The construction work for “Heaven’s Haven” was unfolding at a breakneck pace.
Allen had been a little excited at first, expecting the Inquisition to unveil some kind of Black Technology for the project.
But what he saw the Judgement Court’s workers hauling out was mainly… prefabricated panels?
Prefabricated panel buildings could be put up quickly and cheaply—fitting for an underground space, no doubt. Still, Allen couldn’t help but feel a little let down.
“Well, well, just having reinforced concrete at this point in history is already amazing. I really can’t ask for more.”
As he consoled himself, Allen couldn’t help coveting those materials with a glint in his eyes.
He would have loved to climb this technological tree himself, but just thinking it over made clear that it was impossible in the short term.
To produce truly reliable modern reinforced concrete, you needed advanced mathematics, chemistry, metallurgy, and physics as your foundation, then light up the three main technological branches: Material Science, Structural Mechanics, and Industrial Production.
Cement required a precise blend of limestone and clay to be calcined at 1450℃—but kilns of this era couldn’t reach that temperature, and they also lacked methods for component analysis.
Steel rebar required large-scale steelmaking (the Bessemer Converter was only invented in the industrial age) and anti-corrosion treatment—otherwise, it would rust and expand inside the concrete, ruining the structure.
Even the aggregate mix for the concrete needed modern material mechanics to get right.
More importantly, even if Allen used his transmigrator knowledge to cheat his way into making a crude cement and some steel, there was simply no way to build structures that would meet safety standards.
This era hadn’t even invented calculus or other Mathematical Tools yet—how would they calculate internal forces or rebar quantities?
The Inquisition’s own buildings all relied on “ancestral” simplified formulas and standard blueprints—they had lost the ability to independently design modern buildings, too.
Thinking of all this, Allen felt his resolve to push basic academic disciplines grow stronger—he had to do it, and fast!
The group of detained Noble Moneybags was huddled nervously behind Allen.
They watched the bustling construction with their hearts in turmoil, unable to guess how this inscrutable young master planned to deal with them.
Allen was even kind enough to personally make them breakfast. To be fair, Allen’s cooking was excellent—even better than their own chefs.
It was Marianne’s first time tasting breakfast made by the Young Master himself.
When she thought about these scum enjoying such treatment, her gaze turned so icy it could kill; for a moment, the nobles thought they were eating their last meal.
After a while, Allen finally saw the people he’d been waiting for.
Accompanied by the bartender—now called “Continental Hotel” General Manager Matthew—his father, Bernard Viscount, and the Old Butler appeared at the entrance.
“Son!” Bernard, seeing Allen safe and sound from afar, finally breathed a sigh of relief.
But as he drew near, he noticed Allen’s eyes had become Golden Eyes, glowing with faint golden flames, and was startled.
“What’s going on with your eyes?!”
Bernard scrutinized his son; the golden pupils emanated an indescribable sense of the sacred.
Allen was concise: “Basically, it’s the Evil God causing trouble, and then the Lord blessed me. That’s all.”
“That’s as good as saying nothing!” Bernard retorted.
In the end, Allen had to give a detailed account of his infiltration of the Thieves’ Guild—its crimes, Heretical God’s Creations, the Noble Moneybags’ illicit fortune, and the collaboration with the Inquisition. Marianne added her own perspective as well.
Bernard listened, dizzy and anxious.
Though he was a worldly viscount with better nerves than most, his son always managed to shatter his limits of comprehension.
But remembering that a God’s Messenger was, by nature, extraordinary, he let it go.
He’d wanted to say a thousand things, but ended up only squeezing out: “Mm… these eyes, they’re quite striking.”
Marianne immediately agreed: “Right! I said before, the Young Master’s golden eyes are so handsome, but he kept muttering about ‘the undying Golden Eyes being too much like a protagonist’s setup’!”
“Why are you two so obsessed with this…” Allen was helpless. “I’m just uneasy about having this mysterious power in my body.”
Allen had already tested his new abilities. Like the Combat Nuns—no, the Combat Nuns—he’d gained special powers against Badge (Psionics) and evil, plus a strong Healer ability for both self and others.
Next time he ran into a Star Listener, Allen would finally be able to teach that bastard a lesson with his new powers.
Allen discovered his power source was different from a Crestbearer’s—it didn’t come from a badge bloodline, but from others’ worship and Faith Power in him.
The Combat Nun’s Anti-Magic Field had no effect on him; this convinced the Inquisition even more that he was truly a God’s Messenger. And the stronger their conviction, the faster Allen’s consumed power recovered.
It was all too suspicious! Allen, the “fake” God’s Messenger, was starting to become the real deal!
But whether this Faith Power was a blessing from the Lord or some Evil God’s disguise, Allen couldn’t say.
That feeling of looking down on all beings, the state of “divinity”—Allen had experienced it once and had no desire to do so again.
He felt genuine aversion and fear for the cold, detached mindset of “Heaven and earth are unkind, treating all things as straw dogs.”
In comparison, the Lord described in the Holy Scripture seemed much more humane.
In any case, he would use this power as little as possible.
Even in a world without gods, humans could still explore the universe.
If people couldn’t move forward without faith, then humanity had no hope.
Learning that his father’s construction team had started renovating the Forgotten Madonna inn according to his “Continental Hotel” plans, Allen was moved by his father’s efficiency.
Bernard had brought several teams of workers; with three shifts working around the clock, the first floor could be renovated within two days.
The hotel could even keep operating during further renovations.
The Continental Hotel was both the Handicraft and Labor Mutual Aid Guild’s service center and a star-level hotel ahead of its time.
The gray industry chain Allen had taken over and “standardized” would hide behind its legal façade.
Allen also planned to have his father buy up all the cheap, abandoned land nearby.
He intended to build kindergartens, night schools, malls, employee dormitories, logistics warehouses, community clinics, and other facilities here.
With time, this run-down old district would revive and become the downtown core business district (CBD) of the lower city.
Allen was also preparing in advance for the mining, metallurgy, and component manufacturing industries needed for future firearms production.
These industries were hard to acquire outright, since most craftsmen belonged to powerful guilds.
Guilds controlled technology, apprenticeship, quality, and prices. If outsiders tried to intervene, they would unite in resistance.
But Allen had his own “guild” (the Mutual Aid Association). He could have his father poach the best masters and craftsmen with high pay in secret.
For example, the “Gutenberg” of this world was the person Allen wanted most. With his connections, poaching him would bring in a group of skilled artisans.
Talent was the most precious resource!
Allen planned to work with him on inventions, while starting research and development on firearms.
With real industries and welfare facilities established, the Mutual Aid Association could better provide jobs and benefits for its members, benefiting the common people.
In time, Allen’s “Mutual Aid Association” would become a national union, completely replacing the old, rotten guilds and advancing human rights and social progress.
After hearing his son’s grand vision, Bernard cautiously raised a practical issue: “Son, we… don’t have nearly enough money for all this, do we?”
“Hey, once that Minister of Finance falls, the two hundred thousand in engineering funds they’ve been holding back from you should finally be released. What’s left from his embezzlement and confiscated estate will be enough to plug the Kingdom’s fiscal hole.”
“But that still won’t be nearly enough…”
“That’s exactly why I called you here.” Allen flashed a mysterious smile. “Father, see if you recognize any acquaintances among these nobles.”
Only then did Bernard notice the anxious group of nobles and was startled.
These were more than acquaintances—they were the core Noble Moneybags of the Moderate Faction!
Normally, Bernard would try and fail to get an audience with them.
Now, his son had them all firmly in hand, each one docile as a quail. Bernard couldn’t help feeling a secret thrill.
Ha! You finally have your day, too!
Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—never look down on a poor middle-aged man!
“Well, well, if it isn’t Count Omar de la Fontaine!” Bernard put on an exaggerated tone as he walked over to a noble who had always treated him coldly. “We chatted at the Bourbon Family’s banquet last time—do you remember me?”
“Of course, of course…” The count could only wipe his sweat and fawn. “Bernard Viscount, you have such a remarkable son—it’s truly enviable. Back then, I said your son was… ah… reckless in his youth, which was quite unfair. I apologize for that.”
“Oh, not at all. We owe this meeting to my son’s blessing!”
Like a petty man made good, Bernard went around “greeting” the nobles he once couldn’t reach, singing their praises with a touch of sarcasm. Then he leaned in to whisper to his son:
“Son, if we extort a ransom from them, we could make a fortune—but we’d also make countless enemies.”
“Come on, that’s not what I have in mind. They may be scum, but they’re still useful. Here, let me show you our real prize.”
As the Lily Guard slowly opened the tightly guarded vault doors, Allen led his father, the butler, Matthew, and the nobles inside—and Bernard was stunned by the scene within.
“Holy—! This… this is…”
As someone outside the Moderate Faction, Bernard had no idea these Noble Moneybags were so deeply entangled with the capital’s underworld, hiding so much dirty money.
Staring at the mountain of wealth, he finally understood how much tax these bastards had dodged!
The nobles who had a share of the dirty money were ashamed and panicked, as if they’d had their skirts lifted before a crowd.
“Father, watch my performance first. I’ll tell you later where our money will come from.”
Allen turned to the robed nobles with a sunny smile.
“Everyone, even if we haven’t met, I’m sure you’ve heard of me. That’s right, I’m Allen de Laval—the Kingdom’s famous wastrel, the butt of your jokes. Seeing me, don’t you feel close? Want to laugh out loud?” Allen spread his hands.
But no one could laugh now.
With Allen’s cards all on the table, their eyes involuntarily darted to the cold-eyed girls and fierce guards outside the vault.
They were the fish, Allen the knife.
Allen hadn’t handed them over to a public trial—that was mercy enough.
But they, like condemned prisoners, had no idea what Allen planned next.