Chapter 418: Chapter 418
The two gentlemen sharing his carriage were intimately familiar with Bel Diran. One owned property there, while the other's son had lived in the capital for years. Upon learning the purpose of Jenkins's journey—and the very real possibility of him joining the nobility—they were more than happy to regale him with tales of the city.
This was immensely helpful. Though Jenkins didn't plan on sightseeing, their descriptions allowed him to "travel" through the city in a way.
The train finally pulled into the royal capital two hours behind schedule, which, by the standards of the day, was considered remarkably punctual. After bidding farewell to his newfound acquaintances, Jenkins grabbed his leather case and made his way down the exclusive passage for the VIP carriage. Just as expected, a carriage bearing the holy emblem of the Sage was already waiting for him.
When the Sage's Church first established its Holy See in this location, it was nothing more than an empty plain. Before the dissolution of the ancient Sicari Empire, the small town of Bel Diran held significance only as a holy site for the followers of the Sage.
The ancient Sicari Empire was ultimately carved up by its three grand dukes. The Fidektri Kingdom, which claimed the continent's central lands, found itself in a prime location, yet vulnerable to attacks from the kingdoms to its north and south.
In that tumultuous era of constant warfare, the royal family had no choice but to turn to the Church for aid in stabilizing their rule. The exact nature of the agreement they reached is lost to history, but the outcome was clear: the new royal capital was established right beside the small town of Bel Diran.
From that day forward, the small town was no more, swallowed by the burgeoning capital of a new kingdom that rose from the plains.
Bel Diran's central station was situated in the northern part of the city, while the Holy See lay to the south. The carriage carrying Jenkins cut across the sprawling metropolis, the hour still deep in the heart of midnight.
Compared to Nolan, the air quality in Bel Diran was surprisingly good. The capital had also taken the lead in installing gas lamps along its main thoroughfares. The dim light cast a soft glow on the quiet streets, a sight that, for some reason, stirred a touch of melancholy in Jenkins.
"First things first, he's not the Pontiff. I've seen his portrait."
He thought to himself, a silent observation made necessary by the ensuing quiet. After boarding the carriage and exchanging introductions, the old man had simply settled back, watching him with a serene, unwavering smile. The silence stretched, making the small carriage feel rather awkward.
"Bel Diran seems a bit warmer than Nolan," Jenkins ventured, breaking the silence.
It was a reliable standby: start a conversation with a man by discussing the weather, and with a woman by complimenting her attire.
"Is it? That's likely because Nolan is so close to the sea," the old cleric replied.
The Fidektri Kingdom had no standard, unified accent. The old cleric's speech was heavier, more deliberate than the common Nolan dialect, but his words were perfectly clear.
"The civic planning in Bel Diran is quite impressive," Jenkins commented. "I mean, compared to Nolan, installing streetlights along the main roads was certainly the right decision."
"You're quite right," the old man agreed. "But the funds must be drawn from tax revenue, and the allocation of that revenue has been a point of fierce debate among the councilors for years."
He raised a hand, gesturing toward the lonely lampposts lining the dark, empty street. "Look," he said, "even many of the citizens argue that since they have no need to be out at night, why should their gold pounds be spent on such things?"
The man had a point. While the steam industry was spurring development in every corner of society, the nightlife of the average citizen remained confined to the home. Only those who had occasion to venture out after dark—and had met with misfortune—truly understood how precious a little light in the night could be.
"The kingdom doesn't necessarily have to foot the entire bill," Jenkins mused aloud. Official source ıs NoveIꜰire.net
Jenkins held his cat, Chocolate, and both of them stared wide-eyed at the thriving city. The steam industry had left a much deeper impression here; born from a near-worship of steam-powered machinery, the architectural style had a pronounced, metallic aesthetic.
Only the familiar scent of burnt coal in the air and the thin, lingering mist reminded Jenkins of Nolan.
He and Chocolate, a "country boy" and a "country cat," had never witnessed such a grand spectacle.
"If not the kingdom, then are you suggesting a public fundraiser? That is a rather fine idea. After all, there are some who need light at night..." the old cleric asked thoughtfully.
"No, no, not at all. Please, don't think of civic development as a simple expenditure. Look, these lampposts just stand there for all to see. If the kingdom were to permit merchants to affix advertisements for their wares to them, wouldn't every single person who walked by see them? Businessmen are bound to think of it sooner or later—if they haven't already. The key would be to pass laws to protect the rights of legitimate advertisers before the posts even go up."
The old man's eyebrows shot up.
"If one truly wanted to raise funds this way, it would be best to clearly define the lease terms for the advertising space on the lampposts. That way, they could become a continuous source of revenue. Of course, the details—managing illegal postings, restricting content, handling contracts—would be immensely complex. But where there's a will, there's a way. Public works don't have to be a game of just skipping gold pounds across a river. The times are changing. If you want to make money, there's always a way to do it."
"Did you come up with all of this yourself?" the old cleric asked, stunned into a long silence before finally finding his voice.
He nodded, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, a reaction the old man interpreted as modesty.
"And the applications don't end there," Jenkins added. "The Church could invest in it as well."
He gazed at the small circle of light cast upon the ground by a gas lamp. Even in the chill of early winter, moths still danced in its glow.
"We wouldn't need to carve our holy emblem or entire scriptures on them. We could simply inscribe a few well-known, beloved verses in a prominent place. We could even frame it as 'enhancing the capital's cultural fabric.' Someone sees it once, then twice, and after a year of passing by, the words on the lamppost will be etched into their memory. It would be far more effective, and far less costly, than public sermons."
The old cleric was now staring at him with undisguised awe. After a long moment, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and made the sign of the holy emblem across his chest in Jenkins's direction.
"I knew it all along. The Sage's choice is never in error. Saint Williams, you are the Sage's incarnation in the mortal world. You are the saint who has descended upon this earth," he said, his voice trembling with emotion.
"Please, don't say such things. Everything in this world has its own inherent value. All I've done is perhaps see it a little sooner than others."
Jenkins explained in a fluster, inwardly cursing himself for getting carried away and saying so much. His greatest fear was being placed on a pedestal, which would inevitably lead to him being dragged into all sorts of troublesome affairs.
"If you were to enter the world of commerce, no one on earth could possibly compete with you," the cleric declared.
"No, no, absolutely not. I would never go into business," Jenkins insisted. "I have a much greater pursuit in life."
He said it with such piety that he couldn't help but laugh at himself.
The old cleric smiled as well, a look of deep satisfaction on his face.