After receiving two large bundles of so-called rare and exquisite delicacies—delicacies that couldn't be bought even with money—the missionary decisively regarded Barnett as the most devout believer he had ever met. His work efficiency shot through the roof. It took him less than five days to locate a group of fellow missionaries who had been living in seclusion deep within the Black Forest, and then he brought them straight to Biard City.
"Are these guys really the legendary priests?"
Because after seeing the clergy recommended by this missionary, Barnett decisively concluded that these people were unreliable. The so-called recommended personnel wore heavy chainmail, cross-emblazoned surcoats, carried kite-shaped shields and scepters in their hands, and even had helmets on their heads. If someone told him they were soldiers, they'd be more than qualified. Even those Viking warriors probably weren't a match for them. And their equipment was impressive—almost on par with the gear of Barnett's own personal knight guard. The only unknown was their actual combat effectiveness.
"Of course..." the missionary whispered, "These guys are from the Nordic Order. They're all Northerners. Because of differing political views with the Empress down south, they've gone into hiding here. I came into contact with them by chance. And although these guys prefer wielding scepters to slaughter heretics, they're fully qualified as priests. No need to doubt that."
At this moment, one of them seemed to be losing patience. He stepped forward, pushed the missionary aside, and asked bluntly, "Hey, kid, are you the lord of this place?"
What an impolite bastard.
"That's right," Barnett replied.
"Hmm, so you're the one looking to hire us to be your army—I mean, your priests?"
Just now you clearly said "army," didn't you? Are you guys really priests? You look more like mercenaries to me.
"Are you sure these guys are really reliable?" Barnett grabbed the first missionary he had dealt with and stared at him with suspicion.
"Absolutely certain. Besides, dear Lord Barnett, your territory is fierce and tough by nature, and it's entirely populated by Vikings. If you were to use clergy from another ethnicity to preach here, the results would be absolutely terrible."
"Hmm… that kind of makes sense." So Barnett nodded and accepted this group of clergy who looked a whole lot more like an army.
And then, the long-awaited system notification sound rang once more.
Ding dong. You've triggered a hidden perk: Nordic Battlefield Order.
Nordic Battlefield Order: The priests of Scandinavia are quite unlike others. Once enraged, they cast aside their canonical robes, don battle armor, and shed blood within five steps. Their combat strength, religious buffs, and superior equipment greatly enhance their power. The combat techniques they gain through harsh religious asceticism are no less formidable than those of professional knights. They are an exceptionally powerful military unit.
Nordic Battlefield Order.
Race: Vikings.
Number: 50.
Equipment: Heavy chainmail, helmets, kite-shaped shields, scepters.
Training Level: High.
Morale: High.
Discipline: High.
Special Skill: Chanting—on the battlefield, they fight while loudly shouting the name of Jehovah, inspiring the soldiers around them.
This unit… how should one put it… is very strong. And this "chanting" skill really fits them. But on the battlefield, can their chanting really be heard by all the soldiers? Should I consider inventing some kind of loudspeaker or megaphone in advance?
Well, in any case, Barnett had struck it rich this time. Not only was the religious issue resolved, but he had also gained a powerful new combat unit. The gap to reaching a two-thousand-strong army had narrowed further—only 130 soldiers left to go.
Only after speaking with the system sprite did Barnett realize that he had once again been scammed.
"But if you want that chanting skill to actually work, then there's a prerequisite: your army must believe in Christianity."
"Eh? You mean… my army doesn't believe in Christianity? Didn't I choose Catholicism from the very beginning? Catholicism is a branch of Christianity, right?"
"You chose Christianity? Then let me ask you—do you personally believe in Christianity right now?"
"Nope." Barnett answered honestly.
"Well, there you go. If you want that skill to be effective, you'll have to make these guys truly believe in Christianity. Not just say it out loud."
"But in that case... if there's a clash between ecclesiastical and imperial authority, what should I do?"
"Well, that depends on your own ability. Besides, these Nordic Battlefield Orders, to be honest, are just a bunch of big, dumb brutes. Shouldn't be too hard to trick them, right? Also, rumor has it that their doctrines are a bit different from the mainstream. Still based on the Bible, but you know what they say—context is everything. What they focus on is: 'Blessed be the Lord, my Rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle.' Jehovah is a warrior. Jehovah sent a seraph to kill the firstborn in every Egyptian household. Jehovah wiped out the world with a great flood… stuff like that."
"…Jehovah the God of War?"
"Exactly. Jehovah the God of War," the system sprite replied.
So Barnett decisively herded this group of clergy into the army camp and ordered the Order to preach to the Viking warriors.
But what's the best way to tame these headstrong, violence-worshipping Viking fighters?
Naturally, more violence.
When the Viking warriors heard that their lord had brought a band of clerics into the camp to proselytize, they all burst out laughing and treated it as a joke, lacing their mockery with filthy, modern-style curses—curses Barnett recognized from postmodern, underground street slang. Heaven only knows where they'd picked it up.
Yet in the face of such taunts, the Order remained entirely unfazed—neither fearful nor angry. Then their leader, a man who called himself "Father," stepped forward and said, "Since you pride yourselves on your valor, let us have a contest. We are fifty in number; you choose fifty of your best. No weapons, no armor—just fists."
Less than five minutes after that, the Battlefield Order and the Viking warriors were locked in a brawl. A real, all-out scrap. Fortunately, they were on the same side, so no axes or scepters were used. Both sides stripped off their chain and leather armor and simply traded blows—worst case, the losers would be bedridden with bruises for a few days, but none would die.
Barnett thought this test reasonable and gave his approval. He wanted to see exactly how fierce this small but elite unit would fight in practice.
So the match began.
Although the sides were equal in number, these fifty missionary-fighters were exceptionally well-trained and disciplined. They formed a tight little phalanx in an instant and, feet moving in unison, charged forward with fists and kicks flying.
By contrast, the Viking warriors descended in a disordered mob, each howling and fighting individually.
In sheer ferocity, the Vikings were no weaker than the Battle Order. But in terms of organization, unity, and tactics, they were wholly outclassed by these fifty clerics. Barnett hadn't noticed the flaw before because the other tribes they'd faced were even less disciplined than the Vikings. But against this cohesive, well-drilled unit, the Viking mob fell apart. Within ten minutes, the Vikings were routed.
The Viking warriors were speechless. Their innate respect for strength took over; they admired the victors. And because the Order's conduct and fighting style so closely resembled their own, they quickly bonded with the clerics.
After hearing one story after another—often selective, out-of-context readings from the Scriptures—the Vikings developed a genuine curiosity about the Catholic faith. Especially when I announced that I, too, had converted to the legendary Catholic Church and was now a Catholic believer, quite a few Vikings rushed to follow suit—keeping up with the trend, they got baptized and all that.
Thus, the religious problem was solved. Once the camp levelled up again, Barnett recruited a company of Viking infantry. With that, he achieved another task objective: his army's numbers had reached two thousand.
After nearly two months of development, the little town of Biard finally upgraded to a small city—boasting over twenty thousand inhabitants, more than two thousand troops, and the complete subjugation of the surrounding twelve minor tribes.
So all four conditions of the first quest were satisfied. Quest complete!
Earned two free building upgrades!
Looking at the city as a whole, the paved roads and underground water system couldn't be upgraded further, so ignore those. To upgrade the town center, the lord's manor, and the city walls would require the population to reach twelve thousand—so not an option yet. As for the barracks, a small barracks already provides Viking soldiers, crossbow militia, and patrol cavalry—enough for current military needs—so no upgrade is needed there either.
Then…
"Need I say more? The smithy! Obviously the smithy! Once the Leather-Working Shop upgrades to a Smithy, and the Smithy upgrades to an Armory—with a steel-drawing press, we can mass-produce heavy chainmail! Equipping our Viking soldiers with heavy chainmail will boost their combat strength enormously!"
So Barnett's first upgrade choice was unequivocally the Smithy.
As for the second upgrade… well, with Biard City now steeped in a robust religious atmosphere and most Viking warriors sincerely converted to Catholicism, he could upgrade the Small Monastery!
Later, the Small Monastery could become a Large Monastery, and the Large Monastery could become a Small Church.
Once that was done, converting all of Biard's populace to Catholicism would be only a matter of time.
Afterward, Barnett calculated that he still had some leftover reward money. He could invest it in something else… But before he could decide what, a patrol of cavalry thundered into Biard City on horseback, their faces white with panic—surely they bore bad news…