When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Colton looked down at the bishop on the ground, and though Horn clearly hadn't spoken, the phrase "Are you willing?" kept echoing in his ears.

Are you willing?

As he slightly awoke from his fury, he couldn't quite comprehend why he felt compelled to come here tonight.

He found a way, took out his years of savings, and forced his residency registration to be changed to a local Armed Farmer.

This way, he had the chance to lease a farm from the Duke and manage it himself; he might even marry a new wife. If he continued, he might become a new squire.

So why did he feel compelled to come here today?

The cries of the refugees gradually faded from his ears, and the crackling of the fires and the whistling of the night wind all vanished.

He seemed to return to fifteen years ago, driving the rented skinny cow and secretly leading it to eat the neighbor's fodder.

Sarisa recently found a precious round moon herb in the bushes and sold it for lots of Dinar.

Little Colton still loved to cry and fuss, and someone had to watch him, or he'd cry himself hoarse without stopping.

When did things become like this? What exactly did he do wrong?

Was it when the lord suddenly switched to collecting rent in kind? Was it that day when he was too tired and forgot to lock the door and it happened to be foggy?

Was it that day when he traced the footsteps and brought the tearful Sarisa to the forest edge, but the Forest Patrol Officer and Priest refused to let them enter?

Lowering his head, Colton gazed at Buerwelf's face, the bishop's face was covered in tears, looking at him pleadingly.

Just like he knelt and begged that Forest Patrol Officer years ago.

How similar, Colton felt detached; would his little Colton have the same expression facing that bloody grindstone?

Colton's body gradually began to tremble; under everyone's watchful eyes, he seemingly unconsciously stepped forward toward the fallen Buerwelf.

"I did nothing wrong..." his murmur turned into a hoarse roar, "I did nothing wrong! It was you, it was you!"

The knife plunged fiercely into Buerwelf's throat, bright blood gushed out like a fountain in bursts.

"Give me back my little Colton!"

"Give me back my Sarisa!"

"Give me back my house!"

"Give me back my home!"

"I'll kill you!"

"I'll kill you!"

With each shout, Colton thrust a knife down, blood splattered, the rosy blood dyed the cross on his chest red.

His face twisted, Colton's eyes widened.

His eyes exerted too much force, had already torn, blood trickled down the wings of his nose like two streams of bloody tears.

Perhaps it's blood seeping into the pupils, Colton's eye whites were completely red.

His arms trembled incessantly, but his fingers gripping the knife handle held tightly without releasing, frantically and repeatedly lifting the knife to stab down.

"You dog priests! You all deserve to die! Deserve to die!"

"Little Colton, Sarisa, I'm avenging you! I'm avenging you!"

Stab after stab, Buerwelf soon fell silent, but Colton kept stabbing until he had no strength left.

He sat back dazedly, looked at the corpse before him, and sobbed aloud with his head tilted back.

The sound of crying seemed to trigger some switch, the refugees below first quietly sobbing, then the entire camp erupted into wailing like a flood.

Under the moonlight, amid rising flames, on this plain, the cries rushed over everyone like a torrent.

"Cry, how many times have we cried?"

Standing at the front of the wooden platform, Horn raised the tin megaphone, roaring at the refugees below.

"Look at us, look at us, what kind of ghosts have we become now?!"

Everyone had good days before, even if poor and not filling our bellies, at least with friends and family around, there was always a way to live."

Horn's voice grew louder and the pitch higher, then he roared with a question: "Tell me, where are they now?"

After a pause of a full second, Horn spoke again, but this time with a chilling calm: "Where are they now?"

Indeed, where are they? The refugees followed with a sense of detachment, where did they all go?

Without knowing when, they each left, disappeared, never returned, where did they go?

"You already know what the Duke wants to do."

"They want us to starve and freeze, and we did."

"They want us to be beasts of burden, and we did."

"But now, do we have to bring our own offspring to their mouths like pigs and sheep?"

"Do we have to sit on the ground and watch the butcher's knife fall upon our necks?"

"Tonight I'm standing here because my mother Miseria asked me to give these evidences to you, for what?"

At this point, Horn laughed self-mockingly: "For what? I don't know... I don't know whether I'm facing ten thousand living people or ten thousand timid pigs and sheep!"

"For five hundred years, what have we encountered?

Endless oppression, endless injustice, endless slaughter! But what have we done? We've done nothing!"

"Done nothing!"

Horn paced back and forth on the wooden platform, waving his clenched fists, while around the dozen or so campfires, victims were pushed up one by one to recount their experiences.

"We swapped beer for bitter brew, we swapped wheat bread for dark bread, the fields shrinking day by day, relatives falling one by one.

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