When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#269 - A war that will destroy a nation!

Silently walking among the houses charred by the raging fire, Horne accidentally crushed carbonized bones.

He crouched down, gently stroking the ground, which still radiated faint heat, as a few dark red sparks fell from the remaining wooden frames of the houses.

In the spring breeze, the bodies of those few Guardian Army members hung from the blackened trees, swaying in the wind.

The five men had been stripped naked, and the character "屮" was carved into their foreheads with a small knife. Their eyes had been gouged out, leaving only bloody holes.

On their chests and bellies, the scarlet Frankish letters "Be grateful, peasants" and "The fate of traitors" were written with a knife.

Three crows stood on their shoulders, tearing strips of flesh from their faces with their gray beaks.

Having lost Melia Teya's protection and becoming accomplices to the short-haired devils, these demons, who resembled knights, once again revealed their true faces.

"This is the third village, isn't it?" Horne's voice was devoid of emotion as he stroked the broken walls.

"Yes," Madelaine squeezed out the word through his teeth.

"Have you found any survivors?"

"We found fifteen survivors in the root cellar, all children and teenagers."

In the still-lingering smoke, a dozen or so teenagers and children stood in neat rows, numbly and staggeringly heading towards the carriage.

Since the 26th, these despicable transcendent knights had begun to sweep through and massacre the people under their rule.

They were quite cautious, preparing a large number of rangers and only traveling on main roads.

Horne had prepared several times but failed to ambush them, only managing to kill a few rangers.

The survivors from the three villages were all concentrated in Gray Hearth Town, but this time, Horne insisted on seeing it for himself.

"Your Grace, we need to leave quickly, or we'll be caught by the rangers from Jeanne d'Arc Castle, and it'll be another ordeal."

"Let's go," Horne's muffled voice sounded again.

Pulling himself onto his horse, he could feel the somber expressions on the faces of those around him.

Horne knew that his face probably looked somber too, but he couldn't bring himself to be happy.

In the setting sun, the last house in the burning village collapsed.

Horne lowered his head and walked along the country path, not saying a word until a burst of noisy shouting came.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Gretz, get down!"

Looking in the direction of the sound, Horne saw a teenager on the hillside by the road, barely able to stand.

His left arm was severed at the elbow, and the bandage that had just been applied was still seeping blood.

Fresh red blood dripped onto the green grass.

His face was pale, with sunken cheeks and eye sockets, but his eyes were so bright that they seemed about to pop out.

He raised his right hand high, holding a thin branch with a large smock tied to it.

The smock, which belonged to his father, was blackened by smoke, and a large patch of blood stained the top.

His lips were turned down, his upper teeth biting his lower lip until it turned purple, and his whole body was trembling.

He seemed to be crying and hoarsely roaring at the same time, the sound as if seeping from hell.

"Salvation Army, victory!"

Without accompaniment, without response, the boy named Gretz frantically waved the flag in his hand in the setting sun, repeating it over and over again in a raspy voice.

"Salvation Army, victory!"

"Salvation Army, victory!"

"Salvation Army, victory!"

The roaring in tears echoed behind Horne, stabbing his back like thorns.

"Salvation Army, victory!"

The shouting continued from the village until Horne returned to Gray Hearth Town.

Even as he sat before the assembled Salvation Army high command, he could still hear the shouting in his ears.

"According to the intelligence we've gathered, the transcendent knights have formed a Glory Cavalry to raid the villages where the Guardian Army is located.

According to the situation in Jeanne d'Arc Castle, there are currently three forces in the city: the Frankish Royal Knights, the Church, and the Edict Legion.

The Royal Knights number 500, but 150 of them have gone to Kasha County, so there are only 350 left.

They previously tried to communicate with us, leaving word that as long as we don't attack passing Frankish merchants, they won't attack us and are even willing to sell us weapons and supplies."

"Is it credible?" Yeshka asked, frowning.

"It's hard to say; we'd better be careful," Armand shook his head. "Your Grace, what do you think? Your Grace?"

"Do you think we're ready?" This was the first thing Horne said as he looked around at the people before him.

At that moment, the high command of the Papal State and the Salvation Army were all present, a total of about twenty people, but they looked at each other in dismay, and no one answered.

This was a habit they had long cultivated; whether it was the Blood and Sweat Road or Autumn Dusk Island, Horne made all the decisions.

How many crises had they experienced, all overcome by this Holy Grandson before their eyes?

Many of them, many 'smart people,' had seen through Horne's tricks from the beginning, but they needed Horne to unite people's hearts and take responsibility.

After taking responsibility again and again, making choices again and again, and escaping crises again and again, Horne had become, in their hearts, a true 'Holy Grandson,' 'Eye of God.'

In Horne's hometown language, it was 'Bearing the disgrace of the nation is what makes a ruler of the state.'

"Have the weapons been repaired? Is the armor ready yet?" Armand asked tentatively. "Also, the phosphorus stone and concentrated wine you asked us to prepare haven't been fully collected."

Horne still didn't speak; he looked around at everyone, and everyone was still watching him.

He suddenly laughed.

Look at these bishops: Madelaine was a fugitive baker, Armand was a monk from Yanbi, Granpwen was a clown, and Chirvis was a moonshiner.

As for the legion commanders, Yeshka and Hakuto were both wanted criminals, Kolleman was a dock coolie, Victor was a shepherd, Mense was a latrine cleaner, and Rudilo was a rogue.

As for Horne himself, he was a farmer who pretended to be crazy with his village girl sister, Jeanne.

Horne couldn't help but wonder, if it weren't for him, Madelaine would probably have been executed by the Church, and Flick and Danji probably wouldn't have died.

Armand would have starved to death in Red Mill Village, Granpwen and Chirvis would still be members of the refugee army, while Thornley would probably be doing well.

As for these legion commanders, they might not be as well off as they were now, but they wouldn't be as dangerous either.

If it were when they first met, in this situation, Madelaine would be thinking about escaping to Kasha County, Armand would be following Cosey in a daze, Granpwen might join the Rapid Current City uprising, and Chirvis would probably run away.

The Papal State at that time, including Horne himself, was a bunch of worms, a 'country' composed of cowards, insidious rogues, and timid farmers.

Their small Papal State, every battle was a battle for national survival, and they had to use all their strength, moving forward in a confused manner.

This leaky, broken boat, which leaked everywhere, had now become a warship with 60,000 subjects and 5,000 soldiers.

The encounters in life are truly a joint effort of personal struggle and historical progress.

"From the beginning until now, when have we ever been ready?" Horne stood up, smiling at everyone present. "We used to fight battles for national survival all the time; which battle were we ready to fight? Weren't they all forced upon us?

It's better to say the opposite: if you feel there's nothing to prepare, that's the precursor to failure, because there's never perfection.

Our enemies are 300 of the most elite Imperial Knights, 100 rural transcendent knights, 120 Temple Knights, over 300 armored soldiers, and over 3,000 Night Watchmen.

There's even the possibility of adding 350 Frankish Royal Knights.

But as I predicted earlier, if we don't fight, all that awaits us is a Jeanne d'Arc Castle turned into a fiery hell.

This is a battle we can't retreat from; we have no retreat, no reinforcements, and no drawbridge that can drown so many knights!

We may use all our schemes, choose the right battlefield, choose the right date, but in the end, we can only face it head-on."

Gently stroking the walnut table, Horne's scorching gaze stared at everyone.

"The people sitting here today, including me, may all die, because before us are over 500 transcendent knights and nearly 3,500 infantry.

But I don't ask if the weapons are ready? I don't ask if the phosphorus stone and wine are ready?

Now, I only ask one question: are you ready?"

After a brief and long silence, benches and stools were moved with a rustling sound, and everyone present stood up one after another.

Unconsciously, the planks of the leaky boat had long grown into solid oak planks, and the long sails had been woven from linen into canvas.

"We are ready!"