When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

After the bustling morning papal audience ended, Hohn felt more tired than after running a thousand meters.

What kind of Papal State is this of mine? It's just a ramshackle team swarming with vermin.

My judgment was correct; this group of people will definitely not succeed.

As for Hohn's "promise" to take them to Black Serpent Bay for refuge, let's just say, I promise, but that doesn't mean I'll deliver.

Having reached this point, Hohn was also philosophical; since things have come to this, instead of regretting, it's better to think about how to clean up the mess.

So, how else can he clean up the mess?

The thought of joining the Arcane Faction filled him with a sense of freedom.

With Hohn's abilities, going to the Arcane Faction's headquarters, especially with his relationship with Jeanne Carrie, he would definitely be able to become a middle-class member first.

Whenever he thought of this, Hohn was grateful that he hadn't fallen out with Jeanne.

The Arcane Faction often cooperates with nobles and even the Church. After four or five years, after saving up a certain amount of wealth, he might be able to launder his reputation and make a comeback, and then going to Norn wouldn't be too late.

It's not that Hohn is possessed by Song Jiang, constantly thinking about being recruited and whitewashed, but in this world, there's really no future in being a gangster.

Calling it the Arcane Faction, it's actually just a union of bandits.

The living standards of those high-level members of the Arcane Faction are probably similar to those of ordinary citizens.

If the Arcane Faction really had the ability, they would have already broken out of Black Serpent Bay. Why would they hide all day long?

Black Serpent Bay is full of venomous snakes and magical creatures, and there are also roaming ghosts and wild men. If they didn't have a choice, who would want to live there?

Using the scepter as a cane, Hohn did not return to his bedroom but went to the courtyard in front of the warehouse, led by Jeanne.

As for Gramp Wen, he still followed behind Hohn with two strong men, responsible for monitoring him.

"Your Holiness,"

As soon as he saw Hohn, Rector immediately knelt on the ground, crawled forward, and kissed Hohn's foot.

That disgusting feeling made Hohn immediately withdraw his foot.

Rector then stood up with a flattering smile, standing in place, at a loss.

He couldn't help but do this; the Holy Grandson Master had only been in office for a few days, and he had already been promoted to Pope.

If he keeps getting promoted, what kind of official will he become? He didn't even dare to think about it.

"Stop flattering me. Did you prepare everything I asked you to prepare?" Jeanne stepped forward and asked impatiently.

"Prepared, prepared." Although Rector didn't know why the Holy Grandson Master wanted to see him blacksmithing, he still prepared carefully all night.

Walking to a shed in the monastery, Hohn stood leaning on the papal scepter, while Rector began to busy himself in front of the blacksmithing table.

He did not start a fire but threw a basket of iron ore powder into a large stone vat, and poured two large buckets of well water into it, filling about two-thirds of the vat.

Then, he began to scoop several large ladles of potion with a strange blue glow into it with a wooden ladle.

"Your Holiness, this step is called crushing and soaking. By mixing the dissolving potion with clean water, the iron elements can be connected together, and the stone chips can be separated. This requires constant heating over a small fire and continuous stirring for about four hours."

Rector was obviously prepared. While he was introducing, he picked up a piece of iron from the side: "Your Holiness, please look, this is the honeycomb iron that I stirred yesterday."

Hohn took the honeycomb iron, which was barely spherical, but had countless holes in it.

Using long tongs to clamp the honeycomb iron, Rector immersed it in another basin of water. The water below this basin was heated with charcoal and was boiling.

"This is the softening potion. When heated to boiling, immerse the honeycomb iron in it. After about a minute, the hard iron elements will soften."

Taking out the honeycomb iron that had been immersed for a minute, Rector quickly picked up the hammer and began to cold forge the softened honeycomb iron.

After continuous immersion and hammering, the honeycomb iron gradually turned into a rectangular iron sheet, and Rector immediately grabbed a handful of charcoal powder and sprinkled it evenly on the iron sheet.

At this time, Rector was sweating profusely and couldn't bother to explain. He quickly folded the iron sheet and hammered it hard, and then immersed it again.

After repeating this about ten times, the original arm-length iron sheet was hammered into a palm-sized iron ingot.

Picking up the still warm iron ingot, Hohn couldn't help but smile wryly.

He knew that the memory of wet smelting in his mind was indeed real.

"Why not use coal or charcoal to smelt iron?"

Rector blinked his eyes, as if he didn't quite understand what Hohn was saying: "Forgive me for speaking frankly, Your Holiness, but if you use charcoal, the time it takes to heat a piece of iron ore from room temperature to red-hot to the point where it can be processed is far more than four hours, and the value of the charcoal consumed is far more than the potion.

Since that's the case, why wouldn't I use potion? As for coal, I am ignorant and have never heard of it. Is it a stone that can burn like charcoal?"

Hohn did not answer. He walked around the stone vat: "Generally speaking, how many iron ingots can a metallurgical workshop produce in a month?"

"This is my earthen medicine vat. Large metallurgical workshops have reflux medicine furnaces that can smelt 600 pounds of iron ore at a time, with an iron output rate of about 30%."

"What about steelmaking?" Hohn asked.

Rector thought for a while: "Steel? Are you talking about refined iron? Refining refined iron is troublesome, and it takes a lot of effort to refine a piece of iron into refined iron."

"Then give me an example."

"Uh, for example, refining iron ingots into refined iron generally requires five hammerings. I mean finished iron ingots, not honeycomb iron. About 70% of the iron material will be lost in five hammerings.

A 10-pound iron material will only have 3 pounds left after being refined into refined iron, or even less, and the cost of each hammering is about 2 dinars."

2 dinars is equivalent to 36 pounds of wheat.

"Refining refined iron requires extremely high paper-making skills, and requires the matching and replacement of multiple potions and tools. The process is complicated, and generally only formal masters or grand masters of the blacksmiths' guild dare to do it.

But the rewards are very rich. 1 pound of iron ingot can only sell for 8 and a half coppers, while 1 pound of refined iron can sell for 8 dinars, which is equivalent to 400 coppers.

I dare say that refined iron is the most dazzling pearl on the crown of the Imperial metallurgical industry!"

Hohn did not respond to Rector's words. He walked around Rector's iron shop thoughtfully.

Turning around, he said to Gramp Wen behind him: "I'll give you a blueprint later, and you help me build it here, and then help me get some iron ore."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"Also, go to the warehouse and help me find these things: charcoal, sulfur, saltpeter, bile water... I'll give you a list later."

After instructing Gramp Wen, with a playful smile on the corner of his mouth, Hohn looked at Rector in front of him.

"Come to this place in three days."

………………

"Uncle Madland, what happened to the injury on your face?"

Madland did not answer, but reached out and rubbed the heads of the group of children who greeted him, and then looked up at the other refugees present with eyes full of desire: "Everyone, come to the gate tower in the evening, and we will still distribute a day's rations."

"Praise our Lord!"

"Praise you too, Madland!"

The poor refugees immediately cheered, but Madland smiled and said: "Don't thank me, if you want to thank someone, thank His Holiness the Pope. If it weren't for him, how could that vampire Townley release food?"

"Holy Trinity! Your Holiness, we love you!"

With a smile on his face, Madland greeted and joked with these refugees one by one, and returned to his small grass shed.

Although he knew that many of these refugees were not pure in their hearts, and they colluded with Townley in private, they just pushed him out as a scapegoat and a mouthpiece.

But Madland was still willing to suffer for those who were truly pure in heart.

He knew that often, those seemingly "evil and despicable" villagers were just afraid.

Apart from this lose-lose type of rural despicable cunning, they have no weapons to fight against the powerful.

Stepping into his tent, Madland grabbed the belt on his pants.

In the previous brawl, Townley broke the hemp rope around his waist, and now this wide leather belt is much better than the hemp rope.

It's just that when His Holiness the Pope tied it for him earlier, he seemed to be afraid that his pants would fall off again, so he tied it a little too tightly, which made him a little uncomfortable.

Unbuttoning the belt, Madland was about to retie it, but felt a foreign object fall from his waist.

He frowned, squatted down, and looked at the foreign object. It was—a folded piece of paper?

Taking a deep breath, Madland picked up the piece of paper, unfolded it and looked at it for a long time, before letting out a long sigh.

"Alas, what does this Holiness mean? I can't read."