When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Holding the half-sword, standing in the increasingly violent rain, Horn quietly watched Jeanne.

He gripped the sword in his hand, feeling its weight.

The sword weighed about three pounds, with a pale 屮 character engraved on the guard, along with a line of Elven runes he couldn't understand.

This sword was barely enough to deal with wolves and wild dogs in the forest.

But against Jeanne, who seemed like Thor descended to earth, it was probably just a decoration.

Unless she stretched her neck out for him to chop.

Glancing at the villagers who were still cheering him on, the veins on Horn's forehead throbbed.

He really couldn't understand what these people were thinking.

Were the knight lords not to be trifled with, but the witches were?

A knight could oppress you to such an extent, while a witch required the encirclement of hundreds or thousands of knights. Couldn't they see the difference in power?

They were turning someone from a fellow villager into an enemy, and would only be satisfied when she went on a rampage and killed everyone?

Horn originally wanted to take the opportunity to escape, but after being shouted at by those villagers, he ended up exposing himself directly to Jeanne's sight.

Not to mention that Horn was insignificant in Jeanne's eyes to begin with, even if they really had some kind of relationship, would a berserk witch who didn't recognize her own family care?

Grumbling, Horn raised his longsword, firmly memorizing the faces of those who had shouted. You wait, you little bastards.

Unable to escape and unable to win, Horn pondered for a moment, then helplessly resorted to his signature move—appeasement.

He had to appease the villagers, appease the knights, and now he had to appease the witch.

He was practically a slave of three families.

How should he appease Jeanne? In the name of the Holy Father? Or by reasoning with her?

Looking directly into her eyes, Horn tentatively took a small step forward.

The crimson glow in Jeanne's eyes suddenly diminished slightly.

What was going on? A guess appeared in Horn's mind.

He took another step, and the lightning on Jeanne's body diminished by another half, as if avoiding him.

Could it be…

Taking a deep breath, Horn straightened his body and slowly walked towards Jeanne.

Seeing Horn walking towards her with a sword, Jeanne couldn't muster any strength.

She didn't know how to face Horn, the brother she once considered vulgar.

When old Galar died three years ago, when she needed someone to rely on the most, Horn insisted on 'escaping' to Highfort City, abandoning her alone in that empty cottage.

Just like when her biological father died when she was seven years old.

She thought the person who extended a helping hand for the second time was Andok, but in reality, it was a second Galar.

Horn didn't expose her naive fantasies about Andok. Among countless lies, only his lies were kind.

Looking at the young man walking forward with a sword in the rain, Jeanne's vision became blurry.

She realized for the first time that the vulgar and foolish boy was much smarter than she had imagined.

She realized for the first time that the honest and simple young man could actually show such a cruel and cold expression.

So indifferent, so distant, as if she were a stranger.

The longsword hit a rock, making a soft 'clang' sound.

The red color in Jeanne's eyes fluctuated violently, and the electric arcs on her body jumped even more frequently.

I'm not a witch!

She screamed and defended herself subconsciously, desperately hoping that she really wasn't.

The half-sword dragged along the ground, leaving a long groove in the soft dirt.

I'm not a witch!

Jeanne opened her arms, and electric light surged, scorching the bushes, grass, and trees beside her, and black smoke billowed, but none of it fell on Horn.

Horn's footsteps paused for a moment, but he continued to move forward firmly.

I'm not a witch.

Sniffing constantly, her lips were tightly pursed, and the corners of Jeanne's mouth occasionally trembled downwards, but she forcibly raised them again.

Horn silently stepped forward until only half a step remained.

His gray eyes looked down at Jeanne's face.

I'm not a witch.

Choking, Jeanne closed her eyes in despair and relief, perhaps this was what she deserved?

The electric light that could never be extinguished suddenly disappeared completely at this moment.

But after a moment, the expected touch of the cold blade did not come. Instead, something sticky touched her body.

It was a chest soaked in rain, under a thin shirt against her skin.

She pressed her ear against that thin chest, and could hear the heart beating constantly, warm and steaming.

Jeanne subconsciously reached out and hugged Horn's waist.

I believe you, Jeanne, you are not a witch.

The murmur in her ear was filled with moist water vapor, and Jeanne's nose felt sore. The tears that had been swirling in her eyes finally fell.

The golden light on her black hair suddenly dissipated, and Jeanne tightly clasped Horn's waist, her body trembling constantly.

Pressing her ear tightly against Horn's chest, this was the warmest and most powerful heartbeat she had ever heard in her life.

At this moment, Horn, who was holding Jeanne, felt his heart pounding, almost jumping out of his throat.

Holding a ticking time bomb, who wouldn't be afraid?

In fact, there was a moment when Jeanne dissipated all the electric light, and he really wanted to swing the sword down.

But at that moment, Horn noticed something was wrong.

Earlier, when the Holy Father possessed him, everyone thought that Jeanne had already received the divine revelation, but they just didn't believe it, so Horn had the Holy Father's possession.

In other words, Horn and Jeanne were highly bound together.

If Horn was holy, then Jeanne was holy.

If Jeanne was holy, then Horn could be holy.

If he killed Jeanne, it would be equivalent to confirming Jeanne's identity as a witch.

When the villagers reacted, they would find that witches must be evil, then the knight killed by the witch must be righteous, then wouldn't Horn, whom the knight wanted to kill, be evil?

Everyone has eyes and can see that Jeanne killed the knight to save Horn. Would a devil help a holy person?

Obviously not.

In this way, either the knight was evil and Horn and Jeanne were holy, or Horn and Jeanne were evil and the knight was holy.

At that time, even the stupidest villagers would hesitate, could it be that Horn was actually a devil? Was his killing Jeanne an internal conflict among devils?

He could only keep her. Although Horn was full of aversion to similar experiences, he had no choice but to grin and bear it in the current situation, and even had to maintain a good relationship with her.

But if he decided to keep her, he had to clear her name, so the paradox of the holy-demon dichotomy jumped out again.

Helplessly and painfully closing his eyes, when he opened them again, Horn turned his body to face the bewildered crowd.

His eyes were firm, he gripped the hilt of his sword, and pointed the tip of the sword at the still twitching corpse of Barnett.

Taking a deep breath, he shouted sharply:

This is a devil!

Dark clouds covered all the light, and only the climbing lightning could occasionally illuminate people's confused faces.

Under a series of reversals, most of the villagers were already dizzy and their brains were buzzing. They were stunned and completely confused.

Are you still not clear? This Knight Barnett is a devil in disguise, otherwise why would he kill me?

Showing the qualities of a professional swindler, Horn shook his head and sighed pretentiously, "Mom told me a long time ago, I just wanted to give him a chance to repent. Did I move even a bit when he swung his sword?

So Jeanne's action was under Messilah's instruction, for the sake of the 'eradication of demons' mentioned by the Holy Father!"

Silence fell on the hill, things had developed too much and too quickly in a short period of time, and they were still digesting it.

A very small number of smart people had already discovered the problem. They glanced at Horn and Jeanne clinging together, and their palms began to sweat.

So that's how it is." Wiping the sweat from his palms on his clothes, one-eyed Jeschka slapped his forehead, looking like he had suddenly realized. He turned his head and said to the crowd behind him, "Think about it carefully, the Holy Grandson was still smiling when the sword was on him just now."

"As expected of the Holy Grandson, he predicted it easily."

"Damn it, so Lord Barnett was a devil. No wonder the taxes are getting heavier every year!"

Under the lead of those seven or eight vagrants, the rest of the villagers agreed with Horn's statement and even began to scold the dead Barnett.

At this moment, Horn also breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone really questioned him, he would have to send Jeanne to do something a little bloody.

But, but wasn't she using demonic magic just now?" A childish voice came.

Following the voice, it was a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy, wearing the robe of an apprentice monk.

Horn remembered that it was Kosay's nephew, a professional monk from a monastery, considered Kosay's heir.

What demonic magic? That's divine magic given by Messilah!" Horn frowned and glared at the young man. "What's your purpose in saying this? Who ordered you to do this? What's your motive? Did Messilah allow you to say this?"

The young monk opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Kosay snatched him away, covered his mouth, and dragged him into the crowd.

Barnett is a devil, and a witch is a servant of the devil. How could she kill a devil? It's more likely the other way around. Besides, she had previously received the Holy Father's instructions in a dream. Can a witch comprehend the Holy Father's instructions?

Without waiting for them to answer, Horn asked and answered himself in a thunderous voice: "No!"

A thunderclap suddenly sounded in the sky, and the stronger wind slammed the rain against Horn's thin linen shirt, clinging to his body.

You people, don't listen to the wind and take it as rain. There are no witches!

Putting his arm around Jeanne's slender and firm waist, turning sideways, showing her to everyone.

Horn took a deep breath and said in an extremely solemn voice: "This is a saint, a repentant saint recognized by the Holy Father, the Holy Tree, and the Holy Lord!"