When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Using a shovel, Horn dug a pit on the hillside, wiping sweat from his brow as he drank his wine.

Although Prince Condé had already erected a grave for Danji, Horn felt that this probably wasn't what Danji would have wanted.

Horn pulled a spoon from his pocket: "This was originally my sacred relic, but now it's become yours."

Tossing the spoon into the pit, Horn shoveled the dirt back in.

He planted the cedarwood tombstone in front of the mound, patted the dirt off his hands, took two steps back, and nodded in satisfaction.

Sitting down on the spot, Horn took another sip of wine, the mead tasting sweet and bitter.

As far as everyone else was concerned, Danji had either missed the event or been injured and taken away by the Church.

Who besides us few would know of his bravery?

He died protecting these villagers, but Horn couldn't tell them.

Those villagers didn't even know Danji had protected them.

Danji had lived a life of failure and incompetence, but Horn couldn't speak of his most heroic moment.

No one knew, only Horn and a few others knew.

But if he told the truth, the lie of the Knight Competition would be exposed.

If the common people realized they were truly fighting against the Church, could they still unite and move forward wholeheartedly?

Then what meaning would Danji's death have?

Horn's heart pounded, perhaps from drinking too much, but he really couldn't breathe.

Holding his wine, he walked to Danji's grave and poured the wine in front of the wooden marker.

After a long silence, he slowly began to speak:

"Brother Danji, let me be honest with you, we both know what kind of Papal State this is."

"To put it bluntly, it's just a facade, a facade I use to deceive people."

"You all told me to create a fair country without knights, but I never intended to actually create this Papal State."

"I'm confident, but I'm also ordinary. I believe I can achieve great things, but not to that extent."

"You overestimated me."

"There is no Papal State, and there is no 'our country.'"

"Once this journey is over, I will leave Thousand River Valley."

"I lied to them, saying that Mother saw you in heaven and that your glory has been acknowledged."

"But that's a lie. I am neither a descendant of Messiah nor a chosen Pope. I am just, just..."

"I'm not like you, I'm just a liar."

"Maybe others don't know, maybe no one knows, but I know, and I can remember that you are a true hero."

The clouds in the night sky obscured all light, and Danji's tombstone did not answer Horn's words.

It seemed as if everything was shrouded in darkness, with only the candlestick in Horn's hand emitting a soft light, enveloping them both.

"Only I know..."

Horn murmured, his head hanging low, as if in a dream.

If the Papal State is a lie, then in other words, Danji's merits will almost never be recognized.

In everyone's eyes, he is still the knight who charged into the waterwheel.

Horn raised his head.

Even though the moon was hidden by dark clouds, the moonlight on the tombstone seemed to be burning.

Supporting himself on his knees, he stood up.

He walked down the hill, faster and faster, so fast that he didn't even bother to pick up his windproof cloak that had been blown away.

He threw away the candlestick and ran, sliding directly down the hillside.

He ran through the camp's fence, over the ground's ditch, and into Sisi's tent.

"Sisi, where's my bow?"

"Still adjusting..."

Snatching the large bow from Sisi's hands, he slung it over his back, grabbed a short spear, ran out of the camp, and leaped onto a nag.

The horse's hooves kicked up mud, jostling Horn, who was hunched over its back.

Horn hadn't ridden a horse much, so he could only clumsily hug the horse's neck, galloping wildly towards the western hillside.

The night was thick, and he couldn't see anything, only able to discern the general direction.

The clumsy horse braked suddenly, and Horn fell directly off its back.

His forehead scraped against the ground, leaving a bloody mark, and his knees and elbows were bruised.

But Horn didn't stop; he staggered to his feet and tried to run.

Faster, run faster.

As if someone was urging him, Horn ran wildly, regardless of what was in front of him.

The world was a withered black color, and the ground was like the back of a giant beast, the tangled fluff and bristles rubbing against his ankles.

Horn was still running, climbing up the hillside, then accidentally sliding down. His clothes and knees were torn, but he was still running.

He didn't dare to stop.

Traveling across the hillside, Horn only saw bushes and branches receding behind him.

On all fours, desperately grabbing at vines, Horn dug his fingers into the dirt and finally climbed up the hillside.

He scrambled to the edge of the cliff.

For Horn, it was just a small hillside, but for the people below the cliff, it was towering.

The night was as dark as thick fog, but he could still see a corner of the tent erected.

Below the cliff, at the bottom of the valley, floated a few faint lights, Prince Condé's camp.

"Condé!!!"

Horn roared towards the valley.

"Condé!!!"

"Condé, you goat-fucking bastard!"

"You listen to me!"

The farmer with the big bow stood on the high cliff.

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

"One day, I will become the biggest big shot in this land!"

The farmer shouted hoarsely, covered in mud and grass, his fingernails filled with dirt.

And in the camp at the foot of the distant mountain, a few lights lit up.

"One day, I will let everyone know that Danji was a fearless hero!"

"One day, I will offer your head at Danji's grave!"

"Even if you hide at the ends of the earth, I will find you. I swear, even if you die, I will dig you up!"

Drawing the two-meter short spear he had grabbed from the ground, Horn held both ends and slammed it against his knee, trying to break it.

Unfortunately, he tried two or three times, but other than bruising his knee, it had no effect.

He had to jam one end of the short spear into a crack in the rock and kicked it hard several times before he broke it.

Panting heavily, he limped to the edge of the cliff and placed half of the short spear on the large bow that was half his height.

"This arrow is just interest!"

"I swear!"

When Horn released the string, the previously softened mountain copper instantly returned to its hardness.

The bowstring vibrated, and the resulting wind even stirred up a small vortex in the air. He could even hear the short spear whistling.

As soon as he let go, the short spear disappeared from Horn's sight.

Shooting an arrow for the first time, Horn couldn't even control where it went.

Looking at the heavy night, the sound of the arrow disappearing seemed to still be echoing.

The valley was empty, as if Horn hadn't said anything just now.

And the lights that had lit up earlier gradually went out again.

"Hehehe hahaha."

The dizziness after drawing the bow came over him, and Horn sat down on the ground with his legs apart, as if he had sobered up, laughing self-deprecatingly.

What's the use?

But this is all I can do.

Don't worry, without the so-called Papal State, I can still restore your honor after I succeed.

Slinging the big bow over his back, Horn grimaced and limped slowly down the mountain.

…………

"Your Highness, Your Highness!"

Prince Condé shielded the light with his hand and squinted: "What is it again? Is it the one who called my fiefdom by my name?"

Standing behind two soldiers, a groom trembled all over, his teeth chattering: "You, you... you..."

Sitting up, Prince Condé pushed aside the two soldiers and stood in front of the groom, looking down: "What is it?"

"Your horse is dead."

When Prince Condé arrived at the stable, his dragon-blooded horse was already lying on its side, dying.

He slowly walked forward and held the dragon-blooded horse's head with trembling hands.

The dragon-blooded horse could only let out a dying whimper.

Half a short spear had pierced through its spine and abdomen from its anus, cutting open its belly, and undigested Black William's flesh and organs were flowing out of the wound.

"What happened?" Prince Condé's voice trembled along with his hands.

"Your horse was shot to death by a short spear..."

"I know," Prince Condé asked through gritted teeth, "I mean, where did the short spear come from? Is someone firing a ballista from the cliff?"

"No, no, I don't know. We clearly arranged everything well, your horse was sleeping soundly, and the short spear suddenly fell from the sky. I didn't have time to react. By the time we found out..."

"Ah—"

An iron hand landed on the groom's face with afterimages.

The groom's head turned two and a half times on his neck before stopping. He took a step forward, then a step back, and fell heavily to the ground.

ps has reached its limit. I'll see if I can write another chapter after I finish eating.