When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

"Where are you taking me?"

Despite his aching body and a slight fever, Horne maintained a degree of rationality.

After all the torment he had endured, he hadn't improved much in other skills, but he had made significant progress in remaining calm.

"Holy Grandson, we are going to a meeting." A man with a pointy nose offered a forced smile as he led the way and explained.

"I haven't had the chance to introduce myself. I am your attendant, Grampwen."

"A meeting? What meeting?" Horne coughed, his voice hoarse.

"You'll find out when you get there."

Thus, flanked by two burly men, Horne was carried, his feet barely touching the ground, through the stone corridors of the monastery, past the rose gardens and vineyards, up the spiral staircase, and onto the gatehouse of the Gulag Monastery's outer wall.

A small shed had been constructed on the gatehouse using a wooden frame.

The shed was surrounded by white cloth on all sides but was open at the top, allowing the pale daylight to illuminate everyone's faces.

In the middle of the shed, there was a round table, and on the table, there was a brazier.

What was the brazier for in the middle of autumn?

There were about a dozen people present, clearly divided into two factions.

One faction was led by a red-bearded man, most of whom had fierce faces and wore wrinkled, dirty noble attire.

The other faction was led by a middle-aged man in a leather cloak, whom Horne had seen before, named Madelaine, or something similar.

He only had three or five people behind him, mostly dressed in linen robes that were very clean.

"A meeting here?" Horne asked, puzzled.

"Welcome, Chosen Holy Grandson, allow me to introduce myself—I am your faithful servant, Tomley Model."

Giving a standard chest-touching salute, Tomley revealed a set of very white teeth: "The palace is simple, please forgive me for making you endure it, it is my fault."

"Cough, cough, I am ill and cannot withstand the cold. If there is anything, please say it quickly," Horne feigned a cough, adopting a weak posture.

"As you wish, sir." Tomley smiled and stepped forward, helping Horne to sit in front of the brazier, standing by Horne’s side.

"Today, I have invited you all here to witness one thing: the election of a Pope."

"Cough, cough, cough, cough." Horne, who had just touched the seat with his backside, almost jumped up on the spot. Elect a Pope? How dare these few people elect a Pope?

A sense of inexplicable panic crept into Horne's mind, and his forehead broke out in a cold sweat.

"You may ask, although our Pope Johnny VIII is old, isn't he doing well? Why elect a Pope?" Kirves continued, then he turned to Grampwen and asked, "Do you know?"

Swallowing, Grampwen had no choice but to loudly say the lines he had been given: "Because the Holy Father saw that the Pope was incompetent, he sent down a flood as a warning. Otherwise, why would the Holy Grandson descend to earth? And descend in a flood?

Therefore, I propose that, in accordance with the ancient church election law and what is said in the 《Gospel》, the shepherd should be elected by God’s chosen people. Let us elect a new Pope."

"Then who should be the candidate?" Tomley asked in unison.

"I propose that our Chosen One, the Eye of God, the great and noble Holy Grandson, Lord Horne, should take the position."

"What?" Madelaine had been confused, but now he completely understood what these people intended.

They actually wanted to elect a Pope themselves?

"This doesn't seem quite right, does it?" Madelaine quickly stepped forward and asked in a low voice.

Tomley said generously: "The situation is urgent, and besides, didn't your teacher, Juan Nuo, say that the people of Thousand River Valley should govern themselves, that restrictions on the people of Thousand River Valley should be lifted, and that the people of Thousand River Valley should also be able to become bishops?

If we directly create a Pope from Thousand River Valley, isn’t that a huge support for your teacher?"

Madelaine was not an eloquent person. After being rebutted by Tomley, he couldn't even speak, and could only stand there dumbfounded.

"No, although I am the Holy Grandson, I am guilty. How can I be the Pope?"

"Being the Pope means taking on the sins of everyone. As the Holy Grandson, you should be immune to all diseases. The fact that you are so seriously ill means that you are redeeming us from our illnesses."

"No, no, no, no…" Horne sat there, waving his hands repeatedly. "I am a mortal, just sick myself."

What's going on? Pope? Are you crazy?

Does being the Chosen One necessarily mean becoming the Pope? Didn't it mean that the Chosen One would gradually rise in the church and slowly become the Pope?

Do you think the Pope you elect yourself will be recognized?

"Speaking of which, Chosen Holy Grandson Pope is a bit too long. How about we change it to Emperor?"

"No!" Horne immediately objected.

"Since the Holy Grandson says that we can't call him Emperor, then we will follow the Holy Grandson's wishes and call him Pope!"

"That's not what I meant…"

Before Horne could finish speaking, he heard Kirves roar behind him: "The weather is getting cold. Why is the Holy Grandson still wearing pajamas? Here, put on a coat."

Horne felt a weight on his shoulders, and a white robe with crooked gold threads embroidered on the collar and cuffs had already been draped over him.

Although the material and pattern were the monkey version of the monkey version, Horne recognized the style of the Pope's holy robe at a glance.

He had seen it in statues and murals.

"You, you mustn't harm me!"

Horne was shocked and quickly twisted his body, trying to throw off the white robe.

But two young men once again clamped him from left and right, and the white robe seemed to be stuck to him, and he couldn't shake it off no matter how hard he tried.

"His Holiness the Pope is not well, probably because his head is cold. Quickly put a hat on His Holiness!"

The latest and most complete novels are first published on 69shu.com!

The next second, Horne's eyes went dark, and a heavy hat fell on his head. At the same time, the two men holding him released their hands.

Horne didn't expect them to let go. The moment his feet touched the ground, he almost fell.

Fortunately, someone handed him a cane, allowing Horne to support himself on the ground so he wouldn't fall.

Behind him, Kirves threw white straw into the brazier, and a plume of white smoke rose slowly.

Seeing this white smoke, the bell tower next to it immediately rang, attracting the attention of the villagers who were already gathered in front of the gatehouse.

Tomley tacitly pulled open the white cloth surrounding the shed, finishing this series of small moves.

"Look, it's white smoke. The new Pope has been elected."

"Look, isn't that our Pope wearing a golden crown, wearing a white holy robe, and holding the Pope's pastoral staff?"

"Celebrate, villagers, the Chosen Pope of Thousand River Valley has been born!" Tomley stood on the wall of the monastery and shouted loudly.

"Good!" The refugees below immediately began to cheer under the leadership of several promoters.

"Holy! Holy! Holy!"

Hearing the cheers and looking at the rejoicing villagers, Horne almost fell off the gatehouse.

At this time, no matter how calm he could be, he couldn't remain calm.

What the hell are you doing? What kind of secret society are you? You are harming people, you secret society!

Horne understood that only the three leaders were still sane, and most of the others were not.

These few are probably just trying to get him to take the blame!

The remaining villagers, under the deception of the church's policy of fooling the people and the secret society's superstition, were either crazy or stupid.

Be the Pope? Still be the Pope?

If Horne had an iron-blooded army and millions of people under his command, with his knowledge and ability, what would be wrong with calling himself Pope?

The Pope is the one with strong soldiers and horses.

But now they only have five or six hundred people, two or three hundred young adults, and a lack of weapons, logistics, and manpower.

Not to mention anything else, just a few hundred night watchmen from the High Fort Archbishop could scare these people away.

In this situation, still call yourself Pope…

The High Fort Archbishop would be overjoyed, a great achievement!

Are you really not spies sent by the High Fort Archbishop?