When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

The lightning illuminated everything in the world with a ghastly white light, highlighting Durdaff's fat face, a grotesque mask of joy and hatred.

Though his vision blurred, Hohn noticed something else.

Just behind and to the side of Durdaff, about five steps away, was a thicket of bushes.

Beneath the bushes, a tall woman sat huddled.

Hohn couldn't make out her face, only saw a pair of red eyes.

Despite her height, her movements were childlike; she hugged her knees, cowering in the bushes, watching them with a pitiful curiosity.

In her hands, Hohn saw something familiar: the bone flute he had just looted.

This was his last hope.

And so, amidst a series of lightning flashes, Durdaff saw Hohn make a strange gesture.

He tilted his head, laboriously picked up a twig, and placed it against his pursed lips, silently making "tut-tut" sounds.

What was this?

Before Durdaff could figure out what was happening, a melodious flute sound reached his ears.

The flute's tune was gentle and warm, as if returning to his mother's embrace, immersed in amniotic fluid enveloping his entire body.

So comfortable.

Without even realizing it, Durdaff had released his grip.

The person he had pinned down staggered to their feet.

Grabbing a piece of wood or something, Hohn swung it around and slammed it heavily into Durdaff's temple.

The sound of a watermelon cracking mingled with the thunder, startling the red-eyed woman so much that she trembled, dropping the bone flute, and the flute music stopped immediately.

"Thud!"

Durdaff's body slumped, his head hitting the ground with a thud.

His eyeballs were stained red with blood, his face was a mix of green and red, and a smile still lingered on his lips.

Only then did Hohn have time to look down, bewildered by the weapon in his hand; he thought it was a piece of wood, but it turned out to be the black bread from the fat priest earlier.

It had to be said, the quality of this bread was indeed good; it had clashed with his armed sword several times, resulting in only a half-finger-deep gash.

Using the black bread as a support, Hohn bent over, gasping for breath.

After about two seconds, he stepped forward, planted a foot on the fat priest's back, and swung the black bread club, striking the fat priest's head more than ten times like a madman before collapsing into the water.

Slumped on the ground, Hohn breathed heavily, feeling his forehead burning hot.

He had originally wanted to track down the Iron Tooth Monk, but after the previous life-and-death struggle, he was completely exhausted.

This fat priest was not only difficult to deal with but also had so many companions; letting him go earlier was a fatal mistake.

A violent flash of light lit up from behind, and the continuous screams almost drowned out the thunder.

Hohn turned to see Jeanne flying back and forth through the crowd like a Valkyrie, presumably because the holy water's effect had worn off.

The holy banner in her hand was like the Grim Reaper's scythe, taking a life with each swing; before long, only one or two night watchmen remained standing.

Seeing Jeanne charging towards them, they even desperately jumped into the water to escape, immediately swept away by the current, disappearing without a trace.

Now that these secondary witnesses were dealt with, what about the escaped priest?

From here to Gulag Monastery, the straight-line distance was short, but it was necessary to bypass the hillside from the side and walk up the steps; it would take at least ten minutes to get there.

Was there still time?

No, he had to chase after him; only he and Jeanne were chasing, and the monk was previously injured, so he definitely couldn't run fast.

He absolutely couldn't let him see Durdaff alive!

Otherwise, Hohn would have no choice but to turn to the Secret Party, which was the last thing he wanted.

Just as Hohn gritted his teeth and stood up, a light shone in front of him, startling him and making him jump.

The source of the light was a narwhal oil lamp, and the one holding the narwhal oil lamp was a pale and withered hand.

The light flickered in the darkness, casting mottled shadows.

The footsteps of the approaching person on the wet ground made a creaking sound.

The leader, wearing a leather cloak, raised the narwhal oil lamp in his hand, illuminating Hohn's face.

They looked at Hohn blankly, seemingly not understanding what had happened.

On the other side, after defeating all the soldiers present, Jeanne turned her head sharply and saw Hohn being surrounded at a glance.

Although she didn't know who these people were, she still anxiously strode over, and the remaining people picked up the soldiers' weapons and rushed towards Hohn's side.

"You are…"

The leader, Madelaine, widened his eyes; before he could finish speaking, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, blasting a pit in the mud in front of him.

"A witch?" The red-bearded man behind Madelaine roared in disbelief.

Before he could finish speaking, Jeanne, wielding the holy banner wrapped in lightning, stood in front of them all like a heavenly being.

There were about forty or fifty of these people, all young and strong; judging from their clothes, they were basically made of burlap and animal skins, and some were even bare-chested, revealing their skinny upper bodies.

The lightning and lamplight intertwined, and over Jeanne's shoulder, Hohn saw the bald monk with a bruised face behind the leader at a glance.

Although his vision was blurred, the reflection from his broken teeth still revealed that this was the Iron Tooth Monk from before.

These people should be refugees, but why were they beating a clergyman?

Before Hohn could figure out his doubts, he suddenly heard an excited scream that changed his voice.

Looking back, a short, stout old man was facing the fat priest's body on the ground, taking several steps back.

"Father Durdaff!"

Hearing this, everyone present changed their expressions, including Hohn.

Damn it, had Durdaff arrived?

Although his consciousness was blurred, Hohn's body instantly tensed up; he grabbed Jeanne's shoulder, signaling her to be ready to run at any time.

"It's Father Durdaff!"

"It really is Father Durdaff!"

Before Hohn could come up with a countermeasure, several monks in black robes squeezed out from behind the crowd, rushing towards this side, crying and shouting.

But Hohn waited and waited, but he didn't see anyone coming.

He looked around, but the rainy night was dim, and he couldn't see anything.

When he turned his gaze back, Hohn was puzzled to find that shouldn't everyone be looking towards the monastery? Wasn't it said that Father Durdaff had arrived?

Why was everyone's gaze focused on him?

Wait! The refugees' gazes were not focused on him, but on his back.

As if he had thought of something, Hohn's body stiffened.

As he turned his head, Hohn could even hear the cracking sounds of his spine.

Taking a deep breath, Hohn looked at the fat priest's body; with Jeanne's lighting, the fat priest's body and the gold and silver scattered on the ground were all visible to Hohn.

Could this, could this be Durdaff?