Chapter 160: Denunciation

"Well, everyone has been called back."

Ryman replied, though he hesitated as if he had more to say.

"What is it?"

Baeln asked.

"The brothers down below are feeling quite aggrieved seeing outsiders slander you, and they've already gotten into several verbal altercations out there."

Ryman said helplessly.

Upon hearing this, Baeln was still quite moved. "Tell the brothers not to be too impulsive. If they're too bored, they can help tend to the magic plants with the little ones. Go ahead and set up a soundproof barrier later—what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over."

"Alright, I suppose that's the only way for now."

Ryman still couldn't quite figure it out. "Boss, why not just take out the 'Exemption Order' and shut their mouths?"

"It's useless. Anyone truly trying to fan the flames would certainly guess that I possess exemption rights. Otherwise, instead of just stirring up trouble in the shadows, the Noble Council would have already invited me over for tea."

Baeln said with a look of disdain. "Only the lower classes are easily fooled; the noble strata actually know the truth quite well. Pulling petty stunts like this is just meant to disgust me."

"Who could it be? What good does this do them?"

"Do we even need to guess who it is?"

Baeln retorted. "It's all caused by the root of all evil—money, fueled by burning jealousy."

"Ryman, you must remember that money has no master; it is merely a pile of yellow magical materials, and only when it is spent does it become our money! Money is corrupt, yet it also carries the most fascinating scent in the world. Once you are infatuated, you cannot extricate yourself and become a slave to money. But without formidable strength, no matter how many gold coins you hoard, you are merely keeping them in temporary storage for someone else!"

Baeln glanced at Ryman, who fell silent for a moment before nodding.

Although Baeln did not care about the opinions of outsiders, the mastermind behind the scenes clearly had no intention of letting him off so easily.

The chorus of denunciation grew louder and louder. Many even publicly declared that they would refuse to buy products from the Ryman Chamber of Commerce henceforth and called upon others to join the boycott.

Despite the high uproar, the upper echelons and the noble class remained completely silent.

Yet Baeln remained entirely unfoved, as if the denunciations were directed at someone else entirely. Hussein and the elven elder could tell at a glance that Baeln genuinely did not care. Such a mindset seemed almost incredible to them.

"Is this kid really only fifteen?"

Hussein asked with some astonishment.

The elven elder glanced at him sideways. "As if you wouldn't know whether he is fifteen or not."

"If this had happened to me a few years ago, I wouldn't have been able to endure it. This kid doesn't act like a young man at all; he's just like that old stubborn mule in his family. He really knows how to hold his ground!"

Hussein said with a hint of emotional resonance.

The elven elder shook his head. "Only by withstanding thunder and gale, and enduring the baptism of pouring rain, can one grow into a towering tree. What a pity that such a brilliant seedling for an Archdruid is going to waste."

Had Baeln not been on the verge of advancing to the high tier, given his profound understanding of nature, switching his path to become a druid might even have awakened the royal bloodline of the Tel'Quessir Moon Elves.

Hussein: Heh...

Although he didn't know the exact identities of those fanning the flames, they were unexpectedly doing him a huge favor.

He had been standing out far too much recently, especially given the terrifying wealth-generating capability of the Ryman Chamber of Commerce. It was bound to attract envy.

This wave of public opinion happened to throw a bit of dust on his 'reputation'. As for 'reputation', Baeln couldn't care less—you can't eat it, and sometimes having too perfect of a public persona is simply a hassle.

A perfect being isn't human; that's a god!

Especially since humanity is a blindly obedient race; simply put, they are far too easily manipulated. Baeln was genuinely afraid that one day someone would build a temple and write eulogies for him. Power of faith was not something so easily accepted.

That was the absolute truth, much like the Lord of Dawn, Amanautor.

The ancient deity was doing just fine in antiquity until he suddenly found Netheril somewhat pleasing to the eye and lent a helping hand.

As a result, they clung to him relentlessly, building a temple to the Lord of Dawn in Seveedon and directly turning him into the state religion of Netheril.

Even more amusingly, the worshipping priests actually gained divine power and were able to cast divine spells.

The priests thought the deity was truly blessing them, but in reality, the deity simply hated being bothered. Believers would come to disturb him over trivial matters like their wives running off with someone else—how could a deity possibly have time for such nonsense?

The deity simply grafted divine power onto the Weave, arranged for someone to research divine spells, and then placed certain restrictions on the Weave. Upon reaching a certain threshold, one could use or borrow divine power to cast spells. Of course, the exact amount one could borrow was pre-determined.

As for the believers, they could only guess at the deity's portfolio based on the divine information they perceived from the divine power, and then write the church's doctrines themselves.

That's right, during this period, the doctrines were entirely authored by the believers themselves.

Precisely because of this, especially within massive churches like the Lord of Dawn's, the lack of direct guidance from the deity caused people to attribute all sorts of portfolios to the deity based on their own 'feelings'. This explained why a single 'sun god' ended up with so many domains.

Originally, Amanautor's primary portfolio was merely the Guardian of the Eternal Sun.

Later, believers forcibly piled on various domains such as bureaucracy, contracts, order, hierarchy, sovereignty, and even miscellaneous matters over time.

Because the deity never explained the doctrines, the followers could only indulge in all sorts of guesses and speculations. Yet the deity never refuted them, and they were still able to cast divine spells normally, which meant the 'god' must have affirmed it.

This ultimately resulted in a single deity often having multiple portfolios and distinct organizations under his banner.

Amanautor alone had several affiliated communities in Netheril.

The most prominent was the Pen of Paradise, which propagated the sacredness of law and order.

Then there was the Syndicate of Order-Forgers and the Adjudication Church of the Lord of Justice, among others.

Among them, the first three belonged to Amanautor's largest branches.

Moreover, each of them believed they were the orthodox church, while the rest were mere subsidiaries.

It wasn't until over six hundred years later, when Amanautor's followers suffered a purge by the worshippers of Shar and these three factions fled to the Netherese city of Trinity, that the three sects merged into a unified church.

Just as everyone was joining the chorus to denounce Baeln, bad news arrived from the front lines: one of the defense lines had been breached by monstrous entities, and those aberrations were heading toward Seveedon. The villages and towns along their path had already been reduced to ruins.

News of the aberrations could simply not be contained. Fleeing refugees poured directly into the city, and the news quickly swept through all of Seveedon. At that moment, many recalled the scene of Seveedon under siege over a century ago.

Fear began to spread, and the lower classes panicked. Spellcasters were the mainstays in warfare, especially since the court wizards had already departed for the front lines. How could the few remaining court wizards in the city possibly block the onslaught of the aberrations?

As for whether those pot-bellied city guards could even swing a sword anymore, that was a question in itself. For a time, a sense of self-preservation panic gripped the populace.

Due to the threat of the aberrations, medical supplies and military provisions became scarce. Ryman looked at the leftover scraps in the warehouse and decided to summon Habwick.

The ranger had suddenly struck it rich recently, which thrilled him to no end. He had originally thought about heading to the black market to have a wild time, but upon second thought, he felt it wasn't appropriate.

"How am I supposed to go to a place like that now that I'm a 'man of standing and repute'?"

Having frequented various luxurious mansions and estates recently, and even conversed happily with upper-class elites, he had witnessed what true luxury was. If he went back to such a place and got recognized, what would happen to his carefully cultivated persona?

Suddenly, the bars and casinos in the black market lost all their appeal...

Habwick had spent over a dozen years mingling in the black market; he knew all the tricks of the underworld, but suddenly being unable to go left him feeling somewhat lost for a time. Besides, he didn't have as many tasks lately. Having finally escaped his boss's exploitation, he had no desire to keep working.

Mimicking Ryman, he had spread gold coins all over his bed. Now, his daily routine consisted of either lying on the bed counting gold coins when he had nothing to do, or studying the alchemy textbooks Baeln had given him.

Aside from alchemy, which he could actually get through, he basically couldn't understand anything else—or rather, looking at it just made him dizzy. Habwick finally abandoned the notion of becoming a powerful spellcaster.