When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

"Splatter—"

Old Ruffer's leather military boots crushed a clump of damp thistle, the purple flower head making a subtle cracking sound under his boot.

He took off his tricorn hat, beads of sweat from the heat and humid air on his head rolling down his white-haired temples into the collar of his linen shirt.

The May rains on the Gravel Plains scattered across the tawny grassland, and a careless step could land you in a pool of mud.

Standing on the hillside, Old Ruffer could see black dots slowly moving in the waist-high golden silk grass.

Those were shepherds and their sheep, chewing on the tawny golden silk grass with blank expressions.

However, because they had just been sheared, most of the sheep only had a short layer of wool covering their bodies, making this relatively cool weather the most comfortable time for them.

The Gravel Plains were quite cool compared to the Thousand River Valley.

Except for winter, the difference between the lowest and highest temperatures in spring, summer, and autumn was just the difference between putting on and taking off a shepherd's vest.

The Kushites had originally planned to migrate here to continue their pastoral life.

Unfortunately, the Elven Empire at the time adhered to the principle that if you, as a foreign race, were good at riding horses and herding sheep, then you would not be allowed to ride horses and herd sheep, so the Kushites were left in the Thousand River Valley.

The Norn people, originally from the Thorn Garden hinterland, were skilled in farming and forging, so they were driven by the Elven Empire to the Gravel Plains to herd sheep.

Damp, sticky footsteps came from behind, and Old Ruffer turned his head to see the scribe Algernon, sent by Commander Beser, walking slowly.

This young man from an accounting family in Hotham County had pale skin, as if he had never been in the sun, and his cuffs were stained with ink.

He poked at the oilskin-covered booklet in his hand with a quill: "Are you sure this is the place?"

Old Ruffer replied definitively, "It's here."

"How are you so sure it's here? Do you understand astrology?"

Old Ruffer looked at the earnest scribe, momentarily speechless.

What did he care if it was that village or not? As long as he brought back nine strong men to fill the missing laborers, wouldn't that be enough?

Old Ruffer grabbed Kaler, who was passing by, and pulled him over: "Here, this is the knight's son, he understands astrology."

Algernon sized up the young punk, frowning, as he didn't look like he knew anything about astrology.

Before Algernon could question him, an agile old man darted out from among the grazing shepherds.

The skinny old man climbed up the hillside, breaking rocks, almost bending his waist ninety degrees.

"What brings you gentlemen here?" While bowing, his eyes scanned the military sabers at the waists and the armor on the bodies of the dozen or so men.

Most of these soldiers who could travel so far in armor possessed supernatural powers!

The old man's heart sank to the bottom.

Old Ruffer stepped forward: "By order of Autocrat Molliati, we are conscripting nine laborers. How many able-bodied men are in your village... be honest, don't force me to go down and count myself."

The old man trembled, but still said with a bitter face: "Eighteen, seven who can draw a bow, and the rest are mostly too old to hold a lamb."

"Oh, that's perfect." Old Ruffer pointed his saber at the village in the distance, "Lead the way, what's your name?"

"No name, everyone calls me Old Shepherd."

The group bypassed the back of the hillside covered with wormwood, and could see a shepherd boy three hundred paces away, using a sling to drive the sheep, his coarse wool cloak billowing in the wind.

The shepherd village was even more dilapidated than Old Ruffer had imagined.

The rammed earth walls were eroded by rain into gullies, and the rusted bronze bell hung on a rotten wooden frame, barely making a sound.

Old Shepherd vigorously knocked on the bronze bell with a sheep bone, and soon, the people in the village gathered in the central drying ground.

"We are the troops of His Excellency the Autocrat, here because Duke Wyvern illegally seized the title. You are all subjects of Duke Wyvern and should fight for the true Duke Wyvern."

Algernon's passionate declaration did not move the shepherds, who either looked at the soldiers in front of them numbly or vigilantly.

Old Ruffer walked to Algernon's side and raised the money bag in his hand: "One denarius per day, three denarii for settlement, paid now."

As soon as Old Ruffer finished speaking, a young man with a bow on his back kicked his wife over amidst her wailing resistance and came to Old Ruffer.

Two silver coins fell into the hands of his dirt-covered wife, and one silver coin fell into the hands of Old Shepherd.

The young man silently came to the scribe and began to register his name.

After about three people, no one took the initiative to step forward, and Old Shepherd had to start calling names, each name met with a wail of grief.

"No, you can't do this, my husband went to repair the dam last year and hasn't returned yet, and now you want my child!"

"Sir, please have mercy."

"What are you running for? Don't run, the knight is watching!"

His arm numbly extended, Old Ruffer stuffed the warm silver coins one by one into cold hands.

When he saw the dirt-covered child hugging his father's leg and refusing to let go, the fingers handing out the silver coins twitched.

For some reason, the shadow of Little Ruffer suddenly flashed before his eyes.

This world is indeed not as beautiful as the Garden of Eden, but the Holy Grandson wants to create a Garden of Eden on earth, is that really possible?

The conscription lasted for more than an hour, until the names on the roster were smudged with ink in the damp air.

Old Ruffer turned to look in the direction he had come from, and just happened to see smoke rising beside the Iron Rust River.

The black smoke pierced straight into the purplish-red sky, a signal from the legion to return.

Old Ruffer touched the money bag at his waist, the twenty-seven denarii bag now empty, behind him were nine sorrowful shepherds.

"Don't look so glum," Old Ruffer comforted them, walking beside the conscripts, "You're lucky, you get food and money.

It's not just nobles who can become officers here, look at me, I've become a squad leader."

Saying that, Old Ruffer untied the wine bag at his waist and handed the acorn wine to the conscripts.

The conscripts looked at each other, each taking a sip of wine, their faces turning slightly red.

Perhaps the alcohol dispelled the fear, and their trembling bodies stabilized slightly.

However, they were still skeptical about Old Ruffer's words.

Getting paid was real, but becoming an officer was not so certain.

Not to mention, the thought of themselves becoming officers made many shepherds laugh ridiculously.

Having comforted the new conscripts, Old Ruffer was finally able to lead the group back to camp.

Weaving through the golden silk grass, their soles squeezed through the muddy ground.

Each time they lifted their legs, they could feel the mud pulling at the soles of their feet, stretching like cheese.

Looking at the congealed, hardened mud on his trouser legs, Old Ruffer smiled bitterly.

Five days ago, he had escorted the routed soldiers back to Feldheim, and before he had even had time to eat dinner, he was called away by the city guard.

In less than five minutes, he was promoted to a formal squad leader, but the price was that he was assigned to the new infantry regiment under Beser, a junior officer under Molliati.

And his first task was to follow Beser to transport a newly arrived 12-pound Griffin cannon, four 3-pound Falcon cannons originally from Bear's Fort, and a batch of supplies recruited from Feldheim to Radan Fort.

Although his salary had increased by ten denarii, Old Ruffer still found it difficult to dispel the sorrow in his heart.

This was a change from the garrison to the field army!

Unlike Kaler, he was just a peasant soldier, was he really going to fight the knights of the Gravel Plains?

He was going to fight knights, really?

This sentiment was prevalent in the army, they were not well-trained Salvation Army soldiers, nor did they have as many holy riflemen as the Salvation Army.

A five-hundred-man infantry regiment would be lucky to have a hundred holy riflemen.

But this sentiment could not be revealed to the conscripts, let alone to Beser and other middle and upper-level officers.

Beser was not greedy for salaries, but he was really ruthless when it came to beating and scolding.

Old Ruffer led the newly recruited conscripts through knee-deep mud, across fallen trees, and came to the newly built camp.

The carts were randomly arranged in a line on the muddy grass, with a stream of people coming and going on both sides.

The holy riflemen from Langsand County, holding their springalds, sat by the fire, peacefully brewing blue pulp coffee.

Old Ruffer couldn't help but show an envious expression, these favored by the Holy were the elite, Commander Beser's darlings.

Many of the hard and tiring jobs had to be done by Old Ruffer and his men, while these people could comfortably sit by the fire and enjoy themselves.

After handing over the conscripts to the quartermaster, Old Ruffer led Algernon towards the river, he had to report to Commander Beser.

Before they could get close, they heard a roar.

"What time is it, and the carts haven't been fixed yet?"

"Lord Beser, the wheel rim and axle are broken, we have to wait for the tools to be brought from behind..."

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"How long will that take? I don't care about this or that, they must be repaired before the moon rises."

The young infantry commander waved his whip, raging beside the carts.

The quartermaster in charge of engineering lowered his head woodenly and helplessly, letting the spittle land on his head.

In front of them, eight carts were stuck in the mud, the packhorses foaming at the mouth, futilely pawing at the ground with their hooves.

Dozens of soldiers surrounded the carts, cursing and using wooden levers to pry the wheels.

The tarpaulin covers were blown up by the wind, and Old Ruffer could clearly see the springald cannons pulled from Bear's Fort under the tarpaulins.

They were as heavy as tombstones.

Normally, with the weight of the springald cannons, this situation would not have occurred.

But Beser was too unlucky, he just happened to encounter a heavy rain, the ground was too soft, causing the carts to get stuck in the mud.

"Lord Beser..."

"Speak!" Beser said succinctly.

"The nine laborers have all been conscripted, costing a total of twenty-seven denarii, now assigned to the quartermaster..."

"Don't tell me so much useless information," Beser's tone softened slightly, "Anyone with any strength, come over and lift the carts, this damn Griffin cannon, I don't know if we'll make it in time..."

Looking at the carts stuck in the mud, Old Ruffer couldn't help but frown.

Originally, they were scheduled to cross the shallow river beach by noon tomorrow, but this rain disrupted all the rhythm.

If they were delayed, the water level would rise, and the original shallow beach would most likely be impassable.

That's why Beser was so anxious to order the soldiers to lift the carts and move forward as soon as possible.

With Old Ruffer's intuition from so many years as a hunter, he inexplicably felt that even if the carts were repaired, it would be too late.

Look at the moisture on the tricorn hat, such humid air coupled with the cold wind seeping out of Roaring Corridor, there would probably be another rain tomorrow.

But Old Ruffer was wrong.

Because before midnight, the rain came crashing down.

The next morning, Old Ruffer, wearing a rain cloak, could see the water level rising even with the naked eye.

When the convoy came to the stream where they were scheduled to cross, Old Ruffer lowered his head, not looking at Beser's livid face.

But he could hear the sound of rushing water.

Lifting the hood of his cloak that covered his eyes, Old Ruffer couldn't help but sigh "tsk tsk".

Oak branches washed down from the upstream were tangled with broken fishing nets, appearing and disappearing in the turbid yellow whirlpool.

The once crystal-clear stream, like a yellow python, passed through the eyes of everyone.

The rain pattered on the tarpaulin, and the mood of Beser and the other officers became heavier and heavier.

Beser tapped his long military boots with his riding crop, and Old Ruffer could hear his suppressed irritability: "Someone, go see how deep the water is?"

Before long, a wet man returned to Beser: "Commander, those who are good at swimming can cross, those who are not good at swimming will have difficulty, not to mention driving the carts."

"Damn it!" Beser vented by punching his thigh.

This was the first time he had led an army independently, how could he encounter such a thing?

Why did it have to rain at this time, causing the water level to rise so quickly? He couldn't just sheepishly return to Feldheim, could he?

The rain soaked Beser's cloak, feeling heavier than armor on his body.

"Go ask the nearby shepherds if there are other ways to cross the river," Beser asked the surrounding centurions.

Old Ruffer thought for a moment and raised his hand: "Commander, I asked before, there is a stone bridge a little way northeast along the Iron Rust River."

Beser stretched his neck and glared: "You knew there was a stone bridge and you didn't say so earlier?"

Old Ruffer hesitated: "Commander, going northeast is a sloping road, and it will enter the occupied territory of the Gravel Plains army."

"Stop talking nonsense," Beser shook his head, "There are no outposts on the border, only rangers, they can't stop us at all.

Whether they attack from the Salt Flats to here, or to the stone bridge, it's just a matter of time, the risk is the same."

After speaking, he looked at the five centurions and the accompanying chaplain on the left and right: "What do you think?"

To the disappointment of most, the officer corps decided to continue north.

They could not return the way they came, but continued to march north along the river.

Cursing Beser in his heart as a cruel villain, the soldiers had no choice but to push the carts north again.

But this time, they were unexpectedly smooth, and arrived at the stone bridge a day later.

The stone bridge spanned the most turbulent section of the Iron Rust River, and the moss-covered bridge piers were covered with cracks.

As the first carriage rolled over the bridge, Old Raffer distinctly heard the crisp sound of gravel falling into the water.

Carriage after carriage passed over the stone bridge, the drivers flicking their short whips to lash the horses' rumps.

When the iron-rimmed wheels rolled over the bluestone slab seams, they actually emitted a friction sound somewhat like an animal's whimper.

Following behind the carriages, Old Raffer suddenly felt a tug on his sleeve.

Following the direction Kalle was pointing, he first widened his eyes, then quickly stepped forward to feel around.

It was half a piece of dark red horse manure, congealed for a long time, with not much odor, not like it was freshly deposited, but not too old either.

Had cavalry passed by here before?

"We need to report this to Lord Besther," Old Raffer said seriously to Kalle, but Kalle seemed to be daydreaming.

"Did you hear that?" Kalle suddenly pressed his head to the ground.

Old Raffer's expression became serious: "Hear what?"

Subconsciously, he followed suit and listened intently, and immediately heard muffled thunder coming from behind the clouds... no, not muffled thunder... it was—

"The sound of hooves, it's the sound of hooves!" Kalle jumped up from the ground, shouting to the surroundings.