When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

As dusk approached, the sky, which had previously stopped raining, once again gathered dark clouds, and faint thunder rumbled in the distance.

Treading on the somewhat hardened mountain path, Gilo and the others had all their weapons and carried items confiscated.

Barefoot and clad only in thin shirts, their hands bound with hemp rope, they moved forward slowly.

Behind them, about a step away, the child soldiers of the Boy Army stood tall, their long spears raised, closely following the two, ready to pierce their chests at any moment.

Gilo looked at the ground, a wry smile on his face, thinking, 'I told you I couldn't be a witcher, but fate insisted on buying me a title.'

Emerging from the thickets of shrubs and weeds that reached almost shoulder height, a thatched-roof camp surrounding a central wooden house came into view.

There were about sixty or seventy of these thatched huts, forming six long rows that wrapped around the wooden house in the center.

Each row had five pairs of huts, with a compacted path cleared of weeds running between them.

These thatched huts were mostly made of mud and wooden planks, square and facing south.

In front of the huts were several long sheds and a clear open space.

Within the camp, arranged like a six-petaled plum blossom, villagers of all ages, carrying wicker baskets and wooden firewood, walked in an orderly manner under the guidance of several capable villagers.

In the sheds, an old woman with arms thicker than her legs wielded a half-person-high wooden ladle, constantly stirring in a large pot.

Beside the sheds, more than twenty young men were loudly singing hymns.

Following the people in front, Gilo stopped and started, taking in the whole scene.

He gradually noticed something was amiss.

These villagers were definitely not the villagers he knew; the usual mischief, foot-dragging, and feigned ignorance were gone. These normally foolish villagers were displaying unprecedented efficiency.

They were even humming cheerful tunes while working, instead of the usual complaints.

Under the command and leadership of several heads of ten households, the villagers gathered like flowing water in the open space in front of the wooden house.

Perhaps in Horn's eyes, this crooked formation was far from orderly, but in Gilo's eyes, it was as orderly as the Night Watch.

Gilo couldn't help but wonder if there was an incredibly powerful mind-manipulating witch here, otherwise how could these people be so obedient.

As a witcher who had traveled far and wide, he knew how difficult this group of commoners could be to deal with.

If you're kind to them, they'll turn around and bully you; if you're harsh, they'll spread rumors and deliberately delay things.

In Gilo's opinion, they wouldn't be so obedient without being whipped into shape with a copper-studded belt.

But if a mind-manipulating witch existed, they wouldn't have lasted this long, and there would be no need for interrogation.

So, excluding all other reasons, the remaining one, no matter how unreasonable, must be the truth.

This small Red Mill Village and its villagers were all members of the Secret Society.

He thought he was just catching a petty thief, but he had stirred up a hornet's nest.

However, Gilo wasn't afraid. Now that he knew they were members of the Secret Society, things would be easier.

He only needed a few words later to make them treat him with courtesy and untie him willingly.

"I'm wrong, I'm wrong, I'm not a devil—"

Suddenly, Gilo heard a pig-like scream. Following the sound, he saw the armed farmer who had said, "Everyone, wait a moment."

He was being tied up by several villagers, his hands and feet bound, and hoisted onto a wooden pole like a pig.

"Stop arguing, devil! Do you think everyone is deaf and blind?"

"I'll report him! It was him, because of him, we didn't act in time to rescue them!"

"Those who are not firm in their faith are firm in their disbelief!"

Several vagrants and registered farmers from his ten-household group shouted loudly.

In the open space in front of the wooden house, the villagers, having finished their pre-dinner hymns, gathered together instead of starting their dinner as usual.

They whispered among themselves, pointing at the armed farmer who was hanging up.

"You've heard it, since everyone has said so, then naturally you'll be subjected to a public trial." Suppressing the resentment in his eyes, Horn resisted looking at the armed farmer's wails.

He pressed his hands down to stop the people's shouting.

"I'm not a cold-blooded person." Horn rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Everyone here is a chosen one of the Holy Father, and the Holy Father's will shall be manifested through you and nature... Cough, cough, cough..."

Having just been dragged away, something like sand or grass seeds might have fallen into his throat. Horn felt an itch in his throat.

"So, cough, um, in the name of the Holy Father, fifty strokes. If he lives, then it means his sins have been redeemed. If he dies, then it means he's a devil, and his family will be exiled!"

Two strong vagrants stood out, holding arm-thick sticks. They used to be laborers and tenant farmers for this armed farmer's family.

"Hit him hard." Horn glanced at them and said in a somewhat hoarse voice.

"Whack—"

"Ugh, ahhh!"

The sound of the heavy stick colliding with flesh and bone echoed in the small open space.

As time passed, the dark clouds gradually gathered, and the screams grew weaker and weaker, with blood gradually staining the top of the stick.

When the white bones were exposed, many timid villagers cried out.

The farm women covered the eyes of their children, not wanting them to see this cruel scene.

Through the soaring blood, looking at the upright and unchanged Lord Horn, the divine light seemed to have a layer of fearful red gauze.

Horn had to do this.

If betrayal has no cost, then loyalty has no meaning.

He didn't want to see today's events happen again.

Facing the person whose lower body was only connected by a layer of skin, Horn turned around expressionlessly: "The Holy Father has declared him dead, and his whole family is exiled."

After two seconds of silence, the villagers fearfully raised their hands and cheered wildly.

The armed farmer's wife and a pair of children were driven by people from the same ten-household group towards the river.

They knelt on the ground and begged for mercy, kowtowing to Horn, but it was of no use.

Driven by the wooden sticks of the other able-bodied people from the same ten-household group, they fell into the water one by one.

Seeing the family struggling in the water, a trace of intolerance flashed across Janna's brow.

She turned her head away, not wanting to look at them.

Father Cosay stood up again, muttering: "Holy Grandson, allow old Cosay to say something objectively, there's no precedent for this, implicating them like this, there's no rule..."

"My rule is the rule!" Horn growled, his brain dizzy, and an unnatural flush flashed across his face. "Do you want to defend him?"

Father Cosay looked around, but received no support from anyone, and even the eyes of others were cold.

The cold sweat immediately dripped from his forehead: "No, no, no, I didn't mean that. Holy Grandson, your words are holy and just!"

The family still wanted to get ashore, but they were driven back into the water by people from the same ten-household group with sticks, beating them down again and again.

They cried and scolded loudly at the others from the same ten-household group, desperately begging Horn for mercy.

Standing on the shore, Busak shouted to the armed farmers: "You should swim to the nearby mountains as soon as possible. It's going to rain soon. The Holy Will has been decided. If you keep wasting time like this, I'm afraid you'll lose your lives."

Seeing that it was about to rain heavily, the armed farmers' family hugged a piece of driftwood and swam to the other side.

Covering his mouth, Horn coughed violently for a while before spitting out a mouthful of yellowish-green phlegm.

He shouted at the well-fed Boy Army: "Go, follow me to interrogate the witcher and the monk."

If he wanted to run, and still wanted to become rich through normal channels in the future, then this matter must not be made public.

Especially since there was a "Holy Maiden" here, if it attracted the big shots, the consequences would be unimaginable.

He had to know the specific situation, why the hedge priest had sent people here? Where exactly was the problem?

Before he had taken two steps, Horn felt an unbearable itch in his nose, and subconsciously, he sneezed.

Like setting off a fuse, Horn sneezed seven or eight times in a row. Janna immediately went up and took Horn's arm.

"Brother, you seem to be sick..." Janna reached out and put her hand on Horn's forehead. "You have a bit of a fever. Why don't you rest first and go after dinner."

"No, we're going now." Horn broke away from Janna's arm and, surrounded by the Boy Army, still wanted to go interrogate them first.

Just as Janna was hesitating whether to use strong measures to carry the Holy Grandson back, Haze ran over with a look of horror.

"Lord, Holy Grandson Lord, the monk, that monk has escaped!"

The volume was not loud, but Horn felt a roar in his ears.