1885, I came to save Greece

Chapter 200 Fighting for God

The transformation of Kuyanggu Village is just the beginning.

Callinicus did not stop for a moment. He scattered those dozens of "battle priests," who were like his replicas, like seeds, along the Thessalian border, into every village struggling on the edge of despair.

These priests are no longer high above, preachers spouting empty doctrines.

They took off their religious robes, ate and lived with the farmers, patrolled together, and ate dry bread together in the trenches. With their simplest actions, they won everyone's trust.

When they stood on the war-torn land, holding high the cross, and with their powerful and passionate voices, they transformed this mortal war into a sacred war to defend the faith, they became the new souls of this land.

The church in each village became the most central stronghold.

It is no longer just a place of prayer.

At dawn, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of the church, this place became a sacred site for pre-battle mobilization. The priests, with their most impassioned words, instilled God's "blessing" and "wrath" into the hearts of every soldier.

During the day, the church's side halls and backyard became the most effective intelligence centers.

A young shepherd boy rushed into the church in a panic and knelt before the priest. He hadn't come to pray.

"Father, I...I confess to God." The boy lowered his voice, his face still showing signs of shock. "Today, when I was watering my sheep in the mountain stream to the east, I saw the devil...there were about a dozen of them. They were acting suspiciously, dragging two large boxes towards the deadwood forest."

The priest listened calmly and made the sign of the cross for him.

"My child, God has seen your vigilance. Your sins have been forgiven."

The boy left, profusely thanking the priest. The priest immediately turned and strode into the church bell tower. He rang the ancient bronze bell.

"Clang, clang... clang..."

The bells chimed irregularly, with varying lengths, creating a unique rhythm.

On a watchtower in another village a few kilometers away, the militiaman on lookout duty immediately noted the meaning of the bell's toll. The carrier pigeon beside him cooed and was released into the sky, speeding towards Larissa's command post.

Hundreds of churches scattered along the Thessalian border formed a sprawling yet swift intelligence network, mediated by bells, carrier pigeons, and secret liaisons.

No matter the slightest disturbance, nothing could escape this vast net woven from faith. Metaxas was pleasantly surprised to find that the speed and accuracy of his intelligence gathering had improved by more than an order of magnitude.

The church also served as a field hospital.

Whenever a battle ended, the wounded would be carried to the church immediately. Before setting out, the priests had received basic training in bandaging and first aid. They used boiled linen to clean the wounds and used herbs and prayers to stop the bleeding and heal them.

In this era, the power of the spirit is often more effective than medicine.

A young militiaman, struck in the thigh by a stray bullet, was bleeding profusely and howled in agony from fear and pain.

An elderly priest approached him, but did not rush to treat the wound. He simply took the young man's hand and gently placed the crucifix on his forehead.

"Child, do not be afraid. Your blood is shed for God. This wound is a badge of honor bestowed upon you by the Lord." The priest's voice was gentle yet powerful. "Close your eyes and pray to the Lord. He will take away your pain and give you new strength."

The young man's wails gradually subsided. His breathing calmed, and a peaceful expression appeared on his face.

With the priest's reassurance, the mortality rate among the wounded miraculously decreased.

The church also took on the important task of logistics.

Callinicus used the church's immense reputation among the people accumulated over centuries to organize women and the elderly who were unable to directly participate in the war.

The women were responsible for baking bread, sewing military uniforms, and twisting hemp rope. The elderly, on the other hand, drove donkey carts, risking their lives, to deliver food and ammunition to the outposts at the front.

This logistical supply line, bound by faith, is robust and efficient, completely solving Metaxus's most troublesome supply problem.

Some of the bravest priests even embarked on an even more dangerous mission—defection.

Disguised as peddlers, they ventured alone into the gray areas inhabited by bandits. These areas were also home to many Greek Orthodox Christian residents, some of whom had been coerced into joining the gangs.

One night, a priest knocked on the door of a gang leader's house.

The henchman's face changed drastically when he saw the priest, and he immediately drew his knife.

"Don't be nervous, my child." The priest raised his hands, his face showing no fear. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here to convey God's forgiveness."

The priest told him that His Highness the Crown Prince had issued a pardon. Any lost sheep who lays down their weapons and returns to the Lord's embrace will be forgiven, and their families will be protected.

"God is watching you. Will you continue to be the devil's henchman and fall into hell after death? Or will you return to being God's child and exchange it for the salvation of your soul? The choice is in your hands."

After saying this, the priest turned and left, disappearing into the night.

A few days later, this minor leader, along with a dozen or so Greek bandits under his command, suddenly defected during a "sweep" and delivered a fatal blow to the Ottoman commander from behind.

Such incidents began to occur repeatedly along the border.

Suspicion and division began to emerge within the bandit gang. The Ottomans no longer trusted the Greek bandits.

Metaxus stood before the sand table in the command center, watching the constantly updated battle situation. He felt as if he were commanding a vast and intricate living entity.

He no longer needs to worry about trivial matters such as morale, intelligence, and logistics.

Callinicus and his priests, through their intangible faith, constructed a perfect war support system for him.

The militia was no longer a loose peasant armed force.

They transformed into a formidable fighting force—efficient, resilient, and driven by fanatical conviction. They were unafraid of death, for death was the ticket to heaven. They were tireless, for battle was a purifying ascetic practice for the soul.

All Metaxas needs to do now is one thing—issue the most precise tactical orders.

He picked up three blue flags representing enemy squads from the sand table. These three squads had been completely exposed by the intelligence network.

He looked at the map and tapped lightly on a valley where the three teams might meet.

He took down three slips of paper, on which simple attack routes and times were drawn in charcoal.

He handed three slips of paper to his adjutant.

"Send a copy of the battle plan to Father Callinicus's liaison officer immediately."

Soon, a young priest strode into the command center, the cross on his chest reflecting the light of the map lamp. He reviewed the plan, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Captain, your plan is perfect. But Team A's mission is to blow up the mountain road. The militia there was attacked the day before yesterday, suffering three casualties, and their morale is somewhat low."

Metaxas looked at the map and said in a deep voice, "This is an order. A soldier's duty is to overcome difficulties and carry out orders."

The priest did not back down, looking him straight in the eye: "Soldiers may be like that, but peasants are not. Please give me half a day. Tonight, I will personally go to the village where Team A is located and hold a pre-battle prayer. I guarantee that by tomorrow morning, you will have an army eager to glorify God with the blood of the Ottomans."

Metaxas and the priest stared at each other for a few seconds before finally nodding.

"Okay. I'll wait for your news. But the explosion must happen precisely at four o'clock."

The young priest bowed and said, "I will not fail in my mission, nor will I fail in the Lord's grace."

Watching the priest's departing figure, Metaxus felt for the first time that this war had entered a realm he was unfamiliar with, yet one of immense power. The precision of military science must be combined with the fervor of faith to forge the most lethal weapons.

This neural network, composed of priests, is operating with unprecedented efficiency.

An even larger net is slowly being unfurled.

This time, the targets will no longer be scattered bandits.