When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

It was the morning of October 6th, 1444 in the Imperial Calendar, 440 miles away from Jeanne d'Arc Fortress.

The sharp whistle sounded in the campsite. It was already time for morning prayers, and according to the itinerary, the vast populace of the Papal States was supposed to be getting up at this time.

The sun peeked out, and milky white smoke rose from under the food stalls, reaching towards the sky.

The elders of the Papal States walked out of their grass sheds, their faces tense, trying to maintain their dignity, blowing whistles to order the fifty or sixty citizens under their command to get up.

Soldiers in black cloaks emerged from the camps, and villagers in various clothes also came out of the grass sheds.

Shivering, they formed several rows in the cold air, and led by the elders, walked towards the food stalls.

It was another new day.

Morning prayers, feeding the horses, singing, and breakfast.

Everything proceeded in an orderly manner, almost becoming a mechanical routine.

Most of the villagers had somewhat adapted to this kind of life that didn't require too much thought.

There were no troublemaking local bullies, no tax-collecting noble priests, and no need to worry about what to do tomorrow.

As long as ten households listened to a hundred households, and a hundred households listened to the Pope, and they worked honestly, they could receive rewards and promotions.

At this moment, the power center of the entire Great Papal State, the great Holy Grandson, the Eye of God, the Chosen Pope, the Grand Marshal, and the First Champion of the Special Knights' Tournament—His Excellency Horn—was sitting in a carriage, sniffling and eating dry biscuits.

His thigh was wrapped in herbs, and he was even grimacing as he plucked the stubble on his chin.

“Your Excellency, Holy Grandson, Your Excellency, Holy Grandson.” A public farmer squeezed through the crowd, waving and greeting Horn.

Two guards immediately blocked him with their spears.

Across the crossed spears, the public farmer asked, “Your Excellency, where did Lord Danji Knight go? He promised to come to my place for roasted rabbit yesterday.”

“Danji didn't make it across the bridge. He left early. It's okay, you'll see each other again in the future.”

“That's a pity, I even saved half a rabbit leg for him.” The public farmer clicked his tongue, and carrying the half rabbit leg, walked towards his hundred-household unit.

Watching the departing figure, Horn turned to look at the elders who had gathered around.

“Is there anything unusual?”

“Last night, I observed the celestial phenomena and found that the Imperial Star was swaying, which is truly an ominous sign,” one elder said worriedly.

“There were no stars last night? Get out of the way, let me talk to His Holiness the Pope.” Pushing aside the elder who was just spouting nonsense, another skinny elder reported, “There's nothing wrong with our ten-household units, it's just that the weather is getting colder, so we need to add more clothes. Many people have caught colds.”

“Okay, Madelaine, Madelaine! Stop fiddling with your needlework, you won't learn it. Go and call the tailoring team to make cloaks or vests for everyone. Hmm, to distinguish them, let's make vests.”

“Alright.”

“Is there anything else? If there's nothing else, let's set off according to yesterday's plan.”

According to the rules and regulations designed by Horn, the twenty elders, two hundred-household heads, and two legion commanders had to attend a meeting in the camp every day in the afternoon.

After determining the marching order and defense situation for the next day, they would make arrangements in advance. The morning meeting on the second day would be used to make small adjustments.

Of course, as the Pope, Horn's command was also absolute, so when the whistle blew, the whole country had to listen to me.

“Then, let's set off.”

As the whistle sounded, Jeanne took the lead, clumsily riding her horse and holding up the battle flag to lead the way.

Behind her were three brigades of guards.

Behind the guards were armored vehicles, and on both sides of the armored vehicles were teams of citizens led by the elders.

On both sides of the team were the black-hatted soldiers responsible for covering the flanks, and finally, there were two brigades at the rear to guard the rear.

From here onwards, it was a mountain road, and the narrowest part could only accommodate three people walking side by side.

If carriages wanted to pass, they had to let the horses pass first, and then push the carriages manually, otherwise, they would get stuck there.

Unfortunately, Horn's thigh was injured by the Holy Grandson, so he could only sit in a carriage. Otherwise, Horn would usually walk himself.

The wheels of the carriage rumbled on the ground, and Horn was already starting to feel nauseous from the bumps of the carriage.

“When did a tombstone appear here? And why is there a rabbit leg on the tombstone? Who dropped it there?”

“What's written on it? Can anyone read it?”

“Hiss, it seems, it seems, oh… I don't know.”

“Get out of the way, let me see, it says——”

“Here lies the last knight on the continent.”

……………………

When the first ray of sunlight fell on the Honey River, many refugees had already woken up from their dreams.

They stood up from the straw or even the mud, but compared to before, their thin and sunken faces had become much fuller.

After all, since they had the method to detoxify the potato roots, they would still be hungry, but at least they wouldn't starve to death.

Although the streams and forests were guarded by forest rangers, they were now desperate and not afraid of that.

“Where did you come from?” Carrying a basket full of potato roots, the young refugee stood in front of two new refugees who were lying on the ground and unable to walk.

“Honey River Township.” The old man who answered had a throat like a broken bellows, making a hissing sound.

Taking out a potato root from the basket, the refugee named Thomas threw it to the two refugees who were weak and unable to walk, “Eat it.”

“This is a potato root.” The old man was shocked when he picked up the potato root, “Do you want to poison me?”

“What are you talking about!” Thomas widened his eyes, “This is a Holy Grandson Root.”

“Holy Grandson Root?” The old man stroked it suspiciously, still not daring to eat it.

Thomas walked directly forward, picked it up, took a bite and crunched it.

“Hey, hey, I didn't say I didn't want it.” Seeing Thomas chewing and swallowing in big mouthfuls, the old man immediately regretted it.

Thomas helped him up and stuffed the half-eaten root into his arms, “Okay, let's go, come to our camp, it's better to have someone to look after you.”

The old man took two bites, then broke off two pieces and stuffed them into his grandson's mouth, before taking trembling steps and following Thomas forward.

“Brother Thomas.” After exchanging names, the old man asked, “What is this Holy Grandson Root?”

“The Holy Grandson Root is a potato root that has been detoxified after being blessed by the Holy Grandson. Now, in this autumn season, potato roots are all over the mountains and fields.” Thomas supported the old man's arm, “If it weren't for the Holy Grandson Root, we would have starved to death long ago.”

“The Holy Grandson is?”

“You don't even know that? Hasn't it spread around here?”

The old man scratched his head sheepishly, “I really haven't heard of it.”

“The Holy Grandson is that Missala saw that the people of Thousand River Valley were pitiful and adopted a person from Thousand River Valley as her adopted son. He is the legendary Chosen Pope of the people of Thousand River Valley.

It is said that His Excellency the Chosen Pope Holy Grandson is nine feet tall, and his arms are thicker than a normal person's thighs, and he can uproot a locust tree with one hand.”

“Oh, so powerful, how can one resist?” The old man was shocked.

Thomas was about to answer when he suddenly heard the sound of a horsewhip cracking in the air behind him.

His expression changed, and Thomas immediately pulled the old man and the child to lie prone in the long grass.

But a young man who was picking up horse manure by the roadside was not so lucky.

He wanted to run away when he heard the sound of wheels, but the crossbow string on the side of the carriage snapped, and an arrow went straight into the young man's back, and the young man instantly stiffened and fell to the ground.

The carriage sped past.

“There are more and more refugees crowding the roads.” Looking at the young man lying in a pool of blood from the window, Barney Foss impatiently put down the curtain.

“What's wrong?”

“Isn't it because of that group of short-haired thieves? Otherwise, there shouldn't be so many refugees.”

“Short-haired thieves?” The black-clothed monk frowned, “What is that?”

“It's the abbreviation for that group of heretical pseudo-popes.” Speaking of that group of petty thieves, Barney Foss, who was always calm, turned green.

“I asked, those rebels have to cut their hair when they join the religion, so we call them short-haired.”

“What do they have to do with this group of refugees?” The black-clothed monk asked.

“Oh, Priest Mizam, you don't know this.” Barney Foss regained his calm expression, “If it weren't for potato roots, those public farmers and refugees would have starved to death long ago, how could they have the strength to cause trouble?”

Mizam laughed, “That's true, Bishop Barney Foss, if your territory didn't have that group of short-haired people, the Prince would be very willing to attend your banquet.”

Barney Foss's face froze for a moment. That day, he guarded a large table of good wine and food, waiting for a long time, only to receive a sentence, “I'm not interested in banquets.”

He even opened an expensive bottle of blue blood wine.

However, he still put on a smile, “If the rebels are not eliminated, what is there to banquet? This time, I must help Prince Charles chase down the secret party rebels.

I have already sent 500 mercenaries and armed farmers to search for the pseudo-pope in the Highland Mountains, which can serve as a response to His Highness.”

“Good, very good.”

ps burned out