When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

When Buerwelf was dragged to the west ice cellar he was so familiar with, the two guards he had summoned were already being hoisted up onto the flagpole under the command of the Ten Households Leader.

Under the moonlight, Jeanne stood quietly in place, watching Horn.

Horn had a smile on his face as he strode toward her, stopping only when they were an arm's length apart.

"Why are you late?"

Jeanne's voice, rare with a hint of complaint, had a sobbing tone.

"Something happened on the way that delayed me." Horn touched Jeanne's head, "Meanwhile, let me argue a bit, I don't call you sister, only because in my eyes, I don't see you as a sister, you're my Jeanne."

Lowering her head, Jeanne didn't let Horn see her face: "Hmm..."

Horn directly reached out to hug Jeanne, kissing her forehead: "We'll talk about this later, take out your battle flag, I need you to help me with something."

About ten minutes later, Jeanne and Qianqian, accompanied by two brigades of the Black Hat Army, left the camp and headed towards the village under the night sky.

......

Near Joan of Arc Castle, there is a special type of village known as the refugee village.

These villagers are not on the official census of Joan of Arc Castle, but they are on the tax census.

They are tenant farmers of the Duke and the noble estates; during the off-season, they have to go out and move around, working as laborers and doing small businesses everywhere.

On this night, the villagers of Blacknight Village were unexpectedly not asleep in their beds but gathered in the center of the village square.

They were whispering loudly in a low, anxious tone, watching these fully armed, formidable soldiers.

Among them stood a pair of refugee couples at the front, nervously wringing the corners of their clothes, still in disbelief over what Jeanne had previously said.

The Duke had made their son into wine, it was too absurd.

But Jeanne didn't care about their thoughts. Sitting on her horse, she confirmed their identities correctly, then nodded toward Qianqian.

"You want proof? Listen up." Qianqian opened the letter in her hand and began reading aloud.

"Papa, mother, I'm doing well in the monastery, Blind Uncle told me to mention two things we all know to prevent you from doubting..."

"...We must wash away our sins here before we can see you..."

"...Papa, I've learned to write here, Blind Uncle is blind due to illness, he teaches us to write, I can now read books..."

"...Overall, the place is nice, I'll be back soon..."

As Qianqian finished reading the contents of the letter, the farmer's wife had already fainted on the ground, and her husband stood dumbfounded.

But gradually, he began to tremble all over, as if someone were shaking his head.

Suddenly, he jumped up on the spot, turned around, rushed to the edge of the crowd, and punched the Wandering Priest in the village square in the face, knocking him onto his back.

He then sat directly on that priest's stomach, his muscular arms bulging, firmly gripping the priest's throat.

"Beasts! You damned beasts!"

The husband's eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted as if possessed by a demon.

"Stop him!"

"Andek family, you can't hit a priest; you'll be sent to Fire Prison."

"Let go of me; they should be sent to Fire Prison!"

"Don't act impulsively; this might not be true."

"Alright." Jeanne stepped up, using the long battle flag to stop him, "You're still somewhat fortunate, you have a keepsake."

The husband immediately released his grip, crawling to Jeanne's side, looking at her with a pleading gaze.

Jeanne turned her head in compassion, took out an eye patch from her bag.

Seeing this eye patch, the husband trembled again, unable to control himself, he snatched the eye patch, covered his face with it, kneeling in the mud and crying bitterly.

His eldest son had been stung blind in the right eye by bees; this eye patch was hand-sewn by his wife, he knew it too well.

This matter, all the villagers knew.

The description, appearance, and timing matched, the letter could accurately refer to events, even there was a keepsake.

The villagers began to tremble; the Green-clothed Flute Player had taken more than just one or two of their relatives and friends over the years.

Many villagers began to crowd around Jeanne, anticipating that she could produce letters related to their loved ones but also frightened of the possibility.

Looking at the surrounding crowd, Jeanne took a deep breath and loudly declared, "I haven't brought all these letters; the rest are in the Refugee New Camp.

I'm here to inform you because the Duke had long since colluded with the Church, helping them sell Blue Blood Wine.

You, the wandering refugee workers, moving everywhere, your relatives were their prime targets.

I know you might not believe it; figure it out and either follow me or go to our Refugee New Camp."

As the villagers murmured among themselves, the villager holding his son's eye patch approached Jeanne.

"Lady Saintess, is there anything I can do?"

He gritted his teeth, his voice seemed to emerge not from his throat, but as if it were coming from the Fire Prison.

......

Kovenskeller Refugee Village.

After that villager from Blacknight Village visited, the entire village was ablaze with the light of torches.

In one of the straw houses at the village's entrance, a farmer hurriedly took off his nightwear, changing into his daytime attire.

"Are you going as well? You're the only able-bodied one left in our family, please don't." The farmwife blocked the door.

"This matter, this matter can't be ignored." The farmer trembled all over, biting his teeth, "The Duke of Sun Goat, that's my own little sister, she's only eight, how dare they do this."

"Don't go, you've already accepted this, haven't you?" Pleading, the farmwife clutched the farmer's arm.

"Who accepted? Who accepted! Damn it, I never accepted it! I just have no choice." He pried open his wife's fingers and threw his hat fiercely to the ground, "I just have no choice! I just have no choice!"

"Your sister has already been summoned by God, you can't revive her even if you go."

"If I don't go, aren't you afraid one day our Little Miss Will will be led away by the Green-clothed Flute Player? That Duke brought the decree brigade, they slaughtered Xiaochi City, then our Little Miss Will will also become grape wine."

The farmwife's mouth opened wide, she looked at their children sleeping soundly on the straw bed, and suddenly released her grip.

"Hold on a moment."

She walked behind the stove and pulled out a soot-blackened short sword.

"This is my father's sword." Choking, she handed the short sword to the farmer, "Don't die, if you die, I'll take them and remarry."

He wiped his face with his sleeves and slid the short sword into his belt, hoisted the family's only metal pitchfork, pushed open the house door, and dashed into the night.

......

Muscheperri Refugee Village.

In the center of the village, a crowd of people gathered, watching the farmer in the middle with bloodshot eyes, filled with skepticism.

"Is what you said true?" The village chief asked fearfully while looking at the letter in his hand and listening to his accounts.

"Of course, I never lie about my little Colton! My youngest and most beloved son!" Colton's teeth ground loudly, "That damn Duke betrayed us, he's going to turn all children under fifteen from Joan of Arc Castle into blue-blood grape wine."

"But, but this is, too absurd, I can't believe it."

"What's hard to believe about this!" Colton roared, "You said the Duke's war tax was a rumor, but then it was true.

You said the approaching war would hike grain prices was a rumor, but the prices did rise.

You said Dean Old Juanuo's death was a rumor, but it was true. Do you dare say this is a rumor?"

"This is just a letter, anyone can forge it."

"Over at the camp, there's evidence of the orphan's blue-blood possessions, anyone who doesn't believe can go see for themselves, the evidence won't run away."

Losing patience with the village chief, Colton directly pushed him aside, shouting to the villagers gathering around: "Those wishing to see evidence, wanting to know where the loved ones led away by the Green-clothed Flute Player went, follow me!"

Finished speaking, Colton ignored the rest of the villagers and walked straight out of the village.

Amidst a sudden silence, two villagers came over and chased after Colton.

"Wait for me."

Then more began returning home, lighting torches, either chasing Colton or heading straight to the Refugee New Camp themselves.

......

When the moon reached its zenith, Jeanne returned from the wilds, with a trail of torchlight stretching behind her.

Thousands of able-bodied farmers, men and women alike, carried pitchforks, sickles, axes, or even just wooden sticks, tightly following behind her horse.

Under the moonlight, they walked chaotically, occasionally stepping on each other's feet or stumbling, but they rose silently and continued onward.

Their faces, mostly numb, bore silvery traces of tears under the moonlight, veins bulging on the hands gripping their tools.

Step by step, they tread the dry, hard dirt road, heading toward the brightly lit camp.

Madlan stood atop the camp's watchtower, gazing about, around Joan of Arc Castle, one after another, the refugee villages on the fields were lit up with torches.

These were only what the naked eye could see, behind the woods, beyond the slopes, villagers followed the rivers, sailed small boats, spreading the gradually distorted truth across the heavily watered grounds of Joan of Arc Castle.

The air carried the scent of burning pine resin and firewood, as if the cold wind were igniting by the rising underground anger.

Torch upon torch gathered continually, forming a dragon of torchlight, advancing toward their destination.

And their final destination was the Refugee New Camp.

At the entrance of the refugee camp, a wooden platform, a fathom high, had been newly erected, with an altar at its center.

Horn stood in a woolen Holy Robe before the altar, facing it, gazing westward.

That was the direction of Joan of Arc Castle.

On the night of November 10, 1444 of the Imperial Calendar, only 3 miles from Joan of Arc Castle.