When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Outside a dilapidated thatched hut, a young man clutched the large bump on the back of his head, his expression filled with fear.

Beside him, three to five people were using knives and similar tools to untie the two villagers, their tendons and bones broken, who were trapped in a silvery-white net.

Stepping on a half-section of a bench with jagged wooden splinters sticking out, Horn slowly walked into the small thatched hut that had once been used to imprison people.

On the dirty ground, half a metal tooth and several broken hemp ropes lay silently.

"Haze," Horn's voice was calm, but Haze couldn't help but tremble all over.

"Three guards, one killed in retaliation. What do you have to say for yourself?"

With a thud, Haze knelt on the ground. "Master, Holy Grandson Master, it's really the people below who are disobedient. It really has nothing to do with me! You wait, I'll take people to catch him right away, I guarantee I'll bring him back for you."

"Bring him back?" Horn let out a cold laugh, and gestured to Bursak.

Bursak stepped forward and said in a low voice, "The raft by the river has been taken away by that monk. The large boat is probably difficult to maneuver; he didn't use it."

Ignoring the distraught Haze, Horn stepped over a pool of mucus on the ground and walked up to the cold and stern Witcher.

Bending down, he met the Witcher's gaze, and Jiro also looked back calmly, waiting for Horn's question.

"Tough? Cut off one of his fingers."

"Yes, sir."

"Eh, eh, eh." Jiro's previously icy face collapsed, the wrinkles on his face gathering together into surprise and flattery.

"This Secret Society Master, you should ask first! If you don't ask, how will you know if I'll cooperate? Coming up and cutting off fingers, that's not in accordance with the rules!"

Horn was a little surprised; he had thought that a tough guy like this Witcher would be a hard bone to crack.

With the situation urgent, Horn didn't have time to delve into it and said directly, "Dare to tell a lie, cut off a finger for the first lie, chop off a hand for the second, chop off your balls for the third, and chop off your head for the fourth."

"Oh dear, how would I dare?"

"How did that monk break the hemp ropes?"

"He had a steel tooth in his mouth, used it to bite through the hemp ropes, and even chipped half of it off."

"How did he escape from the guards?"

"After he bit through the ropes, he picked up a bench and stunned one guard. The other two guards wanted to shout, but he caught them with Holy Net Balls."

"Wait, you guys were searched when you were captured. Where did the Holy Net Balls come from?"

"You don't know this, but that monk, like Durdaff, came from the choir. His sh*thole is bigger than his head. Don't even mention stuffing one Holy Net Ball in there, he could fit ten!"

As Jiro spoke, the hellish scene seemed to appear before his eyes.

The cold thatched hut, the half-squatting monk, the soft "pop" sound, and the shock of him reaching behind himself to pull out that sticky ball with reddish-brown traces.

Like Holy Water Grenades and Holy Net Balls, these were props for monks to protect priests and themselves.

Their power, like the Church's other blessings and trinkets, was especially effective against monsters, but almost useless against humans.

"He escaped. Where might he escape to?"

"He can only go to the Gulag Monastery; that's where we came from."

"What for?"

"We fished a floating corpse from the river. After multiple verifications, it was Barnett..."

"Damn it!"

Horn never expected that Barnett's body would be discovered. He thought the Church had some kind of great prophecy or something.

Ever since he arrived in this world, Horn felt like he had the worst luck in the world.

But there was still a crucial link: the Hedge County priest, Durdaff, didn't know what he looked like, didn't know that he had killed Barnett, and didn't know about the existence of the witch.

As long as he could wipe out this entire investigation team, then the clues would be broken. By the time the priest wanted to investigate again, Horn would have already escaped to Noen to breathe the air of freedom.

He should have made a decisive decision and killed them all.

If the monk really saw Durdaff, the trouble would be great—he had seen his face!

Thinking of this, Horn cast a dangerous gaze at Jiro, making Jiro's whole body tingle.

He now knew that the monk had casually pointed to the highest levels of these Secret Societies. Killing him was almost a casual matter.

"When he escaped, why didn't he take you with him? You're a Witcher; your martial strength must be stronger than his, right?"

"I don't have any martial strength. I'm not a Witcher."

"Oh? Bring the scissors!"

"I'm telling the truth, the truth! I'm really not a Witcher. I'm also a member of the Secret Society. We're family! There's proof in my pouch. You'll know if you put it to the fire."

Throwing the scissors aside, Horn told people to clean up and allocate manpower, then picked up the axe and gestured between Jiro's legs. "If I don't find it, these will be two lies."

Pulling a few pieces of white paper from his pouch and putting them to the fire, brown-red text slowly appeared on the paper.

It included not only the time of joining the society, the level within the society, who the master was, the name code, but even a small portrait.

Pulling out one of them, Horn looked at Jiro with some surprise, comparing him to the person in the portrait.

"Is this you?"

Jiro craned his neck to look at the portrait. "It's me. Back then, I was still very fat."

"Rose Society, Roanne Party, Green-Clad Brotherhood..." Spreading out the six proofs in his hand, Horn glanced at Jiro. "You have quite a wide circle of friends."

"I'm a spy sent by the Secret Society into the Witcher's ranks. To prevent being accidentally killed by my own people, I had no choice but to resort to this," Jiro said with a sheepish smile.

"Oh, I understand. So you're a fake Witcher. No wonder."

Horn instantly understood Jiro's background, looking up and down at this thirty-five or six-year-old middle-aged swindler. "Not a bad appearance. Haven't been discovered before?"

Jiro tightened up, quickly steering Horn's words to another topic.

"Of course I've been discovered, Master. Snakes have snake paths, rats have rat paths. If I'm discovered, I'll escape to Noen. There are many routes. I'm very familiar with the smugglers in this area."

"Oh?"

Horn's eyes lit up instantly, and even a faint blush appeared on his face.

Even though his mind was a little dizzy, Horn still perked up. His plan needed such a professional and relevant talent.

He needed a local snakehead accomplice like Jiro, no, a companion, to help him complete his plan to escape Thousand River Valley.

Seeing Horn's face turning red and his eyes shining, Jiro squeezed his buttocks tightly, even silently praying in his heart.

Fortunately, Horn didn't entangle with him too much, but turned and walked out of the thatched hut.

He still had something more important to do now.

Slanting raindrops fell on Horn's forehead. In the cold rain, his gaze gradually darkened.

"Is everything ready?"

Jeshka bowed, "Everything is ready. Two child soldiers, four young men, plus me, Haze, and the Holy Maiden. We're just waiting for you."

The rain was getting heavier and heavier, but Horn's brain seemed to be burning like fire.

Killing people and intercepting them at their doorstep didn't fit Horn's principle of being low-key and cautious. It was too risky and too high-profile.

But sometimes, the progress of all things has to consider the course of fate, not allowing people to do what they want to do.

Before his eyes, it seemed that he had already seen himself being beheaded by the knights and mercenaries who came to suppress him, and his head being displayed throughout Thousand River Valley.

If he didn't do this, this would be his end.

He couldn't hesitate any longer; he had to strike hard.

Shaking his head to recover from the dizzy and blurred vision, Horn said through his teeth, "Chase after him, intercept that monk, and never let him see the Hedge County priest, Durdaff."

He bent down, picked up the Witcher's steel sword from the ground, and carried it on his back. "So what if it's the Gulag Monastery? He can go, and so can I!"

Seeking follow-up reading, please, please!