When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

"Good morning, Ms. Hilov." Jils, carrying a washbasin, showed a surprised expression and smiled at Hilov who was stepping out.

Jils had only just returned today to serve as Hilov's maid in the Mechanical Palace. She had recently recovered from Divine Favor illness and then caught the flu.

The little girl had lost seven or eight pounds, and her already thin face looked somewhat sunken.

"Good morning, Jils." Hilov nodded slightly towards Jils with her cold face, her tail leisurely swaying, "I finally managed to adjust my schedule."

"Yes, I finally get to see you in the morning." Jils placed the washbasin on the shelf, with a few freesia petals soaking in the hot water.

Under Ah Fu's direction, Hilov first took the mouthwash, then reached out to scoop up the hot water to wash her face.

After finishing everything, she scraped her fingers in a small bottle and pressed it on her lips, pursing them forcefully: "Jils, is my lipstick crooked?"

"No, it's perfect, ma'am." Jils looked at Hilov's tender lips with envy.

Applying such cosmetics is a skill every lady must learn, at least that's how Hilov's mother taught her, and it's written so in the books as well.

Even in the past when Hilov did not have to face anyone, she would still insist on doing her makeup every morning.

"Shall we have breakfast in the hall?"

Hearing Jils' words, Hilov surprisingly felt a bit nostalgic; she draped her large tail over her knees: "No, let's have it on the terrace, Ah Fu, let's go to the terrace."

The steward Ah Fu, whose head was still swollen from a bump, absent-mindedly nodded and pushed Hilov's wheelchair towards the terrace, while Jils went to the railing of the second-floor corridor.

"Ms. Hilov said to have breakfast on the terrace, bring it all over."

Standing before the wide doors of the terrace, Hilov felt a bit apprehensive; the reason she later did not get up during the day was not just to recharge the gears, but also because she feared seeing that ruin.

The silence of one palace was already enough for her to bear; she did not want to see the silence of an entire ruin.

"Ma'am?" Jils, carrying a tray, curiously poked her head and asked, "Is something wrong?"

Hilov's tail was tightly tense: "It's nothing, Jils, could you help me open the door?"

"Ah, sorry, I forgot you..." Jils placed the tray to the side and opened the door to the terrace.

The damp and cold air rushed into the room.

The cold wind lifted the hair on Hilov's forehead, but she stood there as if in a daze, motionless.

In that originally ruined town, unexpectedly, dozens of smoke plumes had risen, and the sharp wind was carrying the intense smell of smoke and fire to her nostrils from afar.

Along with the smoke, there was the increasingly distinct clamor of people, the noises of children, and Vite's hoarse shouts while directing the pulley cranes.

These sounds entered the room behind the terrace from afar, swirling around Hilov's head.

Hilov even eagerly turned her wheelchair to the edge of the terrace railing.

The raindrops on the eaves fell into the collar of her silk and linen nightgown, but she seemed to feel nothing.

During the three days she was adjusting her jet lag, the ruins beside the white gate of the former town were cleaned out, replaced by a dozen or so buildings with various signboards.

The lower half of these buildings was exceptionally old, while the upper half was exceptionally new; this inconsistent contrast added a unique charm.

But aside from this inconsistency, they had a uniform aspect; they were almost all aligned along a straight line, and all the buildings infringing on the street were demolished by Horn.

This was the first suggestion Vite made to Horn.

"This is really, this is really..."

Hilov grasped the railing of the terrace, and for once, her ice-sculpted countenance showed a different emotion.

Jils stood behind Hilov, smiling as she watched Hilov's back.

Hilov's gaze followed the main road of the town forward, and almost on every piece of broken wall, one could see the busy bricklayers.

They carried newly mixed mortar, laying stones layer upon layer on the half-walls, while some strong women carried bundles of branches and debris outside the town.

Near the firewood room outside the town, dozens of robust men dismantled and sorted the decaying furniture, finally chopping the unusable pieces into kindling.

Under the whistle of General Dong, the ruined town slowly took shape.

It should be known that Hilov later did not want to wake up during the day because she feared seeing that town.

There, with collapsed houses and overgrown weeds, was a place of complete solitude, where even the last breath of life had been consumed by the long-haired undead.

Yet, in this desolate land, smoke, houses, and residents seemed to leap from the gaps of the ruins like weeds, filling Hilov's view.

Silently retreating, Hilov's wolf ears perked up, and her tail swayed contentedly and leisurely.

"Jils, place the tray on that small table."

Hilov's breakfast was not as exquisite as her makeup, just a plate of wheat bread, two blood sausages, a few leaves of vegetables, and a fried egg.

Yet, as she looked at the scenery before her, she ate with great relish.

Early in the morning, in the temporary shelters inside and outside the town, rice soup and fish soup began to be prepared.

Even though Horn was producing salt with all his might, it still couldn't keep up with the speed of fishing. The surplus fresh fish would otherwise go to waste, so naturally, they ended up in the mouths of these temporary bricklayers.

The refugees could hardly believe it, as even though it was just a bowl of fish soup, in the Empire where river streams belonged to the lord, such meat was only consumed during the Winter Festival or New Year Festival.

One must understand, the products of the river streams, the lords would rather sell at the market to exchange for money or let them rot than give to the commoners or refugees.

Because if they let commoners and refugees eat fish at will, they would become full and start thinking, and would not work diligently for the lords.

"One, two, three, four!"

The nearby voice drew Hilov's attention back from the distance.

Below the terrace, dozens of Elders and Salvation Army leaders were undergoing disciplinary training; although they were still running crooked, it was much better than before.

But Horn's training for them didn't stop there; afterwards, they would still have to attend classes at the barracks every week, and even learning literacy together every evening.

"Good morning, Hilov."

Jeanne, who was supervising the Elders jogging, waved at Hilov.

Despite a small conflict initially, since both Hilov and Jeanne were a bit chatty, their relationship quickly warmed up over dinner time.

"Good morning, Jeanne, and Madlan..." Hilov remembered the faces and names of all the Elders, even including all the guards, maids, and Child Soldiers in the Mechanical Palace.

However, all those Elders wore grim expressions, gasping for breath, let alone responding.

How wonderful, how wonderful.

In Hilov's mechanical theater, she had never seen such a vibrant scene, let alone so many characters.

They were so close that she could even feel their warm breath.

When she hugged those puppets, if it was winter, they would be even colder than usual, and if it was summer, they would be even cooler.

But real people, even in winter, still felt warm when embraced.

"Alright, I'm finished." Wiping the oil stains from the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief, Hilov turned her wheelchair, heading towards the hall, "Mr. Horn prepared such a beautiful stage drama for me, I can't just watch it for free; was the pump unit assembled yesterday?"