When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

“I am the Holy Father!”

A gust of wind, carrying immense moisture, crashed against the hillside.

Despite the damp rain, everyone's clothes snapped in the wind.

After a brief moment of silence, just as Horne was about to lose his nerve and thought he was done for, a wailing cry finally erupted.

“The Holy Father, the Holy Father has manifested!”

Someone shouted this, triggering a chain reaction as cries of anguish rose and fell.

They seemed to pour out all their grievances and fears, forgetting even their hunger.

“Holy Father, please alleviate the pain in my stomach!”

“Holy Father, have mercy on my sins, I shouldn't have with my own sister…”

“So, Jeanne was right, Missila really did send down a miracle!”

“Holy Father, forgive my sin of disbelief!”

On the grassy, muddy hillside, villagers knelt one after another.

They drew a 屮 symbol on their foreheads, prostrated themselves in the rain, kissed the muddy ground, confessed their sins to the “Holy Father,” and begged for His forgiveness and redemption.

Unnoticed, Horne's lips twitched slightly.

Good, good, these villagers believe, they really believe, hehe, they all believe, this method really works.

Forcing himself to control his mouth, Horne didn't let himself laugh.

He knew that now was not the time to celebrate.

Pulling himself together, Horne raised his eyes, openly surveying the crowd with his solemn, divine gaze.

Of the two hundred-plus villagers on the hillside, nearly seventy percent had already knelt.

Almost all the refugees had knelt, leaving only a small portion of the freehold farmers and armed farmers hesitating.

This number was about right; it was time for the second step of the plan.

Looking around, everyone was shouting prayers and confessing sins, with some fanatics even drawing blood to show their piety.

Horne frowned slightly; the people present were too noisy.

If he spoke now, his voice would probably be drowned out by the noise.

He was a little annoyed; he couldn't just shout, “Everyone, look at me.”

As Horne pondered a solution, he heard a roar from the crowd.

Among the many villagers, a one-eyed man stepped forward.

He was about thirty years old, with brown hair and a face shaped like a horizontal egg. Dandruff and grease matted his hair into small braids that hung down behind his ears.

Horne vaguely remembered that he was the leader of the local refugees, similar to a beggar gang leader.

“Quiet, everyone be quiet.” The one-eyed man roared hoarsely, “The Holy Father is about to deliver the gospel, everyone be quiet.”

Under the one-eyed man's roar, the miscellaneous sounds gradually disappeared, and everyone quieted down again, turning their attention back to Horne.

Looking at the man's one eye, Horne smiled with satisfaction.

Hmm, this kid has an eye for opportunity.

Clearing his throat, Horne still didn't look at the crowd, but instead looked obliquely upwards at the sky, as if no one else was there.

“Blessed are all who can see me and kneel on the ground!” Squeezing his vocal cords, Horne feigned an old, hoarse voice, “Because you will receive my words and convey my message, your past sins will vanish.”

Several newly awakened villagers even fainted again in excitement, and those kneeling on the ground were crying in suppressed voices.

Those who hadn't knelt were greatly changed, they didn't have time to doubt and hurriedly knelt down.

If it was fake, it wouldn't hurt anything, everyone was deceived.

If it was real, wouldn't it be a huge loss to miss out on ascending to the heavenly paradise just because they didn't kneel this time?

Even the knight master hesitated for a moment before kneeling down with a stern face.

Regardless of whether it was true or false, the attitude must be sufficient.

If he didn't kneel, regardless of whether the miracle was real or not, if someone reported him to the Archbishop for being “disrespectful to God” or “harboring disloyal intentions,” he would be finished.

After these words were spoken, everyone present knelt down.

You should know that besides “pilgrimage,” the locals of Thousand River Valley are most enthusiastic about buying indulgences, and they especially like to reflect on themselves.

This is because the ancestors of the Thousand River Valley people were blood slaves of the vampire nobles of the Flesh Court.

Therefore, in addition to the official title of “Riverlanders,” the Thousand River Valley people have another name: “The Unclean.”

They are accused of being inherently sinful.

A courtier of a Grand Duke once wrote a widely circulated joke that whenever the church court couldn't find a criminal, they would grab a Thousand River Valley person to take the blame.

Although the intention was to mock the inefficiency and corruption of the church court, it also showed the terrible regional discrimination and prejudice faced by the Thousand River Valley people.

But now, the merciful Holy Father actually pardoned their sins, what a great grace!

Standing in front of the crowd, Horne's gaze froze, his arms bent and extended, as if holding the moon in his embrace, and then suddenly retracted, his forearms crossed in a cross in front of his chest: “Oooooooh—Listen, you believers!”

Thunder rumbled in the clouds, and the strong wind blew Horne's hair around his ears.

In the eyes of the villagers, this was the heavens and earth cheering for his words.

“The old gods are dead, the new king shall rise, the stars are in alignment, and the Central Plains will be prosperous!”

“I, proclaim to you all, that demons are rampant today, and monsters are rampant. Those who believe in Missila must unite and wipe out the demons to avoid great disasters and tribulations!”

“Oooooooooooh——”

Rainwater poured into Horne's collar and mouth. The fine rain didn't prevent him from speaking, but it affected his voice, making it sound a little shrill and hoarse.

In such an atmosphere, the piercing voice seemed mysterious and soul-stirring.

Bouncing slightly in place, Horne spread his wings again, opening his arms.

“Listen, you all, now is a time of tribulation. I have sent my daughter Missila's adopted son, Horne, to descend to earth to lead you through the difficulties!” At this point, Horne's majestic gaze swept across, and no one dared to look directly at him.

“Do not doubt, with him, all difficulties will pass. After I leave, he will be my only eye on earth!”

“Only by resolving to overcome the difficult years together can you enter the Paradise Mountain—Aaaaaaaah wooooooh hoooooooh——”

The sound echoed between the mountains and the black pine forest, and even the sound of the rain was reduced at this moment.

Horne paused, but no one spoke; they were all respectfully listening to the “holy instruction.”

“My words end here——”

Forcefully waving his right arm, Horne took a deep breath and put on a kind expression: “Ascending to heaven——”

“Wooooooooh hoooooooh——”

As soon as he finished speaking, Horne immediately began to shake all over again, circling his arms in front of his chest like swimming, shaking for almost half a minute.

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ say ⊥ in ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

Like shaking off the last few drops after urinating, Horne stopped all movements.

Waiting for two seconds, adjusting his mentality, and switching roles, he opened his eyes again.

As if waking from a dream, Horne widened his eyes blankly: “This is the mortal world, I have returned to the mortal world!”

He first turned around and looked around, seemingly to confirm whether he had really returned to the mortal world, but in reality, he was determining an escape route.

After confirming, Horne raised his head and asked the people present: “My soul just went to meet my mother Missila, what happened here?”

No one dared to answer; everyone present focused their attention on Father Cosey.

Seeing everyone looking at him, Father Cosey sweated even more on his back. He was facing a huge problem—

Was this Holy Father's descent real or fake?

You should know that the knight master and the villagers could be deceived, after all, they were “protected” believers.

But if you, Cosey, a priest, were also deceived by a demon and established the demon's divine identity…

Tell me, are you an accomplice of the devil?

If it were a genuine monk who had received proper seminary education, he would have a thousand ways to test Horne's identity.

The most basic way would be to put a “Blessing of Light” on Horne and see if he smiled comfortably or screamed and struggled.

But Cosey's priesthood was bought, replacing the priesthood and monastic documents of another monk.

He couldn't tell; he really couldn't tell.

With a head full of paste, Cosey stood there stiffly.

Until the little monk next to him secretly poked his waist, he woke up as if from a dream.

“Teacher, it's time to speak.”

Casting a glance at Barnett with the corner of his eye, the knight master was staring at him with a cold light.

Cosey swallowed a mouthful of saliva and finally made a decision.

The local magistrate is better than the county magistrate; it's better to be “disrespectful to God” than to be a “devil worshiper.”

Lifting his foot, Cosey took a firm step towards Horne's direction, but the moment his foot landed, he felt something was wrong.

Although he didn't know what he had stepped on, it was definitely not normal ground.

The left foot, which should have stepped on the ground, suddenly slipped backwards. At this moment, his other foot was still raised in the air.

Like a falling penguin, Cosey waved his hands, trying to grab something, but he still couldn't stop the ground from rapidly approaching his knees.

“Crack!”

Father Cosey almost fainted from the impact of his knee hitting the ground.

Without even a moment to grieve for his knee, Cosey immediately tried to stop his forward momentum.

Otherwise, he would really kneel to Horne!

However, under the force of inertia and the slippery grass, he knelt down, and the momentum of his forward rush didn't decrease at all.

Supporting himself on the ground in front of him with his hands, his face was distorted.

Stop me!

Perhaps Cosey's prayer worked. When he was less than half a step away from Horne, he narrowly managed to stop.

Fortunately, there was still room for explanation.

Supporting himself on the ground, Cosey was about to get up.

Perhaps it was the sudden rise and fall of blood pressure, his eyes suddenly went black, and the posture of getting up was out of control.

The next second, Cosey, who still had a relieved smile on his face, inexplicably discovered that Horne's boots were getting closer and closer to him.

Thus, in the eyes of the crowd, they saw Father Cosey first take a step, and then the whole person knelt down on the ground in a hungry tiger pouncing posture.

The heavy, crisp sound looked painful.

But the devout Father Cosey seemed to be unaffected.

He stubbornly slid forward on his knees, accurately sliding to Horne's feet, and presented a kiss of the foot with a smiling face.

Ah! What a firm faith!

After a brief silence, the villagers present bowed down again, but this time they shouted:

“Praise the Holy Grandson!”