The workshop district of “Heaven’s Haven” had, at this moment, transformed into a temple of fervor.
The birth of gunpowder, like a divine oracle, had forged the iron fist of revolution from a nebulous ideal into a tangible reality.
Under Allen’s hands-on guidance, the craftsmen who usually only knew how to swing hammers and forge iron, the youths with no knowledge of chemistry, had successfully replicated those black granules capable of unleashing thunderous wrath.
Every successful detonation, even if it just blasted apart a small rock, would elicit waves of cheers from the crowd—desperately suppressed yet utterly irrepressible.
Allen watched the expressions of awe and ecstasy mixed on his comrades’ faces and nodded in satisfaction.
He would never admit that the reason he was so patiently conducting this “popular science” was purely to offload this highly repetitive, low-skill physical labor as quickly as possible, so he could comfortably slack off with a clear conscience.
This fervor sweeping through the underground world soon reached the surface.
That very night, Grand Inquisitor Guillaume St. Clair personally rushed to “Heaven’s Haven,” accompanied by several Inquisitors with stern faces but eyes that couldn’t hide their curiosity.
“Sir de Laval, I must say, you have once again opened our eyes.”
Guillaume circled the freshly cast, still-flawed model of the light cannon, running his hand over the cold barrel, his tone filled with undisguised amazement.
Allen was quite proud of his creation. He patted the cannon barrel. “Comrade Guillaume, this is just the beginning. We’ve only just lifted a corner of the curtain on the true art of war.”
“I have no doubt.” Guillaume’s expression turned serious. “In fact, the Church’s archives also contained records about firearms. It’s just…”
He sighed, a deep sense of powerlessness in his voice. “In the past, to prevent humanity from developing technology too quickly and thus attracting the ‘trial’ of the Observers, the Church not only actively locked down technology but even completely classified knowledge related to firearms as forbidden.”
Allen understood the implication.
Since humanity was already being watched by the “Observers” and the apocalypse was imminent, the ban had naturally become a mere scrap of paper.
If the Inquisition could get their hands on good weapons, why wouldn’t they use them?
Archbishop Lucien had also mentioned this. Allen hit the nail on the head with his complaint: “And then, the ‘Observers’ helped you ‘clean up’ the archives, right?”
Guillaume smiled bitterly. “Yes. It deleted all related technical data. We lost the support of that advanced knowledge. Today’s Church is not much more advanced in productivity than the outside world. Otherwise, we might have been able to recreate more advanced gunpowder than this.”
As Guillaume said, if the technological legacy of the Lost Civilization was completely lost, in this era generally in the late Middle Ages, large-scale production of nitrocellulose or nitroglycerin was almost impossible.
The prerequisite technologies were far beyond the times.
To introduce these technologies, Allen would still have to put in considerable effort.
Allen understood this clearly, but an even more exciting thought surged within him.
He asked, seemingly offhandedly, “I’m guessing the Church’s ‘Holy Land’ probably still preserves some ‘antiques’ that are still operational, right? I don’t believe the ‘Observers’ could remotely erase those machines too.”
“Your guess is quite accurate.” Guillaume did not deny it, but a hint of difficulty appeared in his eyes. “The Holy Land is the Church’s most core secret. Even I do not have the authority to know its full extent. There are indeed some… creations that could be called miracles. For example, a machine that can create any precise component out of thin air.”
Allen’s heart gave a violent leap.
A 3D printer! Black-tech-level industrial mother machine!
What did this mean?
It meant that, as long as the social environment permitted, he could almost overnight leap over centuries of technological accumulation and directly establish a complete industrial system!
In other words, even if the “Observers” only gave humanity half a century to develop, Allen could, in the shortest time possible, push humanity from an agricultural civilization to an industrial civilization.
Once entering an industrial civilization, technological development would only accelerate. Rapidly advancing to pre-space age technology was not impossible!
However, Guillaume’s next words were like a bucket of cold water, dousing the flames that had just ignited in Allen’s heart.
“But, Sir de Laval, the permissions for the Holy Land are directly tied to the hierarchy of faith. While it belongs to the Kingdom’s Church, it is also the legacy of the entire Church, even of humanity. Even if Archbishop Lucien fully supports you, you cannot receive support from the Holy Land. Unless…”
“Unless I am no longer ‘Allen de Laval,’ but the one and only ‘God’s Messenger’ acknowledged by the entire Church.” Allen finished the sentence for him, his tone calm.
Guillaume nodded silently.
Allen gave a carefree laugh. “It’s fine. A meal must be eaten bite by bite, a road walked step by step. I never expected to get fat in one bite anyway.”
Seeing Allen show not a hint of disappointment, Guillaume actually felt relieved.
He promised solemnly, “However, within my authority, I will do everything I can to assist you. For example, those precision machine tools mentioned in your blueprints for manufacturing firearms.”
“Precision boring bars and fixtures. With them, you can build water-powered boring machines to ensure standardized gun barrels.”
“Lathes, milling machines, planers, even foot-pedal-powered grinding wheels for sharpening bayonets… As long as you can provide the blueprints, I guarantee the Church’s finest craftsmen will build you the most precise set of equipment.”
Allen’s eyes lit up.
This was the most practical help!
He had already planned a new large-scale iron foundry near the mining area in Flanders Province, which would use the latest coke iron smelting blast furnaces.
Once Master Gutenberg and the others transferred there, with these industrial mother machines provided by the Church, the mass production of firearms would no longer be a dream.
As time went on, the dream of every revolutionary soldier having a gun might truly become a reality.
Time. What he lacked most was time. Allen had to use the reforms to cover up his true plans.
The vested interests of the Old World would unite as never before on one thing: opposing progress.
It was unavoidable.
The current small maneuvers were just the beginning. A real, bloody war was inevitable.
What cannot be obtained on the battlefield will never be obtained at the negotiation table.
But, it was fine.
Allen always felt he had an innate understanding of war. He could even say he was a master of the art of war.
Achieving victory on the battlefield was a science, and in this world, aside from those guys in the Church who kept things hidden, he was the one who understood science best.
Those Crestbearers, accustomed to fighting alone and revering personal martial prowess, had no idea the times had truly changed.
In the end, Allen and Guillaume reached an agreement.
Allen would transfer the complete technology for gunpowder, firearms, and cannons to the Inquisition.
However, the Inquisition must swear an oath not to publicly reveal or use these era-transcending weapons until the “Dawn’s Children” officially began their armed uprising and started using firearms on a large scale.
Guillaume agreed without hesitation. He also brought good news: “The ‘Saint’s Relic’ you requested has been prepared and can be delivered to you at any time.”
With the cooperation settled, the atmosphere immediately became relaxed and lively.
To celebrate this historic, great invention, a unique banquet commenced in the dining hall of “Heaven’s Haven.”
Both the Church and the “Dawn’s Children” strictly forbade excessive drinking, but tonight was undoubtedly an exception.
The men of the Inquisition were bold and straightforward, taking turns with goblets of wine, eager to get closer to this “God’s Messenger” who had created a miracle.
Unwilling to let his comrades damage their livers, Allen patted his chest and took on the entire Inquisition single-handedly.
The final result was Allen, alone, drinking under the table a group of Inquisitors including Victor, leaving them sprawled on the floor, snoring like thunder.
He looked at the “corpses” littering the floor, a sly smile curling at the corner of his mouth.
The divine power within him purifying alcohol was a piece of cake.
These honest Inquisitors were genuinely competing in drinking, while he… had been drinking nothing but expensive grape juice the whole time.
The members of the “Dawn’s Children,” witnessing their leader’s godly prowess of drinking a thousand cups without falling, felt awe and respectfully bestowed upon him the title of “Wine Master.”
Hearing this title, Allen felt a bit awkward.
Why did it feel like he was acting more and more like a scumbag—staying out all night drinking heavily behind his little maid and “fiancée’s” back?
He wondered how Marianne and Livia were doing at home.
At this moment, in Allen’s study.
Marianne and Livia were huddled together, heads close, stealing glances at Allen’s unpublished precious manuscripts by the soft candlelight.
After becoming Allen’s “book fan,” Livia, led by Marianne, had quickly “taken over” Allen’s desk, finding the continuation of The Little Prince and The Count of Monte Cristo.
“Marianne,” Livia put down the manuscript of The Little Prince, her clear blue eyes holding a trace of confusion.
“Why does Allen write that the rose was the only one on his planet? He tamed the fox, and the fox became his unique fox. But in the end, he still had to return to the rose.”
“Because…” Marianne tilted her head, thinking, then teased, “Because the little prince is a faithful, good man. Unlike a certain foolish master, who has such a good maid at home but still goes outside to mess with other flowers and plants.”
Hearing this, Livia’s cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly.
She didn’t follow that line of teasing, just said softly, “Allen’s hometown is called Earth, right?”
“Yes, a very, very distant place.”
“I don’t know why,” Livia’s gaze pierced through the night, looking towards the sea of stars, “I always feel that we… all seem to have a strange connection to that place called ‘Earth.'”
……
After a night of revelry, Allen showed no signs of fatigue.
Ever since the duel with Livia, the power within him had not diminished with the weakening influence of the Supreme Heaven.
Instead, fueled by the growing faith of the “Dawn’s Children” and Inquisition members, it had become increasingly powerful and concentrated.
Every look of heartfelt admiration from his comrades, every prayer whispered by an Inquisitor, was like a warm current flowing into the sea of his power.
Just the faith of these few hundred people was causing his power to unconsciously overflow.
He could hardly imagine how terrifying it would be if the entire Church, even millions of people, sincerely believed in him.
This faith power was a double-edged sword. He really didn’t want to become a god walking among men, sustained by believers.
Gods could exist, but they must stay in their divine kingdoms.
A living god walking the earth was absolutely not a good thing for humanity.
Humanity’s future lay among the stars, not in a divine kingdom.
What good would it do if he ascended alone? This thing wasn’t about “some ascending first to lead others later.”
The Star Listener ascended, but didn’t his bunch of cultists still continue to serve the Evil God like dogs?
To benefit all of humanity, Allen still had to diligently promote the development of science and technology.
Theoretically, Allen could now go without sleep or rest, but he believed he shouldn’t over-rely on this power. He needed to sleep when he should sleep.
He was afraid he might truly, bit by bit, detach from the identity of “human.”
Having lived two lives, he still had a lot of affection for being human.
In a sense, he truly was a thorough human supremacist.
Anyway, tonight’s all-nighter was purely accidental.
The faith power was simply too abundant. His eyes were frighteningly bright in the dark, so he simply decided not to sleep.
After handling the internal affairs of the “Dawn’s Children,” he casually picked up the backlog of documents from the “Dawn’s Children” Ministry of Finance and, with a flourish of his pen, began reviewing them.
François and Mr. Robert DuPont, who had come to learn, watched the mountain of files decrease at a visible rate, their jaws practically dropping in shock.
“Sometimes I wonder if it was the leader who worked at City Hall and not me,” François whispered to his companion.
“After all… he is that Divine Emissary. He is omnipotent,” Robert DuPont said with admiration.
Guillaume was also a workaholic. The two of them simply squeezed into one office, handling their respective official duties while chatting a bit.
This dual-threaded work mode of multitasking made Victor, who was helping nearby, envious, wishing he had two brains.
Late at night, after a few cups of coffee, Guillaume put down his files, unable to withstand sleepiness any longer.
He rubbed his temples and teased, “Sir de Laval, if you were a bureaucrat, you could replace the entire Kingdom’s civil service system by yourself.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Allen didn’t even look up. “Saving their salaries would relieve so much burden for the Kingdom’s common people.”
Hearing Allen’s remark, Guillaume couldn’t help but sigh at how considerate of the people this “God’s Messenger” was.
Finally, only Allen remained in the office.
He didn’t know how much time passed. At dawn on the 14th, Finn and Luca came looking for him.
Both were bleary-eyed, clearly just waking from their hangovers.
But upon seeing that Allen had already conveniently completed the work they were responsible for, they instantly sobered up.
“You’ve worked hard. Would you like to rest a while?”
“I’m a nuclear-powered workhorse. I don’t need rest.” Allen stood up with a smile, stretching. “Let’s go. I’m giving you two a holiday today. You two, and John, come with me to Master Gutenberg’s workshop.”
Finn and Luca were his right-hand men. John Camille was the head of the Security Department.
Taking them to see the freshly made wheellock guns was most appropriate.
Finn nodded instinctively but then hesitated. “Leader, what about… Comrade Eleanor?”
As soon as he finished speaking, Luca’s expression also changed slightly, his eyes flickering.
The relaxed atmosphere in the office underwent a subtle change.
Allen’s heart stirred. He instantly understood their implication.
That cult symbol behind the flag was like a thorn, stuck in the heart of this newly born organization.
Eleanor, responsible for intelligence, had failed to root out the mole, naturally making her the prime suspect.
They suspected this was a play she orchestrated herself, aiming to use this opportunity to expand the power of the Intelligence Division.
These kids…
Allen looked into their young eyes, filled with vigilance and suspicion. He felt no blame, only a complex sigh.
He had personally pulled them from the mire, taught them to think, taught them to struggle.
Naturally, he also had to accept that they had learned the most unpleasant, yet most necessary, aspects of the power game.
His smile did not change, only his golden eyes deepened slightly.
“Eleanor has a more important task. We need a pair of sharp eyes to keep a close watch on the undercurrents in the Capital.”
He turned around, not giving Finn and Luca a chance to press further, leaving them with a meaningful back view.
“Get ready. We’re leaving.”
“The spear of the new era has been forged. Let’s go witness its first cry.”