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The next morning, Leon left his lodging as soon as the sun rose. Part of it was because he was growing restless, but mainly, this was the time of day when few people were around to see him.
The thirteenth street of the Prima District was far removed from Blaine’s bustling downtown, tucked away in the northeast among a cluster of shanties. No matter how wealthy a district was, not all of its residents were rich. There were still plenty of people living in poverty even outside of overt slums.
With every step Leon took, the buildings around him grew shorter. Windows that should have been clear were foggy, and the people he passed looked increasingly shabby. This was a different kind of poor district than the slums.
Why would the Church set up a branch here? Leon wondered, and El-Cid, picking up on the thought, replied, —To apply pressure.
Huh?
The answer was too brief. Realizing that himself, El-Cid began explaining what he knew.
—The Holy Church has always been like that. They put up buildings and send clergy to places where the poor, the lowly, and the marginalized dwell. That way, the local authorities are pressured into spending money on the poor, whether they like it or not. It’s basically a political protest built on goodwill.
Woah.
—It’s more effective than just demanding that the rich be charitable. Even if it’s just symbolic, people feel less regretful when they’re ‘voluntarily’ spending m...
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