibrant faces that suited their age.
Their eyes no longer darted away in numbness or malice; instead, they were replaced by a sense of determination and a thirst for knowledge.
Unlike the first time they met, when the members of the Wild Dog Gang avoided his gaze at all costs, today they eagerly yearned for Allen’s eyes to linger on them for even one more second.
They wanted to prove in this silent way that they had not failed their leader’s trust.
Allen had already heard from Marianne that these young people, most of whom were once illiterate and had never received a formal education, had reached a basic level of literacy in a very short time. It was nothing short of a miracle.
The Sisters and Inquisitors of the Judgement Court came to teach them whenever they had a spare moment. This was both the passion and kindness of the clergy, and, in a sense, a form of “cooperation.”
Setting aside the fact that their literacy primers were religious texts like the Holy Scripture, this collaboration between “Dawn’s Children” and the Inquisition had indeed made great strides in the work of cultural enlightenment.
Mr. François had the most right to speak on this. This minor clerk, who had been fired from City Hall and was now a teacher upholding the heavy responsibility of enlightenment, had personally witnessed how these children had thrown their entire lives into learning with incredible passion. And this was only the beginning.
Allen demanded lifelong learning. The walls of “Heaven’s Haven” were covered in red slogans: “Study hard and make progress every day.”
Their studies had yielded significant results. These “Candelabrums” ignited by Allen had already begun to take root like seeds in every corner of the Capital.
They had gone undercover into various industries, quietly spreading the power of the revolution like a spiderweb.
They were no longer resigned to fate; they had firmly grasped the opportunity to rewrite it.
A complex and warm emotion welled up in Allen’s heart.
Unlike the disguise he wore in front of the nobles, his gaze became sincere and gentle as he looked at these true comrades.
These lovely people, these idealists once abandoned by the world, were the ones he believed truly possessed the future.
He closed his eyes, as if he could hear every beat of this underground fortress—the heart of the revolution.
He heard the pulse of the city, the clamor of the mundane world, and the sighs of humanity suppressed for a millennium.
He also heard the unwilling echoes left behind by the Lost Civilizations that had perished in the 10,000-year Cycle of Reincarnation.
It had been 10,000 years.
Humanity had left their distant mother star and come to this strange planet. Under the cruel “tests” of the “Observers,” they had been caught in a desperate cycle for 10,000 years.
Humanity must return to the stars.
Allen’s silence pushed his majesty to its peak.
When he opened his eyes again, the entire meeting hall was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
“I am very happy to see your current spirit,” Allen spoke slowly, his voice carrying sincere praise. “This is how a revolutionary should look.”
“However,” his tone shifted, “perhaps our progress has been too smooth, and some impetuous emotions have inevitably cropped up in your hearts. We cannot even rule out the possibility that among us, there might be eyes and ears of the King, or even… the minions of an Evil God.”
When he mentioned “minions,” Allen’s gaze drifted almost imperceptibly over Eleanor and Victor. This caused Eleanor, who was in charge of intelligence, to instantly tense her nerves, while Victor the Inquisitor furrowed his brow.
They both remembered the eerie symbol behind that flag; it meant there was a traitor within the Organization they had yet to root out.
Marianne and Anna’s previous searches had failed to lock onto a target. Whether a Heretic had truly infiltrated “Heaven’s Haven” remained a mystery.
“I am not saying this today because I want you to suspect one another, cause panic, or split the Organization,” Allen’s tone was calm.
“I only want to tell you that the growth of any new thing must go through twists and turns. In the cause of creating a New World, thinking that everything will be smooth sailing or that success comes easily without effort is nothing but an unrealistic fantasy.”
“Comrades, you must always remember that even we, the core members sitting here, might be wiped out by the enemy one day. But as long as we pass on the spark, even if our group fails, the next batch of revolutionaries will surely inherit our unfinished business until the final victory is won!”
“The ‘Wick Groups’ you have each developed are our reserves, the sparks of the revolution. Therefore, do not fear failure. Hold fast to our organizational principles and discipline.”
Allen stood up, his voice steady and powerful. “Now, I declare the First General Assembly of Dawn’s Children officially open! Comrade Marianne, read the meeting agenda.”
“Yes, Comrade Allen!” Marianne stood up in response.
She had changed out of her ornate Lolita attire and put back on her simple maid uniform.
Now, within the inner circles of “Dawn’s Children,” this clothing had become a symbol of female laborers.
In the past, a maid was an oppressed soul of the Old World who served the upper class; now, Allen had given it a brand-new definition—a servant of the people.
“I now announce the first item on the agenda—the periodic work report and summary.” Marianne’s voice was calm and clear.
“Starting with the Sludge Lane Workers’ Picket. Captain Mathieu, report on your development and… the difficulties you have encountered. Remember the requirement of the Child of the Dawn: Criticism and Self-Criticism. Speak only of facts and face your mistakes directly.”
“Yes!” Mathieu stood up immediately.
This former mercenary of the “Lily Guard” was now a qualified grassroots commander.
He gave a detailed report on the transformation of the picket line, explaining how they had turned street thugs into a militia that maintained community security and assisted residents, and how they had gradually built trust with the local masses.
At the same time, he did not shy away from discussing mistakes in their work, such as how, in the beginning, their lack of experience led to a crude and blunt handling of neighborhood disputes, which actually intensified conflicts.
His profound self-criticism earned him appreciative applause from the crowd.
Subsequently, “Candelabrums” from various regions and industries took their turns to report.
Some had developed organizations among dockworkers, while others had established secret groups within craft guilds.
Allen listened patiently to every speech and provided detailed answers to the problems they encountered, once again deepening the importance of the core concept of “criticism and self-criticism.”
“Now, we proceed to the second item on the agenda,” Marianne announced. “Regarding how to correctly understand the current top-down reform led by the King.”
Allen took over the conversation and posed a sharp question to everyone. “I want to hear your thoughts. Do you believe the reform currently being implemented can succeed? If it succeeds, what should a revolutionary organization like Dawn’s Children do next?”
The meeting room fell into a sudden silence.
The question was too grand and too distant. These people, who had only just escaped the mire, did not know how to answer for a moment.
Allen’s gaze swept across the room. Finn immediately straightened his back; he had a stomach full of words prepared for this question.
However, Allen’s gaze passed over him and landed on “Nightingale,” Eleanor.
“Comrade Eleanor, you tell us.”
Eleanor stood up, a confident smile on her face, her voice as pleasant as a nightingale.
“I believe that whether the reform succeeds or not, it does not hinder our ultimate goal of overthrowing the Old World. If the reform succeeds, it only proves that the old ruling class still has the ability to linger on, but it cannot root out oppression itself; it will only cause contradictions to explode in new forms. If the reform fails, then the Old World will only rot faster, and the people will yearn even more for a complete Revolution. Therefore, our path is always clear.”
“Well said!” Allen took the lead in applauding her.
He waited for the applause to die down before following Eleanor’s words with a classic assertion.
“Comrade Eleanor’s view touches the core. History has proven countless times that revolution often does not happen at the moment when oppression is deepest and the people are most desperate. On the contrary, when the ruler begins to reform, when the chains of oppression begin to loosen, and when the people see a glimmer of hope—that is when a revolution is most likely to break out!”
He stood up, walked to the map, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote a line on it.
“No investigation, no right to speak.”
“I obtained raw data from my father regarding nearly 100 years of tax revenue, population, and grain output from the Ministry of Finance.” Allen’s voice became incredibly solemn. “By analyzing this data, I established a preliminary population model. And this model has led to a shocking—even terrifying—conclusion.”
“The relative stability of the Lorraine Kingdom over the past several hundred years has brought about rapid population growth, a number that has far exceeded the limits the land can carry. What is even more frightening is that a large number of Sword-Bearing Nobles have hidden a massive amount of unreported population in their fiefs to evade taxes. This means that once a large-scale natural disaster breaks out again, famine will sweep the country on an unprecedented scale. At that time, the number of people who starve to death will be astronomical!”
Everyone gasped at this conclusion, frantically scribbling in their notebooks.
“Therefore, the reform led by the King, which attempts to patch things up within the old framework, is doomed to fail!” Allen asserted decisively. “The action of the Rural Affairs Officers to investigate the country’s land and population will surely ignite fierce resistance from those stubborn Sword-Bearing Nobles in their fiefs. The window of opportunity brought by this reform might only last a few years, or even just a few short months! We, Dawn’s Children, must complete our advanced layout for the future within this timeframe!”
Looking at the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces, Allen knew it was time to throw out the true core topic.
“Comrade Marianne, proceed to the third item on the agenda.”
“Yes.” Marianne nodded. “Third item: Regarding the establishment of the ‘Southern Bureau’.”
Allen walked back to the map, his finger tracing a line from the Capital Lucien all the way to the far south.
“Comrades, we must clearly recognize that in the heart of the Lorraine Kingdom, where the power of Crestbearers remains incredibly strong—especially in the Capital—trying to establish a revolutionary regime through an urban armed uprising is extremely difficult. With our current strength alone, we are not yet enough to defeat those Sword-Bearing Nobles who possess powerful Bloodlines in a frontal battlefield.”
“Our path should not be to blindly storm central cities, but to choose a harder, more realistic path that better allows us to accumulate strength—and that is to build our own consolidated revolutionary base.”
His finger landed heavily on the vast land on the map that was loosely connected to the main body of the Lorraine Kingdom.
“Its strategic core is right here—the Southern Grand Duchy!”
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