When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

In a tavern in Rapids City, the solid wood counter had a matte black finish, its originally rough surface polished over time by oil spills and sleeves from passing meals.

Even though it wasn't mealtime yet, a customer was already seated in the tavern. The owner didn't chase him away, recognizing the man with a weary face as Knight Carl, the captain of the Rapids City Guard.

Although Knight Carl was a knight, he often dined in such hole-in-the-wall places loved by common folks, sometimes even getting into drunken brawls.

Upon seeing Carl, the owner simply lit the stove early, cooking a meal specifically for this important man he dared not offend.

He placed meat rolls onto a grill for roasting and silently cracked eggs into a frying pan, as the sign by the door swayed and another patron entered the tavern.

This young man in a scholar's robe squinted with a smile, leaning against the counter as he sat beside Carl, tilting his head to look at Carl's profile and pretended to be surprised:

"Oh, what a coincidence, Carl, you're here to eat too?"

Gripping the handle of his beer mug, Carl said nothing. He didn't need to lift his head to know who was in front of him.

"Mitney, what do you want with me?"

Mitney placed his right hand on the counter and snapped his fingers at the owner, "I'll have a sausage with sauerkraut pea soup, three bowls of cheese mushroom soup, oh no, make that two, and another beer."

Carl turned his head, "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Mitney turned around, facing Carl, "This is how we usually order, isn't it?"

Carl looked down at the murky beer floating with lumps in his hand, "I know, I'll apologize to Qianqian."

Mitney smiled without saying a word, only pulling a napkin from his pocket and tucking it into his collar, silently waiting.

He knew Carl hadn't finished speaking.

Sure enough, taking a big gulp of beer, Carl slammed the cup heavily onto the table.

"Mitney, you and Qianqian don't actually believe that scammer... that Horn and those foolish peasants, do you?"

Mitney smiled slightly but remained silent, sipping his frothy beer carefully to prevent it from spilling over.

"Mitney, I admit they exposed the Blue Blood Monastery. Those who walked the Path of Blood and Sweat are indeed heroes, whom I admire.

But to expect them to train an army capable of countering the Imperial Knight's force in three months, be honest with yourself, do you believe that?"

Piercing a sausage with his fork, Mitney took a bite with the now cold fried egg, "Back then, didn't Marshal Deng Jia'er train an infantry capable of resisting the Imperial Knights in just half a year?"

Carl clicked his tongue, "Is it fun to argue like this? Marshal Deng Jia'er only retrained elite mercenaries, who weren't peasants, but seasoned soldiers."

"So what?"

"So what?" Carl chuckled in exasperation, "A knight starts as a squire at seven, travels at fifteen, and attends their first knight's tournament at eighteen. It takes at least ten years to train a qualified knight.

An old mercenary enlists as a runner at thirteen, enters battle officially by fourteen, and only the fastest reach veteran status by sixteen, taking at least three years to train a proper infantryman.

But what do these Salvation Army peasants have? Do they know the four grips of a sword? Do they know how to form ranks? Have they killed anyone with their own hands?

Three months is only enough to train some Peasant Soldiers at best. Four thousand Peasant Soldiers might stand a chance against a few hundred Armored Soldiers or countryside knights, but against the Imperial Knights? Are you joking?"

"How would we know if we don't try? What we've set out to do is unprecedented. How many people can we trust, who dare to oppose the Imperial Church?"

Slamming the table, Carl wanted to argue further, but Mitney interrupted, "Among those who dare to oppose the Imperial Church, how many can prove they are resolute?"

Carl's hand moved back from the table, as the owner opportunely placed a plate of grilled meat rolls in front of him.

Pulling the plate closer to his chest, Carl tore at the gamey meat rolls with large bites, as if he bore a grudge against them.

"We must win over everyone who can stand on our side." Mitney leisurely took Carl's cabbage soup, spooning a mouthful into his mouth.

"I don't mind winning them over, but they're really overestimating themselves." Carl mumbled while eating, "No matter what, in three months, these Salvation Army folks must come out.

By then, we might have to fight the Imperial Church on the west and also detach forces to support Joan of Arc Castle. I guarantee, it will be like that.

This alliance is like these grilled meat rolls, they stink, but if you spit them out, they are still meat. It's better to resettle the refugees in the Black Bone Swamp, and let those old camps come…"

"Come what?"

"Nothing."

"You mean invite the Saint's Grandson and old camps to join us, right?" Mitney cheerfully finished for him, "It's just that you don't like Mr. Horn because he killed Dane, right?"

Carl's father was the head of Duke Dane's secret army, and their family had once been the most valued stewards of the Kush Clan.

The Black Knight Brigade's five hundred Extraordinary Knights were once the loyal vassals of the Kush Clan, vowing to keep the Thousand River Valley in the Kush Family name.

This led to the Black Knights being a legacy passed from father to son, yet always as successive illegitimate children.

They lost their titles and family at the hands of the Imperial Church; their greatest dream was to revive the Kush Family and return the Thousand River Valley to its former glory.

However, after the Blue Blood Orphanage and Joan of Arc Castle incidents, Carl and his Black Knight Brigade were mostly bewildered.

The Kush Family, whom they saw as the Enlightened Lord, were secretly trading Blue Blood Wine, possibly using the profits to support them.

In that case, were they the Thousand River Valley People or the Kush People?

No matter what Dane had done, he was exceedingly benevolent to this group of Black Knights.

Their pay was always punctual, and they even helped acquire significant lands for their retirement, which were tax-free, allowing them to farm and cultivate at will.

Even when Dane sold Carl's Black Knight Brigade to Catherine, it was a 99-year lease.

Though essentially a sale, since only Catherine had the power to renew or not, and the Kush Duke of Joan of Arc Castle would likely slip away to become the Count of Jibashan.

Among the Extraordinary Knights under Catherine, most harbored complex feelings towards the Kush Duke of Joan of Arc Castle, and Carl, as the leader of the Black Knights, embodied this sentiment.

Swallowing the grilled meat roll in a few bites, Carl turned himself to face Mitney.

"Yes, I don't like him. I know Mr. Dane's crime is without excuse, even the Holy Tree would agree. I… sigh, Mr. Dane was a villain, but he never mistreated us."

"He ultimately did those things." Mitney unabashedly pointed out, his words somewhat wicked, "It's possible that your armors are traded for with Blue Blood Wine."

"We collectively decided to sell those old Black Knight armors and use the money to build an orphanage, then buy new armors with our own funds." Carl's voice was unexpectedly hoarse.

"Three months, is that enough? Instead of selling them, you should keep them and use the blood of the culprits to cleanse their stains."

"Indeed, three months is barely enough time to purchase a batch of new knight armors, yet the Salvation Army supposedly needs only three months to train a powerful force against knights?"

Carl sighed deeply, "If we indeed have to support Joan of Arc Castle, I won't lead the brigade. You go, or let Qianqian go."

"Are you so sure they need our support?"

"If they don't need our support, why bother to ally with us?" Carl tossed the fork and silver coins on the table, "I've seen through it, that Saint's Grandson isn't foolish. He's smarter than anyone. He hides in the mountains reaping the benefits while we help him spread his fame."

"Hmph, liar!"