Chapter 28: The Vision the Saint Saw
The next morning, Liliana rose from bed with a heavy body, having barely slept a wink at all.
According to the schedule Zenon had prepared, the morning would be spent inspecting the markets and artisans’ quarter, while the afternoon was reserved for visiting the territory farmlands.
He likely intended to show off the “false paradise” he had built. Liliana steeled herself for the inspection, heightening her vigilance to the utmost level.
When she stepped out into the city, the same lively scene as yesterday unfolded before her eyes.
But this time, Liliana was not deceived by the surface cheer. She began carefully observing the expressions of the people passing by— searching for the fear or resignation hidden behind their supposed fake smiles.
“Saint Liliana! This way, please!”
Their guide for the day was Marc, the assistant magistrate. His expression was bright with genuine goodwill and excitement as he led Liliana’s group toward the market area.
“This is the most popular bakery in our territory right now! Every morning, people line up waiting for the fresh bread they bake!”
Indeed, a small bakery stood ahead, with a long line of townsfolk. A delicious aroma filled the air.
Liliana quietly studied the faces of those in line, as well as the baker working busily inside.
Yet, there was no sign of misery or coercion anywhere.
On the contrary—their faces seemed to shine with pride in their work, and with the fulfillment of their daily comfortable lives.
“This baker used to run a tiny shop in the neighboring territory,”
An elderly woman in the line began chatting with Liliana, sounding warm and friendly.
“But here, he doesn’t have to pay those ridiculous guild fees to do business, so he moved here! Thanks to that, we can all enjoy this delicious bread every day, and at a fair price. It’s all thanks to that terrifying yet blessed Lord Zenon.”
After saying so, the old woman turned toward the manor and quietly pressed her hands together in reverence.
(Terrifying yet blessed…?)
Liliana felt an unsettling chill at the words of the old woman.
If the people were ruled by fear, they should only describe him as “terrifying.”
Why add blessed to that?
Next, the group visited the artisans’ quarter.
Blacksmiths sent sparks flying from their forges, carpenters rhythmically carved wood, and beautiful fabrics fluttered from the textile workshops.
Liliana again listened closely to what people were saying.
“Zenon-sama recognizes our skills properly. If we make good work, merchants rush to buy it, so it’s worth the effort.”
“Yeah. Plus, the lord gives us subsidies for developing new tools. Thanks to that, our efficiency’s gone up, and so has our income.”
What she heard were not voices of fear or resentment— but voices of gratitude for the improvement in their lives brought by Zenon’s rational policies.
They did see him as cold and severe, yes— but they also understood that his rule had brought them tangible benefit.
Liliana was confused.
Something didn’t add up. This was utterly different from the stories she’d heard in the capital.
Could all these smiles and words of gratitude really be fabricated?
Was it even possible to make so many people act this convincingly?
(No… I mustn’t be deceived.)
Liliana shook her head fiercely.
(This must be a more insidious trap. He’s corrupting their souls by feeding them wealth and comfort. True happiness lies in spiritual fulfillment, not material gain. To rule through abundance—this is exactly how the devil works.)
Her thoughts were now rushing straight toward the conclusion she wanted to believe.
In the afternoon, they took a carriage to the farmlands outside the city.
Endless golden wheat fields spread to the horizon.
Water shimmered in the irrigation channels.
It was a breathtaking sight of abundance, like a painting.
Marc proudly explained:
“These fields use the new farming methods devised by Zenon-sama. With improved soil and crop rotation, the yield has nearly tripled. There isn’t a single hungry soul left in this land.”
A farming family resting by the path noticed the group and bowed deeply.
At their feet sat a simple but nourishing-looking lunch basket.
Their children looked plump and healthy.
“Welcome, Saint Liliana.”
Said the father with a humble smile.
“Look at this fine wheat! Never in my grandfather’s time did we have such a harvest.”
“Zenon-sama is strict, that’s true. But since he came, our lives have truly become easier. I can finally feed my children until they’re full—and that’s the greatest joy of all.”
His words carried no hint of pretense—only the honest conviction of lived experience.
His wife and children nodded happily beside him.
This was nothing like the oppressed and suffering people Liliana had imagined.
Liliana was speechless.
The beliefs she had clung to began to crumble away.
Rule by fear? False prosperity?
But what she saw with her own eyes was neither of those.
What stood before her was the overwhelming result of a coldly rational ruler—and the people who had truly grown happier because of it.
(Was I… wrong?)
For the first time, a seed of doubt sprouted within her faith in her own righteousness.
Perhaps the High Priest’s stories, the rumors from the capital—none of them were true.
Then who was Zenon von Arkwright?
If not a devil—then what was he?
Before she could think further, a loud, frantic ringing of bells echoed from the distance.
It was the sound of alarm—the signal of an emergency somewhere within the territory.
Marc’s face went pale.
“No…! Not now of all times! What could it be at this time of year!?”
By the time the group returned to the manor that evening, a heavy tension filled the air.
Zenon awaited them, his expression as unreadable as ever—yet a sharp glint burned faintly in his eyes.
“…It seems we have an unexpected situation.”
He said, calmly, almost coldly.
“To put it simply—an epidemic has broken out in part of the territory.”