When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

"Be careful, Salvation Army, be careful." A laborer standing on the rooftop shouted to the vast crowd below, "The knights are coming again."

Seeing Horn standing there indifferent, the laborer decisively ran out from home, picking up a hammer and chisel he usually used for work, and charged angrily towards those knights.

The terrifying sound of hooves echoed again.

Visible to the naked eye, the iron chains of that long bridge vibrated more violently, and another two teams of seventy knights galloped towards them.

If these new knights were allowed to charge in, not to mention breaking through this crowd of nearly ten thousand refugees, they could easily retrieve those knights trapped in the formation.

Standing at the bridgehead, Horn coldly watched the long bridge before him.

"Aren't you going to dodge?" Patrick, who had just saved Horn, asked.

Horn glanced at Patrick. He wasn't sure where this old man had come from and didn't dare to trust him.

But considering he had saved so many people, Horn replied, "No dodge."

"Why not?"

"Guess, where has Jeanne gone after fighting for so long?"

Patrick was taken aback at first. He thought for a few seconds, then suddenly looked towards the pier of the long bridge: "Are you saying?"

The hurried sound of hooves was right in their ears as seventy knights sent to rescue Friscia appeared in their sight.

The leader's eyes were blood-red, seemingly having just taken a potion. Seeing Horn and Patrick chatting casually at the bridgehead, his rage intensified instantly.

Facing a formation of seventy knights charging, why were there just two people waiting at the bridgehead?

"I'll kill the young one," shouted the leading knight, "No one snatch with me."

Perhaps the thrill of charging had occupied their minds. The knights let out strange cries, but none noticed the sound of the iron chains grinding.

The horses leapt. The leading knight could already see the face of the man at the bridgehead. He knew who this was—it was the legendary Saint's Grandson.

A burst of ecstasy instantly filled the hearts of the knights.

"Don't kill him. Capture him alive; he's more valuable!"

Sheathing his longsword, the knight extended his iron glove from afar, confident that the potion would allow him to grab the frail youth in an instant.

Closer, closer still, the last ten yards, the knights in the front row could see the mocking smiles on the faces of the youth and the old man... what was going on?

Why, no matter how the warhorses pounded the ground, was Horn seeming farther and farther away?

As the excitement of the potion wore off, he felt a strange sense of imbalance.

When? The smile froze on the knight's face.

Only at this moment did he realize that the hooves were suspended, and not even the potion could keep him balanced anymore.

"How is that possible?"

The knights shouted in disbelief.

From the shore to the pier, a road bridge thirty meters long, with iron chains so thick they couldn't be cut even with a month of chopping, had actually broken.

Broken!?

The silvery moonlight shone on the armor, reflecting the despair on the knight's face as he watched Horn grow further distant until the flow of water consumed everything before his eyes.

Huge splashes erupted one after another, and amidst neighs and screams, all seventy knights slid from the long bridge into the water without exception.

On the opposite bank, cries of shock rose one after another, while Jeanne slid along the iron chains to the riverbank beach.

Lightning instantaneously flooded the river surface, and the knights' screams echoed in the night sky.

"He who sows wheat eats chaff, the weaver is without clothes."

Murmuring softly, Horn did not look at the struggling knights in the river but drew the Blood Covering Cloud from his waist and walked towards the most dangerous crowd.

"While Eve and Adam labor, noble gentlemen sit in high halls?"

The knights shouted in despair. Countless torches trembled amid the refugees' angry roars, yet it was eerily silent in Horn's ears, hearing only his own voice.

"They took my wife, they took my house, killed my dear parents!"

Horn's tone grew more intense.

Four yards ahead, a knight's warhorse was caught by a cable, and the young knight flew off, sliding several meters along the ground.

Horn walked towards that knight, with villagers holding torches in the distance on the stone bridge behind.

"Heads rolling, countless..."

Countless hands pressed down on the knight's body. His knee was shot through by a spring pistol, and he could only use his hands to push away the refugees attempting to tear apart his armor.

"No, you don't, don't come any closer." The knight cried out in a voice he had never used, a foul stench already seeping from his crotch.

Gray-colored nails pried open the visor of his helmet. A youth he had never seen stood on his chest, raising a sword glowing red high into the air.

In the last words, Horn seemed to roar them out.

"A blood debt must be repaid with blood!"

The longsword fell, spraying blood covering half of Horn's face. He lifted his head, and there wasn't a single knight left standing.

The surrounding refugees, all injured, but their eyes fierce as nightcrawlers from the Fire Prison.

He aimed the Blood Covering Cloud at the opposite riverbank and pointed the Blood Covering Cloud in his hand across the bank:

"The demons are in the castle, faithful believers, follow me, purge every demon—"