When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

After inspecting the treasury of the Papal States and getting a sense of his wealth, Horn felt even more cheerful.

As Misella's only son, what's wrong with taking some money from his mother?

Horn had asked Misella in his dreams.

Mother said it was okay.

Who dares to object?

This true angel investment will be Horn's first pot of gold for getting rich.

And the ink and printing press technology are Horn's money-sucking pumps.

Relying on ink and printing technology, with this start-up capital, he'll settle in Black Snake Bay for a few years to avoid the limelight.

He'll think of ways to remove the "stigmata" on his neck and see if he can get plastic surgery to change his face.

After all, this is a world with magic, so maybe it's possible.

The power of the church in this world is too great. In a world with extraordinary powers, rebelling is just asking for trouble.

Besides, rebelling with these people, with heads falling all over the place, is that fun?

Thinking of this, Horn remembered the Holy Grandson's Beheading Sword from before. Although that sword chopped off his head, it was quite handy to use.

Maybe that's the feeling of being connected by blood.

But after being hollowed out by Tomney, they didn't allow Horn to get any weapons, so the sword disappeared.

"Hey, you, go ask Tomney Remnant about it. See who saw my sword and have them send it back."

Previously, only those core members of Tomney's subordinates who had no roots were strangled by Horn.

Most of the rest were just disarmed, whipped five times, and sentenced to the dungeon for three days of reflection.

As for those who surrendered "early," they weren't even disarmed.

"Next is to go to the Pontifical Swiss Guard..." With a few child soldiers, Horn walked towards the monastery gate according to the schedule set in the morning.

But as soon as he stepped out of the gate, he was stopped.

"Grampwen wants to see me?" Horn stopped, stroking the papal scepter in his hand. "Wasn't it scheduled for lunchtime? Why is it suddenly earlier again?"

Looking at the sky, Horn decided to see them first.

Crossing the courtyard and flower garden, Horn arrived at a monk's house, which was certainly not as good as Horn's bedroom in the church, but much better than the grass shed or dungeon outside.

After all, Horn still needed these two to contact the Secret Party.

Nodding to the guards at the door, the guards placed three fingers across their chests in salute.

Knocking on the door, Horn didn't wait for a response and directly pushed the door open and walked in.

"Where's Chilves?" Horn glanced around the room, but didn't seem to see Chilves.

His eyes narrowed, and he gripped the scepter in his hand. Could it be that he had escaped?

Seeing that Horn's expression was not right, Grampwen quickly pointed to behind Horn with a bitter smile.

Horn turned around and saw Chilves in the fireplace in the corner behind him.

He was curled up with half of his body, burying his head in the cold pile of charcoal, his body rising and falling rhythmically.

"How could he be sleeping there?"

Grampwen helplessly pointed to the four-legged walnut bed in the corner: "He drank too much of his own homemade fake wine, used the bed as a chamber pot, and the fireplace as a bed..."

"Where's the chamber pot?"

"He used it to hold wine." Grampwen sighed. "His wine addiction flared up again last night. He banged his head against the wall, insisting on drinking.

I asked the guards to fetch it, but they fetched the wrong one, they fetched the fake wine."

Horn had inquired that Chilves' method of making fake wine was to specifically buy cheap wine heads and tails from Hedge Town, then add poisonous psychedelic mushrooms, package it, and sell it to the countryside.

Claiming it was high-end black wine, smuggled Western goods from the Flesh Court, which had to be drunk with wooden cups, very particular.

"Okay, Bossac, you find two people to wash Chilves up and help him sober up."

After ordering Bossac and the others to drag Chilves away to sober up, Horn rudely dragged over an oak chair and crossed his legs: "Since Chilves is like this, does that mean you came to me earlier?"

Grampwen sat on the side of the bed, accompanying a blind woman, and said with a flattering smile:

"Yes, Your Majesty, thank you for moving your holy presence to my place, understanding my wife's sick body. You are so kind, God will bless you, Your Majesty."

After flattering him, Grampwen quickly began to cut ties with Tomney: "Your Majesty, I hope you know that I have always trusted and loved you very much from the beginning, and have never doubted you.

Those things that made things difficult for you and disrespected you were all done by Tomney. I had to do it because of his power...

Alas, you don't know, my heart was bleeding at that time."

"Okay, okay." Horn quickly waved his hand. "I have something to do later. If I wanted to deal with you, you wouldn't be here. Say what you have to say quickly."

"Your Majesty, now that the fake Pope occupies a high position, he will definitely send troops to suppress us. As the only true grandson of the Holy Father, what should we do if something unexpected happens?"

Making a pitying and anxious appearance, Grampwen's lowered eyes glanced at Horn, whose expression remained unchanged.

And Horn had no expression, quietly looking at him.

"And I happen to know a group of righteous men. They may be rude in their words, but they are absolutely devout. If something unexpected happens, they will definitely be willing to protect you as the last spark of truth."

A smile finally appeared on Horn's face. It had to be said that this circus clown named Grampwen was indeed a smart person.

"Actually, cough cough, Tomney may have contacted them once before. If the timing is right, they should arrive tonight or tomorrow night."

"Oh?" Horn's eyes lit up, and his back straightened unconsciously.

"But I don't know their password. With the Secret Party's caution, once they don't connect, they will definitely leave quickly." Grampwen's smile was a little forced. "We have to notify them again. This round trip will probably take another five to seven days."

"Does it take that long?"

"After all, with this flood, many contact points have been flooded, so..."

"Okay, then." A little disappointed, Horn stood up and prepared to leave. "I will send someone to go with your people. Prepare, and find someone to leave this afternoon."

"Your Majesty, this is the issue I want to discuss." Grampwen calmed down. "You are also a patient of the witch disease. You know the sequelae and quasi-spell abilities, and my wife..."

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"Sequelae, what sequelae?" Horn interrupted Grampwen.

"You don't have sequelae?" Grampwen's eyes widened, as if he had heard something unbelievable.

"What sequelae do I have? I don't understand?" Horn also looked at Grampwen with great confusion.

Grampwen swallowed: "Witch disease is a lifelong disease, because it more or less brings sequelae, such as headaches, nosebleeds, limb convulsions, epilepsy, etc."

Horn was even more surprised than Grampwen: "Is there such a thing? I don't feel it. I'm in great health, and I eat well."

"Then haven't you felt anything unusual?"

Horn frowned and couldn't remember anything unusual after thinking for a long time.

If he had to say something, since he got the witch disease, not only his vision and hearing had improved, but his sleep quality was also surprisingly good, and he had even grown half an inch taller.

"That's impossible? You were infected, is it Ms. Jeanne's witch disease?"

"Yes, what's wrong?"

"Then have you ever unconsciously discharged electricity? Like when you're dreaming."

"Discharge electricity?" Horn was even more confused. "Anyway, I've never discharged when I'm awake.

If I discharged when I was asleep, Carrie would definitely say it, given her personality...

Wait, why would I discharge electricity?"

"People who survive infection with witch disease are familiars or even descendants of the witch. They inherit some of the witch's quasi-spell abilities, especially the first generation."

Grampwen was equally confused: "My wife, Dia, used to be the best acrobat in the circus, but she was infected by a witch with divination abilities.

She barely survived, but she went blind, became paralyzed from the waist down, and could never perform again.

After recovering from the witch disease, she gets terrible headaches every once in a while and needs to drink sedative potions to relieve them..."

"Explain that quasi-spell ability to me in detail, I still don't understand."

Grampwen and his wife looked at each other: "Your Majesty, quasi-spell ability is a degraded version of witch ability.

The first generation of witch familiars can use quasi-spell abilities without rituals or materials. They can use them directly.

This is a curse that accompanies the first generation of witch familiars for life. They will use it unconsciously, even in their sleep.

But the cost is the aggravation of the sequelae. Every time a quasi-spell ability is activated, it means a reduction in lifespan."

Speaking of this, Grampwen's voice gradually lowered, and the veins on his hands holding his knees bulged, tightly grasping the wrinkled fabric of his pants.

Reaching out, Dia gently stroked his back, revealing a gentle smile: "Fortunately, my ability does not harm others."

Is there such a thing? Horn fell into deep thought. Then why don't I have this situation?

Could it be because I'm a transmigrator?

Or, is Misella really protecting me?

Shaking his head, Horn shook off the distracting thoughts. Now is not the time to think about this: "So, what exactly do you want to say?"

The couple looked at each other, and finally Dia said in a low voice: "My quasi-spell ability is divination.

When divining, I can see what is happening in the present, only for a moment.

Last night, my ability activated unconsciously, and then I saw that the High Fort Archbishop's army had already set off, and their target is us."

ps I finally caught up before twelve o'clock