### Chapter 710: Caravan
In the dead of night, somewhere in the vast desert of Busairite, two figures were standing atop a wind-eroded giant rock, cloaked in swirling sands and shadows.
One of them was a bald, rotund man, none other than Jawadin, a high-ranking member of the Eternal Life Cult, known for handling affairs in Bastis. He stood respectfully in the breeze. Facing him was a crooked, wrinkled old woman with silvery hair, draped in mismatched pieces of fabric adorned with twisted designs, clutching a gnarled wooden staff. Her eyes were murky, but she stood firm against the cold night wind, as if her frail body were impervious to its chill.
“Chief Amayaba… The Glimmer lapdogs outside the city have already accepted more than twenty thousand refugees. Based on my estimates, they’ll run out of food in two days if they keep up their ludicrous relief efforts. Before long, the entire camp will collapse…”
Jawadin reported to the elder Amayaba, who fell silent for a moment before rasping in response.
“I see… So, those folks aren’t considering laying a hand on Bastis yet?”
“Nope! They’re all remarkably patient. There’s been no sign of an aggressive push whatsoever; they’re simply camped outside. What’s more, they haven’t even attempted infiltration. It differs from what we thought…” Jawadin explained, his voice a mix of surprise and concern. Amayaba paused slightly before continuing.
“Seems like they have a steady leader. What a shame, though—if they chose to be direct with Bastis, the Glimmer Church wouldn’t have to worry about establishing themselves in Busairite…” she said with a tone of regret.
“Yeah, that nun named Vania isn’t exactly combative… It’s tough to lure her into a trap at Bastis, but that’s alright! Our other strategies are starting to kick in. In two days, when their food runs out, they’ll either storm the city for supplies or make a swift exit…”
“Then they aren’t working on curing this Holy Plague, either?”
“As far as I know, nope. The issues with food and management are more than enough to keep them scrambling; they don’t have time to tackle the Holy Plague. Hey, I actually hope that nun Vania spends more time figuring out how to cure it. The more they research, the stronger the plague grows. When it breaks out in their ranks, they’ll be in serious trouble…”
With a smug smile on his face, Jawadin delivered this news. Amayaba didn’t respond much but gazed into the distance towards Bastis before speaking again.
“Although as long as this Holy Plague doesn’t end in Busairite, we remain invincible, we shouldn’t let our guard down against those people. Keep an eye on them and don’t relax until they’re completely gone…
“Alright, we’ll wrap this up for today. You head back to Bastis, and remember, don’t discuss any key information in the city, especially concerning the Holy Plague and me. The cards dealt to that little nun from Sacred Summit are still unclear, and she might have some connection with the so-called Judge of Heaven Church. No important exchanges outside of my influence are allowed.”
“Yes.” Jawadin nodded with a respectful and firm response, and after seeing her approval, Amayaba looked once more towards the distant Bastis.
—
As the moon set and the sun rose, day and night swiftly turned, and soon the night gave way to a new day, with the sun casting light over the world.
In the Bastis oasis, the camp of the Church’s relief mission welcomed the dawn. Puffs of smoke rose from the vast sea of tents as people flowed in every direction.
Compared to a short while ago, the camp had expanded significantly. Continuous streams of refugees had swelled its size exponentially, and everywhere one looked, there were a chorus of groans from the beleaguered crowd. The original crew sent by the mission was running around like headless chickens, overwhelmed with the sheer number of people.
More pressing than the lack of manpower, however, was the food crisis. Due to the shortage, the camp had seen a steady decline in food aid for several days. Many refugees were unable to get enough to eat, and despite most expressing understanding after explanations, a portion began to simmer with discontent. This dissatisfaction had bred a few nasty incidents.
“This morning, in the southern and eastern encampments, there have already been 21 reported brawls over food. One incident involved at least 25 participants, resulting in 10 injuries and 2 fatalities. The cumulative d*ath toll from all incidents is now at 47…”
Inside the tent that belonged to Vania, Sister Phil stood before her, delivering the grim news. Upon hearing Phil’s report, Vania paused momentarily, her brow knitting in concern.
“Has it truly increased that much since yesterday? While we have started limiting food supplies, it’s not at the level of starving them, is it…?”
“Yes… The current food supply hasn’t reached fatal levels yet, but due to the limited rations, a sense of panic has swept through the camp. Many believe we’ll run out soon, leading them to hoard what little they can. Their fears are not entirely unfounded; if we maintain this pace, we really won’t last long…”
With a serious expression, Phil spoke, and Vania didn’t respond right away. Instead, she remained seated, appearing troubled by deep thoughts.
Observing Vania’s silence, Gaspare could no longer remain quiet and stepped forward.
“Sister Vania, we can’t afford to hesitate any longer. Our food supply won’t hold up much longer; let’s just raid the city! Regardless of their reserves, getting our hands on them would buy us more time!”
Gaspare urged, but Vania remained quiet, seemingly lost in thought. Seeing her inaction sparked his growing frustration.
‘Sister Vania… You’re being far too kind! This is no time for indecision…’
‘As a devoted believer and source of relief, Vania is impeccable, but as a leader, she might not be the best fit. Whether to fight or withdraw, we should make a decision quickly, not wait until now… It’s no wonder there are whispers about her being a lucky figure in the Church…’
On the other side, Sister Phil shared similar thoughts. As the designated assistant from the Savior Faction, she had her own abilities and opinions.
‘This journey to Busairite may very well be a test given to Sister Vania as a leader… It’s looking like she’s failing miserably. Sister Vania… Not all challenges come with divine favor to support you… I understand your desire to help more people, but food won’t miraculously appear just because you wish for it…’
Just then, the tent flap was suddenly yanked open, and a member of the mission’s guard swiftly entered.
“Sister Vania! We’ve spotted a sizeable caravan approaching Bastis!”
“A caravan? What do they want?” At the mention of the caravan, Vania perked up, while the guard quickly replied.
“Unknown at this time, but we’ve sent scouts to make contact. We should have more information shortly.” The guard then stepped back to wait quietly, and Gaspare resumed his serious demeanor.
“Given the rampant plague… How could a large caravan be operating in these parts? It’s highly suspicious…”
Just as Gaspare expressed his concerns, another guard rushed in, reporting loudly to Vania.
“Sister Vania! We’ve made contact with the caravan. They’re claiming to be merchants here to trade food in Busairite!”
His voice echoed in the tent, leaving both Phil and Gaspare momentarily stunned as they exchanged incredulous glances. Vania, on the other hand, sighed in relief, closing her eyes to silently pray.
—
Among many in the camp, disbelief loomed in regard to the existence of legitimate merchants these days in Busairite, especially food merchants carting substantial amounts of supplies. With threats of plague and bandits, merchants typically avoided this area, yet here were some brave enough to do business amidst chaos—it was unbelievable but true.
“Over here! Here! Hurry, lads! Unload everything here for our esteemed customers to inspect thoroughly~”
At the edge of the Bastis oasis, a large caravan was parked, camels and wagons piled high with goods. Under the guidance of a hearty, rotund merchant in luxurious robes, the caravan staff was busy unloading bag after bag from their wagons, neatly arranging them in lines. Each bag, upon being placed on the ground, was quickly opened, revealing heaps and heaps of white flour.
Ba-dum! The bags of flour were opened one by one, and the waiting guards of the mission, led by Gaspare, surged forward to examine each one to ensure the flour was safe and uncontaminated.
Meanwhile, the merchant, after barking orders to his crew, ambled over to where Vania and Phil stood.
“Ha ha! I heard back in Adus that Sister Vania was coming to Busairite for aid, so I hoped maybe we could do business with you. I didn’t expect it to actually happen. Truly an honor!”
The burly merchant bowed to Vania, who smiled in response.
“I also didn’t expect to find merchants active in today’s Busairite. Conditions here are considerably worse than before. Aren’t you afraid of the dangers?”
“Of course I’m afraid! But there’s a saying: crisis and opportunity coexist. In tough times, food becomes more valuable. If the profits are good enough, nothing can stop a determined soul!”
The merchant continued to beam as if it was perfectly normal for him to be there, and Vania seized the opportunity to speak plainly.
“Regardless, I truly appreciate you coming here during such a time… While your supplies are critical to us, could we perhaps negotiate slightly lower prices? The sum you quoted is over ten times the market rate…”
“Eh heh… Since Sister Vania has requested, I can make a concession as a thank you from an Adus native for your work in the Church. How about we just knock it down by ten percent?”
So the bargaining continued back and forth. Meanwhile, Phil stood near, aghast at the scene unfolding before her.
‘In these circumstances, a large food merchant suddenly appears… Is Sister Vania truly protected by divine luck?’
Watching Vania, Phil realized something profound: when a person genuinely has divine favor, other qualities fade in significance…
Just then, as the deal finalized, a translucent shimmering voice echoed from a small hill near the camp, belonging to Sister Feith, garbed in black. She observed the scene from afar with a slight smile.
“Oh dear… What an unexpectedly marvelous caravan. What kind of power orchestrated their arrival, I wonder?”
“A pity… It seems we won’t see the little nun struggle with her choices just yet… But this food will only serve as a temporary fix. If this plague keeps rampant, it’s just a patch on a deeper wound…”
Feith mused, her words ethereal and vague, like whispers on the wind, as if neither her actions nor her presence were ever meant to exist…
—
“Hmm… If that’s the case, the food issue is temporarily resolved…”
In another tent of the camp, Dorothy stretched widely with a yawn as she sat on the carpet, currently managing the entire trade between the merchants and Vania’s mission, facilitating the sale of large quantities of food.
Indeed, the caravan buzzing around the edge of the camp were puppets orchestrated by Dorothy. She had arranged for them to deliver essential supplies during this food scarcity while also pocketing some cash on the side.
The goods they carried were nearly entirely crops from the false history world she created; it took her less than a day to cultivate all this food.
Though the world was a façade, the resources were real. It was a realm driven by “Enlightenment,” powered by multiple strands of spirituality. Through manipulating a fictitious history, Dorothy could control it to some extent.
Her plan involved setting up a false history world with decent conditions and advanced agriculture and then bringing back a batch of wheat seeds from real history. After rewinding time back to the past of this fictitious world, she hired peasants to plant those seeds, and then, through rewriting time again, appeared in the future to harvest the fully-grown wheat, hiring farmers to process them into flour. After several cycles of this, she amassed a substantial amount of food.
Now, all Dorothy had to do was establish a place in Busairite to transport the goods, building a caravan, and delivering them to the camp for sale.
The higher the selling price, the better. After all, the Church had ample funds allocated to Vania’s mission, and since Vania herself couldn’t really misappropriate those, Dorothy’s efforts were well rewarded. A lower price might also raise suspicion.
‘Now… With the food crisis in the camp resolved, it’s time to address the plague itself… Only by completely eradicating it can we fundamentally alleviate the Busairite crisis…’
After her stretch, Dorothy contemplated how to tackle the plague as she finally gained crucial insight into it.
‘Amayaba… Are you the root of the rot infecting Busairite? If I can take control of you… or just eliminate you, I may uncover leads to curing this plague…’
Dorothy pondered, and after a deep breath, she stood up, exited the tent, and gazed at the towering walls of Bastis in the distance.
—
At that moment, atop the walls of Bastis, Jawadin stood, his expression grave as he watched the bustling camp transaction from his vantage point. Beside him, a novice from the Eternal Life Cult stared incredulously.
“High Priest, did you see? That’s a caravan!”
“I noticed; I didn’t need you to point it out…” Jawadin replied, his face stern. The novice continued, astonished.
“During these times in Busairite… A food caravan is roaming about! This is abnormal! They’ve just secured food! What do we do now?!” The novice’s loud voice irritated Jawadin, who snapped back.
“Quit shouting! I know what’s happening; no need to remind me. Now you get off and send Grudu up here…”
“Yes, yes! I’ll go right away!” The novice hurriedly scurried away from the wall, crossing paths with another guard waiting at the bottom.
“High Priest isn’t pleased with me; I’ll take a breather. You go and attend to him…”
“Understood…”
The two exchanged a polite gesture, parting ways—one heading into the inner city while the other ascended the wall to report to Jawadin and eagerly await his orders.
At that moment, an invisible spiritual thread intertwined with them, guiding their every action. Not just them, but everyone around Jawadin was similarly connected.
Unbeknownst to them, Jawadin had been endlessly conversing… ordering… exchanging…
—
On the camp’s edge, among the bustling trade scene, after an agreement on terms, the burly merchant breathed a sigh of relief, delegating detailed arrangements to his subordinates. He stepped away to a quiet corner to smoke and watch the lively transaction unfold in the distance.
At that moment, an eerie, ethereal voice drifted softly nearby.
“Your arrival… is indeed a timely downpour…”
Startled, the merchant turned to see a ghostly, semi-transparent nun floating calmly, a smile gracing her features.
“Just like last time in Kankdar, you all continue to hold Sister Vania in such high regard… Pursuing ancient wisdom, are we?”
