Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 76: Lynn’s Blade

To truly weaken the faith in the Master of a Billion Stars among the people of Orne City, Lynn decided it was time to add more fuel to the fire.

That night, he set the Divine Order Church ablaze.

Earlier that morning at the municipal square:

The recent donation frenzy had drawn nearly every church in Orne City into the fray. What had begun as a competition for piety had devolved into a full-blown rivalry among faiths, spurring a fervor among the citizens.

It became a daily ritual for residents to pass through the square to gawk at the changing donation totals. Amid the parade of immense wealth, they grew numb. These sums were amounts they could never hope to amass in their lifetimes.

In a twisted sense, they owed thanks to Duke Tyrius for letting them, the impoverished masses, witness such a spectacle.

Many assumed the fervor would continue unabated.

But this morning, something had changed.

Yesterday, eleven boxes had been filled to the brim with gold coins, while the box representing the Divine Order Church sat glaringly empty.

Today, all eleven filled boxes were gone, leaving only the lone, empty box beneath the banner that read:

"Let us see which faith is the most kind and generous."

A single empty glass box.

The Divine Order Church.

Its emptiness was blindingly conspicuous.

The scene was a blatant, almost theatrical provocation, as if someone had plastered “I’m targeting the Divine Order Church” across the square in bold letters.

For a moment, a strange tension settled over the crowd, but it didn’t last long.

Someone couldn’t hold back and let out a snicker.

“Pfft—”

That single sound became the spark. Soon, waves of laughter erupted, filling the square. The uproar was so loud it could be heard blocks away.

These laughs, like invisible daggers, pierced the hearts of the Divine Order Church’s remaining believers.

Already overwhelmed with shame, they couldn’t endure it any longer. Muttering prayers for their Lord’s blessing, they fled like defeated dogs.

It wasn’t entirely surprising that followers of other faiths would seize the opportunity to kick them while they were down.

For years, the people had resented the Divine Order Church.

If faiths in Orne City had a hierarchy of disdain, the Divine Order Church would unquestionably sit at the top.

With the largest congregation, the most Sealed Artifacts, and the strongest Extraordinary powers, the Divine Order Church gazed down on other beliefs with an air of superiority.

This disdain seeped into everyday interactions in subtle but tangible ways, leaving others feeling oppressed and inferior.

But today, with nothing but a banner and an empty glass box, their arrogance had been utterly crushed.

The unseen hand orchestrating this chaos had done so with elegant simplicity. In doing so, they had united eleven previously disparate faiths into a collective force.

Even their followers found common ground, uniting to trample the once-aloof Divine Order Church underfoot.

The Church, once at the top of the hierarchy, now found its believers at the very bottom.

Meanwhile, the Slann Sect, riding the momentum of being the first to donate, saw a significant surge in followers.

Late that night, at the Divine Order Church:

Bishop Mozel paced his room with a heavy heart, his expression fluctuating between darkness, calm, rage, and despair.

The events at the municipal square that day had reached his ears, delivering yet another blow to his already fragile state of mind.

Earlier during the evening prayer service, many of the remaining faithful who attended the ceremony had chosen to stay in the church after the prayers had concluded.

Even though the believers didn’t utter any words of reproach, their silent, disappointed gazes spoke volumes—a wordless protest.

It was clear that the recent series of events had shaken these once-devout followers.

They couldn’t believe that the Divine Order Church, supposedly the wealthiest among all, had remained indifferent during the city-wide donation frenzy.

It was as if the church was silently declaring, Yes, that’s right. We’re neither kind nor generous.

D*** it!

The thought infuriated Mozel. He stormed over to the dining table, poured himself a glass of strong liquor, and downed it in one gulp.

Should he compromise?

No.

Compromise would only maximize losses.

As the last church to contribute, a donation now wouldn’t convey any sincerity. Instead, it would amount to bowing to Duke Tyrius.

The powerful nobles backing him, as well as the Divine Order Church’s headquarters in the Imperial Capital, would never permit such a move.

But if he continued to hold out, the 150,000 believers in Orne City could see their faith shaken.

No matter the choice, Mozel was trapped in a losing situation.

To make matters worse, the Second Prince would arrive in Orne City in just three days.

If this mess wasn’t handled properly by then, even dying cleanly might not be an option for him.

As the thought crossed his mind, a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.

Was it from anxiety or the heat from the alcohol?

Wait—no!

In his haze, he suddenly caught a faint whiff of something burning.

At the same time, someone pounded urgently on his door.

“Your Excellency! Bad news! There’s a fire in the church!”

“The flames started near the Inquisitorium and the monastery, and they’re almost out of control. Please evacuate immediately to safety!”

What?!

How could something this disastrous keep happening to him, one thing after another?

Mozel felt as though he might explode from anger.

Although, as a Fourth-Rank Extraordinary, he wasn’t worried about being burned to death, he decided to follow his subordinate’s advice and go outside to manage the situation.

Just as he was about to leave his room, Mozel paused, as if a thought had struck him. He instinctively glanced toward a certain spot on his bookshelf.

The boxes hidden behind the mechanisms there were shielded by thick walls. They should be safe from the fire, right?

He hesitated.

Due to Duke Tyrius’s troops being stationed outside the city, Mozel hadn’t dared to openly transport the funds to the Imperial Capital. Instead, he had hidden them in his room for the time being.

No one but him knew about the stash.

Mozel had planned to present the money as Succession Ceremony funds when the Second Prince arrived in Orne City.

Just then, the urgent voice of his subordinate called out again from outside the door.

“I’m coming,” he replied irritably, suppressing his doubts and stepping out of the room.

What Mozel didn’t realize, however, was that his every move had been closely observed by a figure outside his window.

When Mozel reached the church’s entrance, he was startled to find a dense crowd had gathered outside at some point, their presence filling the area with a heavy, oppressive air.

These people were devout followers of the Divine Order Church. Living in nearby neighborhoods, they had rushed to the scene as soon as they heard about the fire.

Their eyes were filled with worry as they gazed at the church, now engulfed in flames. Some even instinctively knelt on the ground to pray.

Mozel, though inwardly irritated, maintained a kind and reassuring facade.

“There’s no need to worry,” he said warmly. “This is just a minor accident. The fire will be under control soon. Our Lord will protect us.”

Still, a sense of unease crept into his mind.

With the church’s level of security and the fire-resistant materials used in its construction, could such a massive fire really break out so easily?

Before he could dwell further on the question, cheers erupted from the gathered crowd.

Hearing Mozel’s words, the believers visibly relaxed, their faces lighting up with relief.

“Praise be to our Lord.”

“Mozel is truly reliable.”

“Hopefully, this won’t affect the upcoming Samuel Festival.”

“Does the church need help with repairs? We can donate money or lend a hand!”

“Yes, Mozel, just let us know!”

The lively chatter of the crowd grated on Mozel’s nerves. He decided it was time to disperse them and minimize the impact of the incident.

As he prepared to calm the believers and send them home, a commotion behind him caught his attention.

Turning instinctively, he saw a group of around a dozen individuals dressed in church robes, walking toward him in pairs while carrying eight large wooden crates.

Mozel froze.

As the bishop of Orne City’s parish, he prided himself on knowing all his subordinates by face. Yet, the people before him were entirely unfamiliar.

New recruits? Impossible.

The Divine Order Church had a strict vetting process, recruiting personnel one by one. There was no way a dozen strangers could appear out of nowhere.

Moreover, something about the crates seemed off.

After a moment, it hit him—the design and patterns on the crates were disturbingly familiar.

They looked exactly like the ones hidden in the secret room behind his bookshelf!

Before Mozel could process the shock, the strangers skillfully placed the crates down in front of him within seconds.

Sensing an impending spectacle, the crowd of believers, who had been preparing to leave, stopped in their tracks, their curiosity piqued.

Mozel panicked.

“Stop right there!” he shouted.

A pale purple aura of Extraordinary Power flared around him as he instinctively manipulated gravity, intending to subdue the robed figures on the spot.

But it was too late.

Whether by accident or deliberate design, one of the individuals at the front suddenly stumbled with a loud “thud.”

The crate in his hands slipped, tipping forward uncontrollably.

With a resounding “clang,” the lid popped open.

“Clink, clink, clink—”

Amid the flickering firelight, a torrent of Saint Roland gold coins spilled out, rolling in every direction.

“Your Excellency!” the clumsy figure exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and snapping a crisp salute. “The eight crates of gold coins from your room, totaling one million pieces, have been successfully salvaged and remain undamaged by the fire. Please give your next instructions!”

For a moment, silence fell over the crowd as they stared at the glittering flood of coins.

Then, the square erupted.

“W-where did all this money come from?!”

“Didn’t the priests say the church was struggling financially?!”

“Bishop Mozel, explain the source of these funds! And why did you refuse to participate in the municipal square’s donation drive?!”

“Why were these crates found in your room?!”

“We demand the truth!!!”

As the enraged voices of his followers grew louder, Mozel felt his mind go blank, a deafening buzz filling his ears.

Someone is trying to destroy me!!!

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