The soldiers pushed forward along the main road of the capital of the Garlist Kingdom. The multitude of soldiers licked the road as if it were a wave.

　Everyone stood tall and proud, their feet raised high as they trampled the earth with gusto. The cheers of the citizens surrounded the soldiers, and the heat generated by the people aroused the soldiers' hearts.

　A frenzy engulfed the Garristo.

　The people, the merchants, the nobles, the lords, even the clergy. Everyone's heart beats faster, blood burns like fire. Their fists clenched tightly, they shouted cheers to the soldiers on their way to the Holy War. It was as if this was the only time that the huge wall of class that usually divides them so ruthlessly had disappeared. Everyone was in a frenzy.

　And everyone was shouting.

　--Take back Garou Amalia, give us that land again.

　The walled city or trading city of Galuamaria. The land that is the center of trade between East and West is like a chicken that keeps producing gold. It is a city favored by the gods, giving undeniable wealth and glory to those who own it.

　The people say that some unknown people have taken it away from them. They cry out in hatred that the heathen have trampled on our land.

　And they all say. Oh, that's why our lives are so hard.

　That's why we have to live with our creaking bodies and tightening spirits. The heathen have robbed us of our glory. All our misfortunes, all our misfortunes, all our circumstances are the handiwork of the heathen.

　We have tolerated the heathen. We even promised them a future and salvation. But as it turns out, they've pulled a knife on us. They're ingrates now, beasts in human form.

　The people roar. Garou Amalia in our hands again. That golden land. Blood for the treacherous beast.

"The word of His Holiness the High Priest...

　The soldiers had stopped in the great square and the voices had finally begun to subside. The roaring voice of the Archdiocesan priest echoed through the main street.

　The figure on the platform in the square was a muscular man, twice as tall as one would imagine a priest to be. His voice was low, and he was not fit to preach to people.

　But for that reason, it resonated well in the square. The frenzy of the people in the square held their breath.

"Galuamaria is indeed the fruit of the golden tree for us. It was given to us by the one and only God. And now it is in the hands of the unjust.

　For a few moments, a litany of platitudes ensued. Most of the people gathered here probably don't understand the details of these words. However, they all understood that the words would certainly encourage the emotions within them.

　The sounds of the people were overlapping. It was the sound of a throat clearing, the sound of a heart leaping.

How horrible. How terrible! We have just handed over a gift from God into the stomach of a beast!

　The voice rose and fell, as if it were being carried by the atmosphere around it. The more the people responded in sync with the voice, the more fervor the priest put into his words.

"Raise your hands, all of you!　Let what is right be in the hands of the rightful owner!　This is a great deed. This is a battle in the service of the gods!

　Those who participate in this feat will be promised salvation. They will be granted eternal happiness after death.

　And so, the moment the priest's voice rang out. The city shook.

　A whirlpool of fervor tore through the air. Everyone held up their hands and opened their palms to the sky as if they were asking for something.

　It was truly a great whirlpool. The emotions of the people became a cry that engulfed the capital of Garristo.

　The people caught in the frenzy were not just the citizens of the capital. There are also those who have traveled from the farming villages around the city to sell their precious iron tools, and those who sell flowers under the cover of night. But this time, they threw themselves into the vortex.

　Was it because of religious passion?

　Certainly the heralds have turned on the Great Saints. They must be aiming for our throats even now. If that's what you think, then yes, they are a great enemy.

　But no. That's not the point.

　So you can't forgive the loss of profits in the trading city of Garou Amalia?

　No, of course not. First of all, with Galuamaria in the hands of the Great Sage, only the upper class can enjoy the wealth and the gold. How could the people benefit from it? At best, a few more grains of wheat in their mouths would be good enough.

　So there's really no point. Whether they are enraged by the fall of Galuamaria or burning with hostility against the heraldry, it means nothing to them.

　What means something to them is that their feelings of rage and hatred, which are avoided in peace, are recognized as legitimate on this occasion. To rob and trample others is exonerated in the name of God.

　Oh, I've been trampled on. I've been spat on. I've been robbed. My dignity has been smeared. And still you had to endure.



　I bit down so hard that I almost cracked my back teeth and bled through my nails. I could not live without it. There were days when I would just lay my hands on them in vain, hoping that at some point they would give me relief.

　But those days are over. There is a certain salvation here. To fight for God, to rob for God, to die for God.

　What more could there be?

　It's okay. You don't have to endure anymore. No more need to endure the daily oppression that makes you want to choke on it. No more worrying about bread to fill our bellies tomorrow, no more freezing in rags during the cold season.

　For salvation is here.

　No one wants to be left out of the vortex anymore. The people are all intoxicated with their own righteousness in their extraordinary frenzy.

　They've reached their limit. The irreconcilable difference in status, the inability to live day to day, the life of repeated poverty.

　One day without work is enough to kill a child. Lives are being taken for a handful of bread. They couldn't stand such a ridiculous life anymore. Now here is the outlet for their emotions.

　What a pleasant euphoria. They can wave their palms in the mistaken belief that they are in the midst of justice. And since salvation awaits us, there is no point in denying it.

　This empty religious fervor fills the capital of the Garrists. The poorer ones took up the sword. To not worry about tomorrow. And everyone said.

　--Everything is in God's hands.

　The first of the Great Patriarchs marched from Garaist with fervor.