Chapter 357: Chapter 77: Should Even a Candle That Illuminates Darkness Not Be Lit?

Count Raymond’s lips trembled. His face flushed red, then drained back to a deathly pale.

He swallowed hard, desperate to retort. He wanted to argue that his Path, though slow and difficult, was nothing like that seductive heresy, and that he would never stand by and watch it spread...

But the words caught in his throat.

He couldn’t deny the terrifying allure of the doctrine Murphy had described. Nor could he guarantee that when hunger and despair truly descended, his own moderate reforms could withstand the fanatical slogan of "reclaiming what God has given."

’Most importantly,’ he realized, ’if this doctrine spreads, won’t the Equalist Sect see reformist lords like me as ’thieves’ too?’ 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

In the end, he only managed to force out a few syllables: "I... I..."

His voice was hoarse, and he couldn’t form any more words.

Murphy watched him calmly, as if he had already anticipated such a reaction.

Silence once again spread through the living room.

After a long moment, Murphy spoke again, breaking the silence. "Since you are so committed to your Path, let’s do this."

"If it’s convenient for you, I would like to go and see your territory now. I want to see this review committee you speak of with my own eyes, to see how your mutual aid fund operates, and to see these peasants you say have less fear in their eyes."

Count Raymond’s head shot up. The dullness in his eyes was instantly rekindled, his earlier dejection and speechlessness swept away, replaced by incredulous joy and an eagerness that bordered on gratitude.

"My Lord! You... You are willing to visit in person? This... This is the greatest honor for the Glamorgan Territory! Convenient, of course it’s convenient! We await your presence at any time!"

He stood up excitedly and bowed again. "I will make all the proper arrangements so you can see the truest situation! Although it’s a far cry from the Monte Territory, it... it is truly where I have poured my heart and soul."

Aurora and Eleanor exchanged a glance, a hint of curiosity also showing in Eleanor’s eyes.

Afterward, three carriages, escorted by more than twenty guards, departed from Violet City and headed east.

Count Raymond personally led the way, his expression a mix of unconcealed excitement and a touch of apprehension.

The road was flat at first, but as they gradually left Violet City behind, the scenery transformed into the typical pastoral landscape of the southern hills.

Across the rolling gentle slopes, fields of wheat shimmered with a golden-green luster under the sun, dotted with white-walled farmhouses and villages. Compared to the clamor of Violet City, it was tranquil and full of life.

On the second day, the carriages entered a territory that was clearly well-maintained.

Although the road wasn’t as wide as a main thoroughfare, it was solid and level, and the drainage ditches alongside it were clear.

The houses in the villages looked tidier than those they had seen along the way. While not luxurious, their walls were at least intact, and their thatched or tiled roofs showed few signs of damage.

One of Count Raymond’s manors was situated on a hillside next to a clear stream. The main building was a sturdy yet elegant stone mansion. Its scale was far from the grandeur of Taymer Palace, but it possessed a welcoming and stable atmosphere of its own.

Surrounding the manor were continuous stretches of demesne fields, orchards, and a water-powered mill.

The Count did not rush to lead his guests into the mansion. Instead, he suggested they first go and see if his prized "review committee" was active today.

Murphy nodded.

They arrived at a spacious barn on the edge of the manor.

At the barn’s entrance, three middle-aged men dressed as peasants were squatting on the ground, murmuring amongst themselves around a plow that seemed to be damaged.

Standing nearby was a more respectably dressed man who looked like the manor’s Steward.

Upon seeing the Count’s party arrive, the Steward immediately came forward to bow. The three peasants also scrambled to their feet, looking a bit reserved. They bowed awkwardly to the Count and the unfamiliar noble guests, but their eyes lacked the deep-seated awe of the nobility that Murphy had seen elsewhere.

"Hans, is it you three on the review committee today?" Count Raymond asked one of the peasants, who appeared to be the eldest, in a gentle tone.

"Yes, My Lord." The peasant called Hans spoke in a gruff but clear voice. "John’s plow beam cracked, and he needs it urgently for the spring planting. We’re discussing whether to have the blacksmith repair it or to get the spare old plow from the storehouse. Peter thinks repairing it would save materials, but the smithy is busy lately, and we’re afraid it’ll cause delays. I think we should just get the old plow. It’s older, but it can be used right away, and the spring planting can’t wait."

Another peasant named Peter added, "My Lord, we’ve calculated it. The repair would cost about eight coppers and take two days. Getting the old plow costs nothing, but it’s harder to use and might be more taxing on the livestock in the long run... We haven’t decided yet."

Count Raymond didn’t make the decision for them. Instead, he turned to Murphy and said in a low voice, "My Lord, you see, this is how it is. In the past, for something like this, either the Steward would give a direct order, or the peasants would just endure it or make do with a worse solution. Now, they can gather, weigh the pros and cons, and offer their own opinions."

Murphy quietly observed the three peasants, with their dark skin and calloused fingers. He saw in their eyes a mixture of deference and slight unease, but also a definite glimmer of ownership. Then he looked at the nearby Steward, who showed no sign of impatience or contempt.

He gave a slight nod, saying nothing.

Just then, a stifled sob came from the other side of the barn.

Everyone turned to look. A peasant woman in ragged clothes with a sallow complexion was pulling along a scrawny boy of about ten. She was crying to a man who was clearly a manor clerk, wiping her tears as she pleaded about something.