When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

In the center of the Gulag Monastery's courtyard stood an electric arc furnace, taller than a man.

The arc furnace was cylindrical, with a square box on one side and an iron outlet, as thick as a wrist, at the bottom of the box.

Made from mud bricks and salt earth, the arc furnace was coated with a layer of mortar on the outside.

Unlike in Horn's homeland, where building an iron-smelting blast furnace required unlocking the technologies of coke, air blowing, refractory bricks, and even some engineering mechanics, here, with Jeanne's lightning iron-smelting technique, a simple blast furnace was enough to produce good iron.

Beside the arc furnace were baskets filled with collected ironware, some rusted and some intact.

Several burly villagers swung sledgehammers, smashing the ironware into iron pieces for easy smelting.

After all, the Gulag Monastery was neither a blacksmith shop nor a castle, so naturally, there weren't many iron ores or iron ingots in the warehouse.

Therefore, Horn's idea was to make use of waste, forging weapons from farm tools and everyday iron products.

Due to the presence of rust and impurities, the efficiency of re-forging ironware using wet smelting was very low, but for Jeanne, who could directly melt iron with lightning, it was not a problem.

As baskets of iron pieces were poured into the arc furnace, Jeanne gripped the oak poles extending from inside the furnace with both hands.

A bolt of electricity suddenly flashed through the air, and in the next second, Jeanne's hair floated up, the dazzling golden light dyeing her hair gold.

Sparks the size of sand grains flashed where her hands met the oak, drawing lightning-like black lines on the poles as they advanced.

"Zzzzz--"

The sound of electricity grew louder, and the hair and body hair of those standing near the arc furnace began to stand on end, startling them into retreating far away.

The chimney of the arc furnace spewed not black smoke, but blue lightning. Amidst the sound of electricity, the sounds of molten iron exploding and splashing became clearer.

When sweat covered Jeanne's forehead, molten red iron slowly flowed out along the iron outlet.

The molten iron flowed from the iron outlet into another stone tank, where two blacksmith apprentices stirred the molten iron with wooden sticks.

As the molten iron flowed from the stone tank into the mud molds, it formed iron ingots and cast spearheads.

Picking up a cooled cast spearhead, Horn flicked it with his finger, producing a crisp sound.

Although this type of cast iron spear could be smelted quickly, with enough spearheads cast in three days to arm a hundred people, the quality was still too poor, and the castings were very brittle. Each spearhead could only be used about ten times before breaking.

But it was enough for the line-filling babies to hold the line, after all, they were dealing with serf soldiers.

They might still be in the Stone Age, which would definitely be a dimensionality reduction strike.

The pig iron ingots were used to forge fine weapons for the Papal Guard, as they had to face the Night Watchmen.

"Your Excellency."

Just as Horn was standing by the arc furnace thinking, he heard Jeschke's voice.

"Your Excellency, the conscription is complete. After removing the old, weak, disabled, and only sons, we have recruited a total of 120 new soldiers."

Dragging Jeschke to sit by the flowerbed, Horn listened to Jeschke's report while monitoring the training of the child soldiers.

"Your Highness, according to Ms. Diya, the Church should have dispatched about two hundred people to, cough, compete with us.

Of these two hundred people, I estimate that armored soldiers will not exceed three teams, which is 36 people at most, and Night Watchmen will be at most five teams, which is 60 people.

As for the rest, I estimate they are mainly serf soldiers composed of vagrants and land-bound peasants.

If the flood hadn't come, nearby knights would have come to help and incidentally farm for war merits.

But now that roads are blocked, bridges are damaged, and famine is everywhere, I estimate those knight lords are not in the mood.

Therefore, conservatively, we will face 36 armored soldiers, 60 Night Watchmen, and 100 serf soldiers."

Listening to Jeschke's words, Horn nodded repeatedly. He had to admit that he was indeed a professional mercenary.

But no matter how hard Jeschke tried to sugarcoat it, Horn understood in his heart.

According to Jeschke, the Papal Guard could draw out fifty relatively elite veteran Papal Guards.

These elite guards were definitely no match for the soldiers, and would collapse with a single charge.

They were also no match for the Night Watchmen, and could at most guarantee defense and counterattack, unable to take the initiative to attack.

As for the 120 new soldiers, it would be difficult to deal with the Night Watchmen, and they could at most fight the serf soldiers.

Their only advantage was that they had Danji, a fourth-stage breathing technique knight, and Jeanne, a witch.

These two were basically slaughtering serf soldiers and Night Watchmen, but it was somewhat difficult to deal with groups of armored soldiers.

Originally, Jeanne's supernatural ability was very heaven-defying, but unfortunately, iron in this world did not conduct electricity, which greatly reduced its power.

"We only have five days," Horn held out five fingers. "In these five days, I need you to quickly train an army.

As for how to quickly train one, I will write a charter for you later, and then we will discuss it together to see if there is any feasibility."

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"Yes, Your Excellency." Jeschke stood up and was about to leave, but Horn pressed down on his shoulder.

"Wait a moment, I have something else to tell you."

Jeschke quickly sat upright.

"You usually manage the Papal Guard and an entire century, and now you have to train a new army. Isn't the burden on your shoulders too heavy?"

"Not heavy, not heavy."

"Jeschke, you are different from others. Don't waste your time on civil administration. You have a lot of things to do, so you must focus your main energy on military affairs."

"Your meaning is?"

"The positions of centurion and Papal Guard captain are temporarily removed.

The position of centurion will be concurrently held by Archbishop Madran, and the position of Guard captain will be concurrently held by me. You yourself will serve as the commander of the new army."

Jeschke had expected this day to come.

After all, according to the original setup, he was in charge of the military, the people, and the Imperial Guard, and even trained a new army at the small station.

Further, it was estimated that it would be "the centurion becoming pope" and "Jeschke, the sovereign scepter."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Jeschke immediately got up and saluted. Anyway, as long as it wasn't Busak taking over his class, he could accept it.

"There's also one point, what should we call this new army of ours?"

"I have a suggestion." Smiling, Horn heavily inserted the cast iron spear into the trunk of the fir tree next to him. "Let them decide for themselves."

"Decide for themselves?" Jeschke was a little puzzled. "Your meaning is, let them think of a name themselves?"

"Yes." Pulling the iron spear out of the tree trunk, Horn played with it in his hand. "When people decide on something themselves, they will have a sense of identity with that thing.

When a group of people decides together, they will feel that I am the creator and founder, so they will have a sense of belonging."

"Okay, I understand, Your Excellency."

Jeschke nodded. He pondered for a moment, and then asked: "Your Excellency, I have a question. From your point of view, can Saintess really hold those armored soldiers back?"

"This is also what I'm thinking about." Horn rubbed the stubble on his chin with his fingers. "Hiss, I remembered an expert in this area, maybe he can know how to measure the combat power of a witch."