As July began, the entire Thousand River Valley started to heat up, especially Langsande County located in the south.

Yet, on the outskirts of Black Pottery Town, there were still four people walking slowly in heavy black robes that concealed their faces, along the dirt road lined with tracks.

"How much longer until we reach Sour Melon Town?" A hoarse female voice came from under one of the black robes, "If this continues, I'm going to suffocate."

"We've already been sent to Black Pottery Town, why not take us directly to Sour Melon Town?"

"It's been mentioned, they can only take us as far as Black Pottery Town since they're still at war."

The leading person in the black robe turned his head, beneath the hood covering most of his face was none other than Mormon, who escaped from the Gale Castle camp.

Besides him were his three companions.

The ones who rescued them amidst the chaos were the same people who initially informed Mormon about the awakening potions in the warehouse.

Mormon, knowing that the Red Copper Fortress blocked his escape, decided to head to Joan of Arc Castle to find Patrick instead.

Patrick was rumored to be doing well within the Salvation Army, and the two had some relationship, with Patrick acting as a mentor to Mormon.

Seeking asylum with the old man, maybe he'd find a way to rescue his companions.

The mysterious figure who learned of Mormon's destination was overjoyed and promptly handed him two letters, requesting that he deliver them.

One letter was to be given to Patrick and the other to a captured Kush Knight.

If Mormon agreed to this request, the figure promised to dispatch some cavalry to escort them into Salvation Army territory.

However, despite his prowess, the figure could only ensure their delivery to Black Pottery Town, not daring to venture further.

Though feeling resigned, Mormon had no choice but to move forward.

Beside the road lay stretches of woods, where behind fences and hedges, home-kept dogs barked wildly at lambs poking their heads out to graze.

In the fields, groups of farmers formed a line, bending forward step by step, harvesting rice grains and wheat from the fields.

On the threshing grounds between villages, farmers wielding flails sweated profusely, beating grains from bundles of rice stalks and wheat, storing them in cloth bags or wicker baskets.

In the village's corner stood a red-brick mill, where an old ox mooed as it ground wheat into flour.

Mills, wells, and streams, these were all common property of the village, hence apart from sharing costs for repairs when damaged, there was no additional mill tax levied.

Indeed, while Jeanne fought on the frontline, Horn wasn't idling away.

Having set a "grain-free" year of tax exemption, besides allowing the populace to recuperate, an equally crucial aspect was the abolishment of old and reformation of new taxes.

For example, taxes like the Dead Hand Tax needed to be abolished, where upon the Public Register Farmer's death, their land would automatically return to the lord, and their heirs would need to pay a tax to continue working the land.

Could they opt out of paying?

Certainly, but only starvation awaited, as the Slave Escape Law dictated that Public Register Farmers couldn't freely leave their lands.

This type of tax was undoubtedly on the chopping block.

Yet, new taxes like customs duties and stamp duties needed gradual establishment.

But at least within the one-year tax exemption and two-year tax reduction period, for a total of three years, the farmers' lives would improve significantly.

Horn's current plan from 1445-1449 focused primarily on economic restoration and proto-industrialization.

"Listen." The witch Balimba pointed her white-spotted fingers towards the nearby threshing ground.

"This is my Celestial Kingdom dream, small and simple, I seek not to become a bishop or a noble, I just want to live in happiness..."

"The song has changed again." Mormon shielded his eyes as he observed the bustling scene, yet despite similar work scenes along the way, the songs differed.

He still remembered when he set out from Gale Castle by carriage, coinciding with the grain harvest season.

Initially, there was no singing in the wheat fields, only the crackling sound of whips from head supervisors and stewards, along with the cries of families selling their children for insufficient tax payments.

Such scenes, although chilling, weren't surprising to Mormon and his companions.

Upon entering the so-called "rebel territory", songs like "No priest, no king, opening gates to welcome the pastor, Saintess comes free of grain" began to arise alongside the roads.

Once they reached Black Pottery Town, effectively touching the inner boundaries of the Pope Country in the Thousand River Valley, the songs and stylings changed once again.

The song transformed into "Celestial Kingdom Dream", with the whip-cracking overseers gone, yet the farmers appeared more diligent than before.

Even in the agriculture-rich Southern Province of Falan, they hadn't witnessed such idyllic pastoral scenes.

There are no beggars by the roadside, no hooligans in the fields, only simple farmers working earnestly.

Somehow, they suddenly started to look forward to Sour Melon Town.

"Oh hey."

After a loud whip crack, a carriage slowed down and drove alongside these people. The coachman lifted his sun-shading hat: "You all, are you North folks?"

Exchanging glances with each other, it was Mormon, who had traveled around, that replied in a faint North accent with a question: "How do you know we are North people?"

"Wearing black robes under the hot sun, and being outsiders, you can only be North people." The coachman pulled the reins to hold the restless horses, "Heading to Sour Melon Town?"

"Yes, is there a problem?"

"This carriage happens to be empty, I can give you a ride, charging you a Dinar each is not too much, right?"

"Even half a Dinar each feels expensive to me." Mormon's companion argued, "At worst, we'll just be walking a few more steps."

"You think it's expensive? I find it expensive too." The coachman complained, "You are outsiders, you don't know many of the conventions of our Thousand River Valley Pope Country, besides, do you even know the way?

I can introduce you to the surroundings and take you to a reliable inn. Can you manage that on your own?"

"But one Dinar per person..."

"I'll take a step back. I will only charge three Dinars for the four of you, will that be fine?"

Although the price was still a bit steep, Mormon handed over a 1 Dinar deposit to quickly get to Sour Melon Town and boarded the carriage.

Once on the carriage, Mormon and the others realized there was a father and son pair along with some goods at the back.

Balimba became so angry that she was ready to go and settle accounts with the coachman, but Mormon stopped her and advised in a whisper: "Forget it, let it be. We'll break his wheel rim after we get off, and that's that."

Hearing this, Balimba angrily sat back down.

The few under the canopy exchanged awkward smiles, sitting shoulder to shoulder comfortably.

With the coachman's shout, the carriage started amidst the shaking, and the wheat fields on either side quickly retreated behind them.

Traveling on the dirt road, the carriage bounced up and down now and then, making the atmosphere inside the carriage silent, with the smell of salted fish and embarrassment lingering in the air.

In the end, the father of the father-son pair was the first to speak up and ask: "Wearing such thick clothes, you must be coming from North, planning to work as laborers in Sour Melon Town?"

Mormon did not respond; instead, his more upbeat companion Talolin took off his hood: "My companions and I have some literacy and arithmetic skills. How about you?"

"There's a lot of construction going on around Joan of Arc Castle, they're short of stonemasons, and the wages are high. My cousin is building a school in Joan of Arc Castle and called for my son and me to go over."

The middle-aged stonemason rubbed his knee as he explained before saying: "Joan of Arc Castle currently lacks those who can read and do arithmetic. What are you doing heading to Sour Melon Town?"

Balimba crossed her arms: "Let's go and check it out first. Maybe there will be work for us in Sour Melon Town as well."

The four of them were old members of the Secret Faction, certainly not revealing their whereabouts to a stranger.

"Well indeed, I often go to Sour Melon Town, it's not a bad place, it..."

"Sour Melon Town is a lousy place, why bother going?" The fifteen or sixteen-year-old stonemason's son scoffed disdainfully, "I don't even want to go to Joan of Arc Castle; I want to go to Daze Village!"

"Shut up!" Interrupted by his son, the middle-aged stonemason became visibly angry, "What right do you have to go? You can't even pass as a stonemason apprentice, yet daring for Daze Village?"

"I want to go learn from Senior Vite how to build houses without memorizing anything. Yours is all outdated stuff, old fogey!" The young stonemason mumbled in a low voice.

"Hey!" A hard rebuke of old fogey froze the middle-aged stonemason for three seconds before he reacted, furious and embarrassed, picking up a leather strap to strike at the young stonemason. "Who taught you that? Try saying that again."

Hit with the strap, instead of backing down, it stirred up the rebellious nature in the young stonemason: "What are you barking about like a dog?"

"I █ you █!"

The middle-aged stonemason raised his fist to strike back. The young stonemason wasn't about to concede, throwing punches as well, filling the carriage with dust during their brawl.

Talolin tugged at Kulu, who reluctantly joined in to separate the fighting father and son.

The coachman's voice was heard from ahead: "What are you doing? If anything gets broken, you'll have to pay for it."

Mormon didn't want complications: "Nothing, the road is too bumpy, people got jostled around."

"Sit tight, hey, do you think this is Joan of Arc Castle's mortar road?" The coachman thought they were complaining and retorted sarcastically.

After pulling the father and son apart, in an attempt to ease the tension, Balimba asked the coachman: "Didn't you say you'd introduce us to the customs and places? Why not talk after we got in the carriage?"

"Ah, it's such a hassle." The coachman lazily snapped the whip, saying, "There's a notch on each side of the canopy; unbutton the notches, and when it's time, I'll tell you all about it."

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