When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

"What about the rewards for the race walking competition?" Horne looked as if he couldn't make iron into steel.

"Can't walk anymore, don't want them," Fric said, giving up and squinting his eyes.

He gave Chilvers in front a look, signaling them to take the people and leave first. Horne squatted down and said in a low voice:

"This race walking competition is a team event. If you don't walk, it's the same as everyone not walking."

"How is that possible?" Fric gasped. "This isn't a real race walk. We're separated, but it doesn't affect anything."

Horne swallowed the words of persuasion he was about to say.

"You, what are you talking about? I don't understand," Horne forced out an awkward smile.

"Your Grace, don't pretend. We've known for a long time. We old folks have eaten more salt than you've walked roads," an old woman said in a hoarse voice.

The sun was a bit strong, shining warmly on people, but Horne felt a little dizzy.

Fric sat on a large rock by the roadside, like an old man sitting at his doorstep in autumn. His face was full of wrinkles, his legs crossed, relaxed and simple.

Hundreds of old people each found a place to sit down, as comfortable as sitting at home after work.

"I, I don't understand... you..." Horne stammered, unable to speak.

"We're not like those young people. They really believe you, but we old folks know you're not. It's just that everyone is willing to follow you," another old man interjected.

Horne squatted in place like a statue: "Then if you know, why don't you hurry up and leave?"

None of the old people responded to Horne. They just sat there lazily, as if sunbathing.

After waiting for a long time, only Fric looked up at Horne: "If we keep walking, won't we be dragging the children down?"

"But, but..."

"Your Grace Horne, do you know? I once met the Pope," Fric suddenly started a new topic.

"Back then, I traveled all the way from Thousand River Valley to the Holy See. The poems I wrote spread throughout the entire Holy See within days."

"Pope John VIII was so kind. He received us gently, arranged for us to stay in a comfortable small hotel, and promised to give me an explanation."

"You tell me, you tell me, the hotel arranged by the Pope was located next to the Papal Palace, next door to the Papal Palace, next door!"

"How could there be rogue hooligans breaking in through the window?! How could there be?!"

Fric seemed to be grinding his teeth. He was shaking all over, and Horne couldn't tell if it was Parkinson's or anger.

"In that hotel, that night, my adopted son, little Reedy, was forcibly held down in a water tank and drowned by a suddenly appearing rogue."

"I went to stop them, they pried open my mouth and poisoned my throat with paint. I can't sing anymore."

"Your Grace, eighteen years later, I have once again lost my family and children."

The chirping of birds echoed on the puddles, and the sound of horses' hooves could be faintly heard in the distance.

In the sunlight, several butterflies lingered on the flowers, their eyes fluttering, watching Fric clutching his collar.

Fric reached into his clothes, grasped the ruler that Madelaine had given him, and held it tightly.

"Your Grace, you are a good Pope."

"You let us eat our fill, you let us eat oil and meat, you let us wear clothes without holes, you let us wash our dirty faces clean."

"You wear the same clothes as us, eat the same food as us, you refuse to ride a horse but use it to carry the wounded."

"You never abandon us, you allow us, even useless old people, to live with dignity."

Kneeling in front of Horne, Fric gave the squatting Horne a big hug.

"I have always been thinking, if back then, I mean, if the Papal See back then had a good Pope like you, my family, my little Reedy, wouldn't have had to die."

"We waited for such a good Pope, waited and waited, waited a lifetime, our fathers waited a lifetime, our grandfathers waited a lifetime, we don't want our children to wait any longer."

Horne squatted in place, just like the moment when Danji spoke to him earlier. He seemed to have aphasia, unable to say a word.

"Your Grace, this sword hilt is for you," Fric took out a sword hilt with a guard from his arms.

"The sword hilt was originally for my own son. He listened to me sing heroic epics too much and insisted on becoming a dragon-slaying hero, clamoring for a sword."

"I couldn't resist him, so I bought a sword hilt and told him that when he came of age, I would buy him the blade, but he won't need it."

Fric inserted the sword hilt into the cloth bag at his waist.

Horne was stunned.

Pinching Horne's shoulders, Fric helped Horne up. He seemed to be smiling: "Your Grace, I beg you, don't let our children die before us old folks."

Forcibly turning Horne to face forward, Fric patted his back: "Go, go faster."

Horne stepped mechanically. He took four steps forward subconsciously, but couldn't take the fifth step no matter what.

"Go forward, don't look back!" Fric shouted at Horne's back.

After standing in place for three or five seconds, Horne continued to take steps. He walked faster and faster, and later almost ran away from here.

Until Horne's figure disappeared at the end of the road, Fric still stood there, not knowing what he was thinking.

"Fric, don't stand there dumbly."

"Tch, big brother."

"How about a sip? To embolden you."

A large-framed old man took out a pot of wine and half a charred water field mouse from his pocket.

Looking at the wine in front of him, Fric smiled: "I won't drink it, I'm sober."

Pushing away the wine fed to his mouth, Fric looked up at the azure sky, so high and so far away.

It had been decades since he had sung, and Fric suddenly wanted to sing a few lines. He was a little afraid he had forgotten.

"I hurt myself again, today."

In the chirping of countless birds in the forest, Fric's hoarse singing crossed the clouds and reached the sky he looked up to.

"Want to know if there's still strength to feel,

Concentrate and experience this pain,

That's the only real thing."

The latest novel is first published on Liu Jiu Jiu Shu Ba!

Beating his thighs to keep time, Fric sang the songs he sang when he was a bard with his broken voice.

The once thick voice had long become mocking and unbearable in paint, tears, and wine.

Shaking his skinny body, Fric stood up on the large rock. He squinted his eyes, opened his arms, just like he used to on the tavern stage.

At that time, his little son would stand behind him and play the drums for him, and his wife would play the flute beside him.

That warm little tavern in summer, just day after day, seemed like it could last forever.

Until the day the tavern owner used a flatbed to pull the bodies of their mother and son back from the church.

"Needle tips gnawing at the wound,

As if the usual old sting."

Fric, whose hair was full of alcohol, was so sober for the first time.

He could feel the ruler in his arms, glowing hotly.

Fort Jeanne is a good place, Madelaine is a good child, but he can never go again, never see her again.

"Also try to let all this disappear and never reappear...

But I just remember everything."

Putting his hand down from his rib-like chest, Fric sang the last line of the song again in a low voice.

"But I just remember everything!"

In the singing, the ground trembled, the grass leaves also trembled, and in the friction of the armor, the **** smell rushed to the face.

At the end of the road, a group of silver-bright armored cavalry appeared, the tall knights sitting on tall warhorses.

The edges of their saddles were embroidered with delicate patterns, and the surcoats were embroidered with the coat of arms representing Prince Condé.

The warhorses sprayed hot air from their mouths ferociously, and together with their masters, turned their indifferent and majestic eyes.

The narrow road was filled with panting people and horses.

The leading tall knight, his silver armor was covered with a black and gray surcoat, and the edges of the Milanese shoulder armor were inlaid with gold that shone in the sun.

Standing quietly in front of the old people, the Order Knight raised his chin.

Boao, at the front, turned his head and told Kleant a few words.

Kleant nodded, passed through the crowd, and walked to the group of broken old people.

Looking at the old men and women who were blocking the road as if chatting at the entrance of the village, Kleant suddenly felt a little palpitation, but he still calmed himself down and shouted arrogantly:

"Get out of the way, the knight lord has had a kind thought, and doesn't bother with you old things, clear the road and go home."

Fric stood up from the ground, leaning on his spear, and staggered to Kleant.

"Go home, the knight lord has forgiven you."

He held the spear level, but the spear kept shaking with his body.

"It's not easy to save your lives, what are you doing in a daze, is this something you can interfere with? Go home early... are you crazy?"

Retreating several steps, clutching his pierced ear, Kleant screamed at Fric.

"Home?"

Withdrawing the spear he stabbed out, Fric smiled through clenched teeth, trembling all over, like a lame old wolf: "Where the hell do I have a home?"

Passing by the dazed Kleant, Fric and the old people staggered and rushed towards the high-sitting Order Knight, holding their spears.

Just like the heroes rushing towards the evil dragon that he had sung thousands of times.

"Where do we have a home?!"