Tianjin people will never lose SAN

Chapter 374: The Witch from Thousand Years Ago
"Hurry up and make dumplings for Roselis and the others. I'm going upstairs to sleep after that."

Millie Tang was obviously fed up with the Holy See's whole day of juggling shows. She rolled her eyes at Liu Yonglu and continued to eat dumplings with her head down.

"No, I don't think this is acting..."

Liu Yonglu scratched the back of his head. He spent the whole day wandering in Amalfi. Although the Holy See kept coming up with strange tricks, it would give Liu Yonglu a big job from time to time.

But he also discovered that these extras from the Holy See had a certain sense of boundaries. If Liu Yonglu showed obvious impatience or was busy with other things, these people would not bother him any more.

Presumably, although the Holy See tried its best to show its support, it did not want to affect Saint Barlax's normal schedule and leave any bad impression.

Looking at the words on the cloth in front of me, it is very suspicious. It is three o'clock in the morning, and it will obviously affect my rest. Even if I want to show off, it is not the time.

Liu Yonglu expressed his inner doubts, and Ling'er stirred the meat filling in the big bowl again, but did not find the remaining strips of cloth.

She was the one who was in charge of making the dumplings just now. According to her divine status, it should be possible that she didn't notice the cloth strips. The strange thing was that she was busy competing with Millie Tang while making the dumplings and didn't pay attention to it.

"Aren't you sleeping in the same room with Xiaohu? Take Xiaohu with you at three o'clock."

Millie Tang yawned. Although they were staying in the first-class cabin on the ship, it was not as sound to sleep in the cabin as on land, and Millie Tang felt sleepy.

"That's right... Have you eaten? If you're full, go to bed. At three o'clock, let's go and see how big of an injustice this is!"

Xiaohu had already eaten his fill, and later he ate the entire plate of dumplings. After hearing what Biabai said, Xiaohu jumped down from the chair, opened the door and went upstairs.

Outside the window, Botticelli and Lorenzo also noticed Saint Barlaan's reaction. They quietly slipped into the utility room in the hotel courtyard and hid.

It's only a few hours until three o'clock in the morning. If I go home now, I will risk being questioned by the sheriff, so I might as well take a nap here.

"Botticelli, tell me, will Saint Baran believe what you say later?"

Saints are different from saints. The patron saint is a product that was vigorously promoted after the development of the Holy See. As a member of the Sahagun sect, Lorenzo did not actually trust Saint Baraña as much as Botticelli did.

"Lorenzo, don't you see?

Originally, under the protection of the Holy See’s wings, we had no chance to pass on the message to Saint Barlaam. It was His Eminence who chose to return to the hotel and cook the meal himself.

This is the will of the saint and the guidance of the gospel. Don't worry, I will tell Saint Balaam everything I experienced later.

If I am innocent, then Saint Barlaam will clear my name!"

Botticelli's voice trembled, but his tone was firm. He leaned against the orange tree behind the utility room and looked up at the starry sky. "The moon is bright tonight. Saint, if you can hear the call of me, Botticelli, a loyal and poor believer, please let Saint Barlaam save me."

As I watched, an irresistible feeling of weariness came over me.

At first, Botticelli thought it was just because he was too nervous and it was no big deal, so he picked up a small branch from the ground and gently scratched his arm.

But gradually, he found that the sleepiness was so irresistible that it was not physical fatigue.

Rather, it was some force that was calling to his soul. Botticelli tried to open his mouth to remind his best friend to wake him up, but it was in vain. He was too tired and exhausted, and his soul needed rest.

After struggling, he finally closed his eyes.

The crash of the waves woke him up, and when he opened his eyes again he was standing beside the dilapidated house, on the coast, and once again he was hopelessly becoming Saint Bois in his dreams.

"Boyce, how about we...find something else to eat?"

Saint Bernus' voice sounded behind him. He still held the fish knife in his right hand, but his left hand had already taken it off the body of the strange fish in the sea.

"Of course, we shouldn't eat this unclean meat. Put it back into the sea."

Botticelli looked at the strange fish on the ground cautiously. The edges of its body were still shaking up and down. For no reason, Botticelli felt a fear of the monster.

"But... it's near the ocean now? Forget it, we can just dump it behind the house and let it die."

In the religious allegories of the Saints, Saint Bernius was famous for his bravery, but the man in front of him swallowed his saliva and looked timid.

The two men dragged the body of the strange fish towards the back of the house. As they dragged it, the strange fish still made low whimpering sounds from time to time. The sound did not sound like that of a fish, but more like the whine of a baby.

It rains a lot at the seaside, and the dilapidated house in Saint-Bois is not far from the coast, so puddles of various sizes have formed on the sand. Some are only the size of a bucket, while others are larger than the dilapidated house.

"Pfft!"

It is not known whether out of fear or pity, but Botticelli threw the strange fish into a huge deep pit. The gray-white strange fish slowly sank to the bottom, and its sharp cry echoed in the empty sand.

"That's it. Maybe in a few days the tide will suddenly rise and flood your stinking nest, but it will still give it a chance to live."

Saint Bernardus made a lame joke to himself, but then he touched his stomach and released the strange fish. What should he eat today?

"Bernus, Boyce, you two little bastards, are you interested in helping me?"

Suddenly, an old man's voice was heard in front of the dilapidated house.

Botticelli followed Bernus and turned around, and saw a sturdy old fisherman with a square face and white beard, holding a harpoon in one hand and a fishing net in the other.

"How much? What for?" Bernus obviously knew the old fisherman. He wiped the sweat from his head and asked.

"One of the ships that disappeared last night has returned. It's the Borgia's White Shell, which was washed up in that fjord by the waves."

The old fisherman pointed his finger into the distance and continued:
"You two help me go over there and take a look. If you can bring back 15 loaves of bread to Borgia, 10 will be given for finding the body, and 5 will be given for confirming the news."

Botticelli thought it was no big deal. Since Saint Bernus was worried about how to eat for the day, he just agreed.

But Saint Bernus beside him obviously hesitated for a moment, and finally the hunger in his stomach overcame his fear. He nodded slowly, took out two chopping knives from the house, took one for himself, and stuffed one into Botticelli's hand.

The two followed the old fisherman towards the fjord, but strangely, although they could have chosen a shorter route along the beach, the old fisherman and St. Bernus both went around the low hill beside the beach.

"Later, if we see a monster, we will split up and meet up at your house."

St. Bernus whispered.

"Are you still planning on running? Little bastard, if there really is a monster, just accept your fate."

The old fisherman's ears were pointed, he sneered and turned his head and said.

"Who told you not to find a witch? Damn it, we can't go fishing anymore without getting eaten by monsters. We're starving to death."

St. Bernus said with disdain.

Witch? Oh yes, before the saint spread the gospel to the continent, poor humans were often preyed upon by monsters under the misty fog, and at that time people could only beg the mean and cruel witch for help.

Botticelli muttered to himself, and added:
"Is it because the village can't raise the money for the witch's help?"

"Money? The witches don't care about our few copper coins. If we can't find any witches, those big shots are wandering around, with no fixed place to live, and there are few of them. How can we find them?"

Botticelli frowned. Was this really what Saint-Bois had experienced? Why was it different from what he had heard in the fable?

After walking for a full hour, the three finally arrived at the fjord. From the low hills they could vaguely see fishing boats floating in the fjord.

The boat was not big, just an ordinary two-masted fishing boat. The brown paint had already peeled off a little, and there was a fishing net hanging on one side of the boat, which was stranded on the beach.

"Get ready, little bastards, and wish us good luck, too."

The old man observed for a few minutes and confirmed that there were no monsters on the beach before taking the two people closer to the fishing boat.

In fact, Botticelli had been wanting to ask about the monster on the way, but due to his identity, he was worried that being exposed would cause irreversible consequences, so he kept his mouth shut.

Only then did he finally begin to get scared as he followed the old fisherman's footsteps.

Are there really monsters? What would happen if I killed them in my dream? I gave birth to Boyce... Where is the saint? She should be able to protect me...

Feeling anxious, he followed the old fisherman onto the fishing boat. There were spots of blood on the deck, not much, but very fresh. However, this did not prove anything. Fishermen who usually made a living by fishing would occasionally slaughter live fish on the boat. The three could not tell whether the blood on the deck was human blood or fish blood.

"Ah...uh..."

A groaning sound came from the cabin, like the cry for help from a seriously injured person. The old fisherman and Saint Bernus looked at each other. The hatch was closed, and the old fisherman used the harpoon in his hand to pry open the hatch first.

There was no one in sight, but the narrow cabin only had one window, so a large area was still shrouded in darkness.

The old fisherman did not dare to advance rashly. He walked out of the cabin, first opened the secret compartment where fish were stored under the deck, rummaged around inside, took out a candle made of whale fat, lit the candle and threw it in.

The ship's planks were very damp, and the tiny candle flames could not light anything.

Under the orange candlelight, the three of them finally managed to see the situation in the warehouse. A curly-haired man in his thirties was leaning in the corner. His eyes were wide open and blood was oozing from the corners of his mouth. He was obviously dead.

In front of him squatted a humanoid monster with slender human-like limbs, but his head had hard phosphorous horns like coral.

"Ah...uh..."

The cry for help from a seriously injured human was imitated by a monster!
"Run!"

The old fisherman's warning sounded like thunder in Saint-Bois's ears!

Although the three of them had weapons in their hands, none of them had the courage to swing their swords at the monster!

Botticelli was standing at the end at first, but he obviously did not have the skills of the old fisherman and St. Bernardus, and he fell behind before he jumped off the boat.

"Kakaka..."

The monster's hard soles rubbed against the deck, making an uncomfortable sound.

The stiff fingers were pressing on Botticelli's shoulders. He was pulled down abruptly, his chin hitting the ground. He struggled to turn around and tried to fight back with the fish knife in his hand, but found that the knife had slipped out of his hand when he fell.

In the end, Botticelli could only look at the monster on his body in despair.

Its head had been completely calcified like a reef, with coral sticking out of the monster's eye sockets. It opened its huge mouth full of sharp gravel and bit towards Botticelli's neck!
(End of this chapter)