72 - Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

**Chapter 72: Lynn! What Exactly Did You Do?!** Orne City was a melting pot of various faiths, with the teachings of many gods spreading throughout its populace. Despite the inevitable conflicts and friction between the different churches, there was one constant: each deity encouraged their followers to be kind and generous. This served as a positive guide for human nature, keeping society in order and making the power of faith purer for the gods. As the last banner of the Augusta family guards was hung, silence enveloped everyone present. Though unclear why such public fundraising was necessary, many believers from these churches felt a stirring within. After some time, an elderly man staggered forward, rummaging through his pocket for some meager copper coins, intending to donate them to the Church of Providence’s glass box. “May the Lord bless you,” he mumbled, trembling as he offered his blessing. However, just as he was about to tiptoe to deposit his savings, a guard politely stopped him. “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t accept donations from ordinary followers.” The old man was taken aback. “Why not?” “Because Master Lynn said he doesn’t profit from the poor,” the guard explained shortly. After escorting the man away, the guard clarified loudly, likely to prevent misunderstandings among the onlookers. “To donate, one must at least provide the deeds to three properties in Orne or proof of an annual income exceeding five thousand gold coins!” The crowd was astonished. Their past experiences with fundraising had always been about extracting money from their pockets. But this event seemed the complete opposite. Not only were their donations refused, but wealth verification was required? It was truly strange. An unexplained emotion swept over the people as they observed the restrained crowd. Once their curiosity was satisfied by the peculiar happenings at the city square, the excitement subsided. Despite it being a rest day, many had to tend to their livelihoods for their families’ sake. Soon, the crowd dispersed, leaving only a few lingering. Hours elapsed swiftly, and throughout the day, devout followers approached the banners, desiring to donate. Yet, most were impoverished and were thus refused entry. By evening, the twelve glass boxes in the square remained empty and unperturbed, as if they hadn’t caused any stir in the city. Yet, the event spread like wildfire through town, becoming a topic known by all overnight. People were aware of how the Augusta family and Duke Tyreus sought funds for disabled soldiers, targeting local nobility and churches. Within the Providence Church, Bishop Mozer froze at reports of the event. “They did another public fundraising?” he asked incredulously. “Yes, and they hung several banners,” replied an aide, who reiterated the contents of those banners. Mozer paced the room, pondering the situation, and soon sneered. “I thought it was something larger, but my worry was misplaced.” “Tyreus, do you think such petty tactics will siphon money from us? Foolish!” “Notify the surrounding churches: if they wish to continue sharing profits, now is the time to put aside differences.” “This is an assault by Duke Tyreus. Only by pushing back harshly can future gains be ensured.” “Tell them it’s not my request, but a demand. Any church or noble that dares participate in this foolish activity becomes our sworn enemy!” Days passed swiftly. Four days later, the fundraising on the city square hadn't faded in its fervor; rather, it became a frequent topic among the townsfolk. Every day, people stopped by the square to inspect the glass boxes, puzzled by their emptiness. To those without faith, this seemed a blunder of Duke Tyreus, but to the devout, it hinted at something more profound. “Let’s see which religion is truly generous,” they taunted, yet the donation boxes remained empty. This stark contrast was unforgettable. Each glance at the banners filled churchgoers with unrest, prompting them to hastily leave the site. When posing questions during prayers or confessions at their churches, clergy would only cast enigmatic expressions. An undercurrent began to rise in Orne City. Meanwhile, the orchestrator of these events leisurely enjoyed afternoon tea in a garden. Lynn sipped his hot red tea, basking in the sun, thankful for the unexpected leisure his circumstances afforded him. Credit, he thought, was due to Ivysse's willingness to grant him control over the estate, albeit her recent mysterious busyness—even returning with her face streaked in blood at times. Besides, he saw little of Affia, Morris, and others. Only Greya, a fellow idler, kept him company amusedly. “I’m going to perform a magic trick baffling to men,” Greya remarked suddenly. “What trick?” “Success in performance.” Seeing Greya frustrated brought Lynn to laughter. Just then, the butler Keisha approached quietly. “Master Lynn, Duke Tyreus is here.” “Tell him I'm occupied,” Lynn replied dismissively. “Nonsense!” came the Duke’s irate voice from behind. Lynn hurriedly set down his cup as the burly duke approached with a stormy expression. “Good afternoon, Duke.” “Good? Good my foot!” Duke Tyreus bellowed, “Now spill what mischief you’ve been up to these past days!”