East Borough, territory actually controlled by the Remann Gang, early morning.
"Oliver! Get up! It's your turn to be the preacher's assistant today!"
His roommate's energetic shout woke Oliver from his sleep.
He opened his eyes in the warm blanket and slowly came to his senses.
Where am I?
This wasn't the thin, cold, tattered blanket from the orphanage, and there were no other children's legs kicking him from beside.
Nor was it the narrow storage room at the cleaning company, with no dripping water from the ceiling above, no large patches of mold or strange smells...
Ah, right.
Oliver finally remembered.
I've already left those places behind.
"Oliver, hey, did you hear me?!"
The boy who woke him raised his voice.
"I'm awake, Charlie."
Oliver answered, sitting up straight.
The room he was in had three bunk beds total,
filling the space completely with only a single aisle between them.
Though it couldn't compare to a proper household, these living conditions were already like heaven to him.
The boys on the other beds had already gotten up and were chattering away while getting dressed.
"You're too slow."
The boy standing in the aisle looked a bit older than Oliver. He was already dressed, holding his washing supplies.
"I'm on duty today, so I'm not waiting for you. Remember to go on time!"
With that, he ran off to the communal washroom outside.
By the time Oliver got dressed, basically everyone else in the room had left.
He could only go wash up by himself.
"Ugh..."
The cold water from the washroom splashed on his face, completely clearing his consciousness.
The preacher provided everyone with very good living conditions, but the one thing that felt somewhat hard to adjust to was that there were too many rules.
They had to be hygienic, keeping both their bodies and living areas clean.
They had to wash their hands before eating, weren't allowed to drink unboiled water, and even had to queue up for everything...
After washing up, Oliver hurried downstairs.
The street outside was very clean, with no mud on the road surface and no garbage either.
It didn't look like the East Borough at all. Several small children were holding tools, doing cleaning work.
Oliver saw his roommate Charlie, who had woken him. He was wielding a broom, sweeping very seriously.
People also emerged from nearby buildings, all heading in the same direction, gradually gathering together.
Not having time to greet Charlie, Oliver followed the crowd and arrived at a small plaza.
There, people had already formed several lines. Everyone held bowls and spoons, receiving hot soup and bread for breakfast in order.
Among them, certain people had wooden plaques with portraits hanging from their wrists.
Those with plaques could receive an extra portion of food compared to others.
Oliver wasn't the only person the preacher had rescued from despair.
Bankrupts, homeless vagrants, the sick, orphans, prostitutes... These people had all been generously accepted by him, becoming part of those under his protection.
The hungry received food, the homeless had shelter, and even street children like them were arranged to receive education.
Good heavens!
They weren't children from noble families, yet they still had to learn to read and write!
Of course, at least everyone knew this was for their own good.
Although the teacher was just a confused, down-and-out educator who didn't explain things very clearly, they were still extremely grateful.
People moved forward in order.
The hot soup in the large barrels was giving off the fragrance of food, making people feel inexplicably reassured.
The preacher treated them too generously, giving out enough food for people to actually feel full.
Even the preaching had only been conducted once before abruptly stopping.
Oliver received his share, ate quickly, returned his utensils, and then hurried toward the other side of the plaza.
He quickly arrived in front of a building where a queue was already lined up outside.
"Please excuse me..."
Oliver spoke to the people, keeping his head down as he moved forward, following the line all the way to the room at the end.
Inside, the respected preacher was waiting for him.
"Preacher, I'm terribly sorry. I'm late..."
He apologized anxiously.
"It doesn't matter."
The other person said gently, then looked up at the person at the front of the line.
"Let's begin."
---
"What's your name?"
Silas's eyes flashed with golden light as he asked.
"Jack, sir. My name is Jack."
The old man opposite answered blankly.
"What's your surname?"
"Don't know, sir."
The latter honestly shook his head.
"...Oliver, register him as Jack 6."
Silas said helplessly.
This indicated that this was already the sixth person named "Jack" who also had no surname.
"Yes, Preacher."
The child behind him worked hard to write down childish characters on a form, then wrote the same name on a plaque.
Silas took the plaque, picked up his pen, and prayed in a low voice.
"Swish, swish!"
His eyes quickly became completely black.
The pen in his hand moved like the wind, sketching rapidly, quickly outlining the old man's appearance on the wooden plaque.
This was a simplified version of ritual magic, achieved through the Secrets Suppliant's abilities and Sequence 5 spirituality.
"Jack, where is your hometown?"
"...Your family situation..."
"...Previous faith..."
Silas asked some questions and received answers, then continued asking:
"Jack, what did you do before?"
"I was a tenant farmer for the lord.
Later, the lord converted the farmland into pasture and didn't need us anymore, so I had to come live in Backlund... After that, I kept working as a dock worker.
Half my wages had to go to the foreman in charge..."
"Have you done anything illegal?"
"I peeked at the tavern waitress with a customer in a room..."
"Alright."
Silas interrupted him.
There was a child beside him, so it wouldn't be good to let him hear that.
"Next question. Answer seriously."
He looked directly into the other person's eyes. "Answer me from your heart of hearts's. Are you willing to become my sheep?"
"I am willing."
The old man said from the bottom of his heart.
As his words fell, some invisible connection formed between them.
"Why?"
"Because only here have I ever eaten my fill."
"..."
Silas fell silent for a moment, then looked at the little boy working hard to record everything.
"Did you write it all down?"
"I don't know how to write a lot of the words..."
Oliver answered with his head down.
In his view, the preacher seemed to possess mysterious and unfathomable abilities.
People facing him would involuntarily tell the truth.
"Give it to me."
Silas took the record, added the words he hadn't written, drew the old man's face on the paper, and then handed the wooden plaque to him.
"Hold onto this."
"Ah? Yes!"
The old man seemed to wake from a dream. Seeing the wooden plaque in his hand, he was overjoyed.
Because with this plaque, he could get an extra piece of black bread when receiving food, and could receive a small slice of bacon each week.
Although he couldn't remember what he'd just said, at least getting this wooden plaque made his hard work queuing up worthwhile.
"Next person can come in."
Silas continued shouting outside, and the next person in line immediately entered...
He wasn't doing all this for fun, but was establishing files for his sheep.
A qualified shepherd must grasp the situation of his flock.
Only by understanding each sheep's information could his grazing proceed more smoothly.
To put it bluntly, this was still for role-playing.
The preaching had connected him with some unknown existence, so he had to cancel that method of role-playing and choose another approach.
And it really worked.
As he used extra food as bait to attract the sheep to voluntarily come register, he could feel the potion truly beginning to digest.