Wizard: Start with Biological Transformation to Grind Experience

Chapter 783: Chapter 37: Return to the Old Land

In just a few hundred years, the political landscape in the north of the Ancient Ruins underwent a dramatic upheaval.

The names of the Seven Kingdoms that once dominated this land—brave Lorent, martial Valkyrie, prosperous Saladin, conservative Putane, graceful Aquitaine, shrewd Nesenc, and proud Burgundy—now exist only in the yellowed pages of historical classics and the vague memories of the elderly.

It was an era interwoven with blood and fire. The iron hooves of the Freemasonry Church trampled the fragile alliance of the Seven Kingdoms, and the torrent of faith swept away the aristocratic system that had been passed down for millennia.

In the Central Square of the Lorent Royal Capital, where knight tournaments were once held, the last King of Lorent knelt on a roughly erected wooden platform, his luxurious King’s Robe torn to tatters, the crown rolling into the mud.

The executioner, wearing a black mask, wielded not the longsword symbolizing noble privilege, but a cold, rune-etched ax blade. In the sunlight, the ax blade fell, and the head that once wore the crown rolled into the dust, drawing frenzied cheers from the crowd rather than tears.

The Valkyrie Family’s castle was engulfed in raging fire under the siege of the Church Knight Order. The last heir of the family, clad in ancestral rune armor, attempted to lead a breakout with trusted aides, but was trapped by the "Faith Shackles" cast by several priests working together.

The armor that once symbolized glory and strength shattered inch by inch in the light of divine arts, and she herself was engulfed by the Holy Flames amid cries of "Purification of Evil."

The Saladin Royal Family disintegrated in internal strife. The Archbishop announced from the former Royal Palace throne: "The old contract is void; only the Truth is eternal." The prince who refused to convert to the "only Truth" was publicly hanged, and his wife and daughter were exiled to a remote monastery, to atone for their "innate sins" for life.

The old nobles of Putane tried to rely on sturdy fortresses to make a last stand, but under the "Holy Light Judgment" summoned by the church priests, they and their castles were reduced to dust.

The nobles of Aquitaine fled south in panic, trying to cross the Ancient Forest to seek refuge at Starshine Castle; many were captured by the church’s hunting squads along the way, hanged on dead trees at the border, becoming dried corpses warning future trespassers.

Nesenc’s big merchants, who built their nation on commerce, had their wealth confiscated by the church under the slogan of "equity," and their huge network of merchants was restructured into the church’s material supply system.

Any family attempting to hide assets or resist secretly faced the accounting of the "Heretic Court," often ending in mysterious disappearances in dungeons.

The knights of Burgundy, having lost their fiefs and glory, either renounced their longswords and converted to the church, becoming lowly Defender Cavalry, or had to live like stray dogs, evading endless pursuits in the countryside.

Some chose to submit. Some perceptive nobles quickly offered up their lands and loyalty, swearing allegiance to the "only Truth," allowing them to retain some property and even hold some insignificant positions in the church’s new order, but the power and freedom of the past were irrevocably lost.

More of the old class were either pushed to the guillotine, exhausted their lives on the run, or silently vanished in unwillingness amidst constant purges, trials, and wars.

Now, the vast land of the North, the former terrain of the Seven Kingdoms, has merged into an unprecedented, purely religious nation—Inodira.

Here, there are no kings and no nobles, only the church, priests, knights, and millions of believers whose thoughts and actions have been unified under the glow of the "only Truth." The will of the Freemasonry Church is the supreme law here.

...

Inodira, Glory City.

Once the capital of the Saladin Kingdom, it has now completely shed the imprints of the old era.

Towering spire churches have replaced the magnificent palaces, and the gray-white giant stone walls are engraved with the doctrines of the "only Truth." Priests in simple black robes with fanatic eyes, and patrolling church knights, are seen everywhere in the streets and alleys.

Lynch walked through the ancient city streets once hailed as the "Pearl of the North," his gaze calmly sweeping over his surroundings.

The stone-paved road beneath his feet was severely worn, with dry yellow weeds stubbornly sprouting from the cracks. Most of the buildings on either side appeared dilapidated with age, crumbling walls revealing the dim bricks inside, many windows nailed shut with planks or pasted with yellowed waste paper, rarely showing intact glass.

The pedestrians on the street were sparse, all gaunt and pale, their eyes dull or containing a trace of barely perceptible fright.

Their clothing was mostly rough, patched gray-brown burlap, with hardly any vivid colors visible. A cold wind blew past, stirring up dust and scraps of paper on the ground, making several people huddled in a wall corner wrap their thin clothes tighter and shiver.

There were pitifully few stalls by the street, selling mostly unappealing root vegetables, hard-looking black bread, and some rough, inferior handmade goods.

Hardly any decent meat, fruits, or anything with magical luminescence could be seen. Occasionally there were stalls selling church-approved holy icons or scriptures stamped with the "only Truth" emblem, but business appeared very bleak.

"Mom, I’m hungry..." A child of about five or six years, tightly held by a woman, mumbled softly, eyes staring intently at a distant stall’s black bread.

The woman’s face was sallow, hastily covering the child’s mouth, nervously looking around, and hurriedly whispering, "Don’t talk nonsense, hold on a bit... We’ll have some hot water when we get back and pray... Pray the Lord will give us food..." Her voice carried fatigue and a hint of despair.

Elsewhere, two men who appeared to be craftsmen leaned against a wall, conversing in low voices, their tone filled with frustration.

"Sigh, the offerings for this month increased again... The rations we get from the workshop aren’t even enough to fill our bellies."

"Keep it down! Let those ’white-bies’ hear, and they’ll say our faith is insincere, lacking in devotion... Didn’t Old John get taken to a ’study class’ for complaining, and he hasn’t come back yet..."

Their conversation abruptly stopped, for at that moment, a group of people wearing stiff white robes with silver cross badges on their chests were striding past in the distance.

These people looked ruddy and walked with vigor, contrasting sharply with the pale-faced ordinary citizens around them.

They walked straight ahead, as if in another clean and prosperous world, ignoring the surrounding decay and poverty.

As they passed by, the surrounding civilians all lowered their heads, stepped aside, scarcely daring to breathe, and only when the white-robed figures disappeared at the end of the street did the invisible, suffocating pressure slightly ease.

The entire street was filled with a deathly silence under the dual scarcity of material and spirit.

Lynch furrowed his brow.

Although he hadn’t initially thought these religious fanatics would really be able to create any paradise after overthrowing the old order, the dreadful scene before him was somewhat beyond his expectation—this level of governance was too appalling.

"Damn kid, was it you who knocked over the statue of God!"

Just then, there was a commotion on the street, as an adult man was seen grabbing the arm of a teenage boy, and the two seemed to be in some conflict.

When Lynch saw the boy’s face, he couldn’t help but pause slightly.