34: Chapter 34 The Heretic's Hand and the Orc's Leg

A rare ripple flashed through Evelyn's purple eyes, but they immediately returned to their usual stillness.

She bowed slightly, her gaze lowered behind her crystal lenses, her voice as calm as if she were confirming an ordinary shopping list: "As you command, my Lord. The underground intelligence network of Blackstone Territory will find any 'tools' you require."

Listening to the master and servant's conversation, which could only be described as insane, Princess Ella Radiant felt a wave of dizziness.

The royal education she had received since childhood told her that heretics were the cancer of the world, beings that had to be purged and eradicated, a taboo that would stain one's tongue even to mention.

Yet now, Levi not only wanted to use them but was actively seeking them out. Judging by his tone, it was as if they weren't dangerous blasphemers, but rather handy, useful tools.

What on earth was going on in this man's mind?

Levi did not offer any further explanation; he knew that some chasms in perspective could not be bridged by a few words.

He merely rubbed his temples wearily, bringing the late-night meeting to an end.

The excitement of successful financing had long been washed away by cold cost figures, replaced by an urgent sense of being chased by time.

He needed rest; he needed to let his brain, which had died from overwork in his past life, return to high-speed operation.

Three days later at dusk, in the slums of Golden Olive City.

Rain dripped pitter-patter from the dilapidated eaves, merging into streams of murky water that meandered along the filthy stone road.

The air was filled with the sour stench of cheap ale, the choking smoke of low-quality coal, and that persistent, damp, musty smell unique to poverty.

Evelyn held a black oil-paper umbrella, walking through the mud that contrasted sharply with her exquisite and gorgeous attire.

Her well-tailored black suit and pristine leather boots formed a stark contrast with the ragged, numb-eyed paupers around her.

Passing drunkards and thugs wanted to cause trouble, but upon meeting her purple eyes, which seemed capable of piercing through the human heart, they couldn't help but shiver, as if their souls had been frozen by the cold of the abyss, and they retreated to the side in dismay.

She stopped in front of a crumbling attic.

This building was like a rotten tooth in the slums, with large patches of wall peeling off to reveal the decayed wood inside.

According to the information provided by the intelligence broker, the target was right here.

The heretic with a fifty-gold-coin bounty on her head by the Church, the proponent of the "Spherical Earth Theory," Monica.

Evelyn closed her umbrella, her skirt sweeping an elegant arc in the air, and lightly stepped onto the creaking wooden stairs.

The stairs were covered in slippery moss and unknown stains, each step accompanied by the groans of the overburdened wooden planks.

The attic door was ajar, a faint sliver of light shining through the crack.

Evelyn did not knock; instead, she gave it a gentle push.

The door hinges let out a harsh grinding sound, and a stench mixed with the smell of parchment ink and the sour odor caused by long-term malnutrition rushed out to meet her.

The room was small and oppressive; the only window was covered with a thick black cloth, and only a single bean-sized oil lamp flickered on the table.

Rainwater seeped through a hole in the roof, dripping onto an overturned earthenware jar, making a monotonous and rhythmic "tap, tap" sound.

The room was piled high with rolled-up maps and manuscripts, stacked from floor to ceiling, crowding the already cramped space until only a narrow path remained for someone to stand on.

Under the light of the oil lamp, a thin, frail figure suddenly lifted her head from the pile of maps.

It was a woman who looked no more than twenty-five or twenty-six, but her face was as pale as paper, her eye sockets deeply sunken, and her dry, brown hair was tied back carelessly.

Her eyes were full of terror and vigilance, like a rabbit cornered in its burrow by hounds.

In her hand, she tightly clutched a long, thin metal needle that shimmered with a ghostly green luster—it was a surveying needle used by cartographers to mark coordinates, but the color of the tip clearly indicated it had been dipped in some kind of deadly poison.

"Who are you? A lackey of the Church?" The woman's voice was hoarse and trembling, yet her hand holding the poison needle was unnaturally steady, pointing directly at Evelyn at the door.

Her gaze swept over Evelyn's exquisite attire, which did not belong in the slums, and the hostility in her eyes deepened. "Did that fat woman who sells bread snitch? Or was it the drunkard downstairs?"

Evelyn ignored her questions, simply scanning the room with a calm gaze.

Her gaze swept over the manuscripts, which were covered in complex contour lines, wind direction markers, and grid lines she had never seen before, referred to as "latitude and longitude."

The precision of these maps far exceeded the flashy, impractical decorations of the Royal Cartography Institute.

This woman was truly a genius.

"Monica." Evelyn spoke, her voice cold and flat, calling her by name directly.

Hearing her own name spoken by this stranger, Monica's body shuddered, and her fingers tightened even more around the poison needle.

It had been a long time since she had used that name in front of others.

"I am not with the Church, nor am I here to capture you for the bounty." As she spoke, Evelyn took a parchment scroll sealed with wax from her briefcase and tossed it casually onto the floor between them.

The parchment scroll rolled a few times on the damp floor and stopped at Monica's feet.

Stamped on it in scarlet wax was a family crest she had never seen before, composed of gears and obsidian.

"What is this? A new writ of judgment?" Monica stared at the document warily, not bending down to pick it up.

She had been burned too many times; any slight disturbance could be a deadly trap.

"An employment contract." Evelyn was concise, pushing up the crystal lenses on the bridge of her nose. "The 'Blackstone Territory Infrastructure Construction Office Director Employment Contract.'"

"Blackstone Territory?" Monica frowned. The name was very unfamiliar to her; it sounded like some backwater in the borderlands.

Office Director?

This sounded more like a clumsy scam.

Evelyn seemed to see through her doubts and continued to explain in that emotionless tone: "The contract terms are clear. First, Blackstone Territory will provide you with lord-level asylum; no Church forces will be able to pursue or judge you within the territory. Second, an independent surveying laboratory will be established for you, with unlimited supply of all drawing tools, parchment, and necessary exploration equipment. Third, an annual salary of three hundred gold coins."

Three hundred gold coins!

This number exploded in Monica's brain like a thunderclap.

Because she insisted on the theory that "the earth is a sphere," she had been expelled by the academic world, wanted by the Church, and had been hiding like a rat for five years.

For five years, her most luxurious meal had been a piece of black bread with half a slice of salted meat.

Three hundred gold coins was a fortune she dared not even dream of.

Beneath the huge temptation lay even deeper suspicion.

She stared fixedly at Evelyn: "What are the conditions? There is no such thing as a free lunch. What do you want? Do you want me to draw a map to the Kingdom of God, or to admit that the earth is flat?" Her tone was full of self-mockery and sarcasm.

"The only performance evaluation metric," Evelyn's voice coldly cut off her sarcasm, "is to map out a new trade route within three months, starting from Blackstone Territory, bypassing Bloodthroat Pass, and reaching Golden Olive City directly. The requirement is that transport efficiency must be increased by more than fifty percent compared to the existing route."

Monica was stunned.

She had thought the other party would make some absurd demand related to theology or political conspiracy.

But she never expected that all they wanted was a road.

A more efficient trade route.

This was exactly what she was best at and most obsessed with!

Using mathematics, geography, and logic to find the optimal solution in the chaotic world!

Her breathing began to quicken, and her heart, weakened by years of malnutrition, pounded uncontrollably.

Trembling, she slowly bent down and picked up the parchment contract.

Tearing open the wax seal and unfolding the parchment, every word on it was written clearly in standard commercial contract language; rights and obligations, remuneration and penalties, all clear at a glance.

It did not look like a trap, but more like a... devil's contract.

Using what she desired most to trade for the skills she was best at.

"How can I trust you?" Monica looked up, her voice still hoarse, but the terror in her eyes had faded, replaced by a complex light mixed with desire and struggle.

"You have no choice." Evelyn said calmly, her gaze passing over Monica's shoulder to the window covered by the black cloth. "The Church's white-robed knights have already surrounded this block; in at most a quarter of an hour, they will start searching house by house. You can choose to stay here, fight them to the death with that poison needle, and then be tied to the stake. Or, sign it and come with me."

Outside the window, the sound of rhythmic footsteps and the clashing of metal armor could be faintly heard.

The color drained from Monica's face instantly.

She bit her lower lip hard, almost drawing blood.

In the end, the desire to explore unknown paths and the instinct to survive outweighed all doubts and fears.

"A pen." She squeezed the word out through her teeth.

When Monica first stepped into the "Infrastructure Construction Office" prepared for her by Blackstone Territory, she was completely stunned.

This was not some dark, damp basement, but a spacious and bright room located on the second floor of the castle, featuring three huge floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the entire Blackstone Town and the distant mountains.

In the center of the room stood a giant drafting table made of fine golden nanmu wood, its surface covered with a pristine, expensive piece of snow-mountain lambskin.

On the shelves along the wall, stacks of uniformly thick parchment were neatly arranged, next to a full set of dwarven-crafted drafting tools—brass compasses, mithril rulers, precise protractors, and ink bottles filled with various mineral pigments.

All of this was even more advanced than the tools she had used at the Royal Academy in the capital.

A gentle voice sounded behind her.

"Miss Monica, welcome to Blackstone Territory. I hope the conditions here are to your satisfaction."

Monica turned sharply and saw the young man known as "my Lord," Levi.

He was wearing simple linen casual clothes with a warm smile on his face, looking less like a noble wielding power and more like a kind scholar.

"These... are all for me?" Monica's voice still carried a trace of disbelieving tremor.

"Of course." Levi nodded with a smile, picked up a pre-drafted appointment letter from the table, and handed it to her. "From the moment you signed your name, you became the Director of the Infrastructure Office of Blackstone Territory. These are all your office supplies."

Monica looked at the appointment letter, her fingers trembling, hesitating to take it.

She looked up, staring straight into Levi's eyes, and asked the question that had been lingering in the depths of her heart: "My Lord, are you... not afraid? The Church says I am a heretic who spreads lies, and my theories will shake the foundations of divine power. By taking me in, you are openly making an enemy of the Church."

The smile on Levi's face did not change. He walked around the drafting table to the huge floor-to-ceiling window and pointed at the long, slowly moving line of mine carts on the rugged mountain road outside.

"Miss Monica, look at those mine carts." His voice was calm and clear. "I don't care whether the land beneath our feet is square or round. I don't care whether it supports the sun or the sun shines upon it. I only care about one thing."

He turned his head, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, staring straight into Monica's eyes.

"Whether my goods can be transported safely to the customer's hands in less time and at a lower cost. Can you give me the answer?"

At this moment, Monica saw neither awe for divine power nor fear of heresy in the young lord's eyes, only a pure, extreme pursuit of efficiency and profit.

This pursuit was more pragmatic than any theological theory, and also more... terrifying.

She suddenly understood.

This lord did not need her soul, but her brain and her skills.

Here, she was not a heretic waiting to be judged, but an engineer about to create value.

She took a deep breath, and the fear and anxiety that had been pent up in her chest for years seemed to be swept away in this instant.

She solemnly reached out both hands and accepted the appointment letter.

"I can, my Lord." Her voice was not loud, but filled with unprecedented firmness and confidence.

Just one week later, a detailed preliminary exploration report and several sketches were placed on Levi's desk.

Monica's work efficiency was astonishing; she had thrown herself into her work with an almost vengeful passion.

The report indicated that to open up a brand-new, efficient trade route, the best path had to cut straight through the vast primeval forest on the west side of Blackstone Territory—the Grey Fog Forest.

"According to my calculations, this route can shorten the transport distance from Blackstone Territory to Golden Olive City by sixty percent. Considering the terrain slope and road conditions, transport efficiency can be increased by at least seventy percent." Monica pointed to the rough, direct straight line drawn in red ink on the map, her eyes shining with excitement. "The only obstacle is that this route passes through the core area of the Grey Fog Forest, which is the territory where the Orc 'Swiftfang' tribe has lived for generations."

Levi tapped his finger gently on the red line, calculating rapidly in his mind.

Dealing with Orcs was far more complex than dealing with greedy nobles like Baron Todd.

Orcs revered strength and despised commerce; any attempt to bribe them with money could be seen as an insult.

"Evelyn." Levi looked up.

"Yes, my Lord." The succubus, who had been standing quietly to the side, stepped forward.

"Prepare a caravan, load it with the fifty best bags of salt in our warehouse, and one hundred newly forged refined iron axes. We are going to pay our neighbors a visit."

"No, just the two of us." Levi stood up, a meaningful smile curling the corners of his mouth. "We are going to negotiate business, not to wage war. Bringing too many people would only make us appear guilty."

The Grey Fog Forest was shrouded in dense mist all year round, with huge ancient trees blocking out the sky, allowing sunlight to cast only dappled spots of light through the gaps in the branches.