When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Imperial Calendar, December 28, 1444.

Daze Village, Autumn Dusk Island.

The cold wind crept into Mitney's clothes through his sleeves, causing him to shiver.

Following Chrispa, they departed from Joan of Arc Castle, traversed the shadowy Wild Spider Forest, and after a four-day journey, finally reached their destination.

"They've renamed this place Daze Village?"

"Yes," Qianqian said with a smile, greeting acquaintances, "otherwise calling it Black Bone Swamp all the time doesn't sound nice."

Nodding in response, Mitney stood at the dock, surveying this small port.

Compared to the port's cargo handling capacity, this port was far too large, more than enough to handle three or four times the cargo.

Watching the Beastmen struggling to carry timber onto the dock, a sense of curiosity arose in Mitney's heart.

How did this mysterious Saint's Grandson manage to subdue these wild and unruly, pagan worshipping Beastmen?

Was it eloquence? Or force?

"Sister Qianqian!" Amidst the sound of hooves, Armand rode over from afar.

Qianqian immediately waved with a smile at their companion who had endured many hardships: "Over here."

Armand dismounted and gave Qianqian a big hug, exchanged a few pleasantries, and only then noticed the accompanying envoys behind him.

"Hahaha, my apologies, it's just that we're companions who have walked the Path of Blood and Sweat together, got a bit excited." Armand stepped forward, exchanged greetings with Mitney and the others, and introduced himself.

"...I am the Great Scripture Debater of the Saint Father's Association. The head asked me to convey a message to you. He's busy training soldiers at the camp, so he suggests you take a tour of the city and rest a bit, and meet him in the afternoon or evening. How do you feel about that?"

This cheerful Little Priest left a good impression on Mitney, which even improved his perception of Horn: "Sure, no problem, let's go then."

The group each mounted their horses and headed towards the small town.

After leaving the dock, as they proceeded with the horse team, the surroundings began to appear desolate.

A thin layer of white frost clung to the withered grass, the murky sunlight slanted through the haze, struggling to spread across the mottled yellow and black land.

Even though the sun was shining on their backs, Andar could barely feel any warmth, as if even the sunlight had been swallowed by the winter chill.

Sparse bushes swayed in the cold wind, their leaves long gone, leaving only the withered yellow branches struggling to survive.

As they rode along the main road, Andar saw swamps bubbling with mud scattered across the plains.

Mitney pinched his nose, unable to endure the stench: "His Excellency Armand, how long until we arrive?"

"Almost there, almost there." Armand led the way on horseback, "Can you hear the sound of the Parra River flowing?"

They passed through a sparse forest and crossed a newly repaired bridge, where a large ruin lay hidden behind the bushes.

However, the sharp-eyed Andar could still spot the town gate amid the chaotic rubble.

"I didn't expect there to be a relic of the El Empire here." As a scholar, Marshall couldn't hide his excitement, his lips curving upwards.

The accompanying Great Chant Master, Thomas, gave a thumbs up: "I didn't expect you to recognize it, indeed, this is evidence of the El Third Empire in our Pope Country."

El Third Empire? Mitney cast a questioning glance at Qianqian.

"It's a facade to deceive those Beastmen, don't expose it." With a hand covering her mouth, Qianqian whispered.

"Oh, I see." Mitney suddenly understood, no wonder those Beastmen were so obedient.

Andar noticed Thomas's determined gaze and couldn't shake off an odd feeling.

Following the Parra River upstream, the group arrived at a pair of broken gates, where the Ancient Aier molding and strip grooves caused Marshall to exclaim.

"Corinthian Column, classic, truly classic."

"Rare, absolutely rare! A portrait of Emperor Alexander the Great in his youth!"

Unlike Marshall, who couldn't contain his excitement, Mitney, possessing a certain level of appreciation, focused his attention on the newly constructed buildings.

Observing the building with El style yet a classical flavor in front of him, Mitney's sense of curiosity grew even stronger.

He had to admit, the streets of this small town were unexpectedly clean, with hardly any feces and urine on the main roads.

This aspect was even better than Rapids City.

Watching the public toilets by the roadside and the bruised and battered people pushing carts to collect dung, Mitney couldn't help but smile.

If there was one flaw, it was the lack of greenery like street trees and flower beds.

Emerging from the desolate wilderness and ruins, the scents of smoke and fire lifted Andar's previously sullen mood quite a bit.

Soon, he saw a scene that caught his interest.

In a clearing surrounded by tall buildings, groups of young men dressed in thin clothes climbed onto carriages, heading towards the wilderness in the cold wind.

"What's that?" Mitney noticed the situation as well and pointed over there to ask.

"Oh, that's our final recruitment for the third batch. It's also the last recruitment, totaling 1,000 decree companies," Thomas immediately replied.

"How many decree companies?"

"1,000 of what?"

Andar and Mitney exclaimed almost simultaneously, one after the other.

Qianqian coughed, "Well, in the Pope Country's system, the composition of a decree company, ahem, is one person."

Mitney and Andar looked at each other, their eyes full of disbelief.

Knowing the Salvation Army was organized by farmers, both were prepared for some level of unreliability.

But they truly hadn't expected it to be this unreliable.

Mitney hadn't yet recovered from this when Andar suddenly stood up on the horse, gazing into the distance with a frown.

At a street corner, more than a dozen beastmen with pointed beast ears were shouting fiercely in front of a priest.

"What's that, again?"

"Oh, that's our beastman half-legion. They missed the recruitment time and are making a fuss," Thomas explained, shading his eyes with his hand.

Most of these beastmen were war captives laboring in building army camps, introduced by Horn. With simple religious enthusiasm, they wanted to join the Salvation Army.

Horn only planned to form a beastman half-legion, which is 250 beastmen.

Their main role is to use obsolete Kanni Di Type 1 wind-up guns and bows to skirmish.

"Where are your Night Guards? Shouldn't they suppress it? We can wait here," Andar kindly reminded.

"No worries, their Holy Spirit Priest will take them away soon enough."

"Holy Spirit Priest? What's that?"

"Oh, it's a small sect under the Miseria cult, mainly involving the Southern Barbarians' beastmen. They worship the Saint's Grandson as a god."

"Worship whom as a god?"

"Worship the Saint's Grandson as what?"

Mitney and Andar blurted out again in unison.

"No need to be surprised," Thomas said proudly while shaking the reins, "Our Pope Country practices religious tolerance, allowing for dual beliefs."

What are you proud of?

Mitney almost blurted out—that's pure heresy!

Andar asked dreamily, "And the priests, they have no opinions about that?"

"None, really. The Saint's Grandson dream-consulted the Saint Master Miseria, and the Saint Master said: Okay."

Watching the Holy Spirit Priests, dressed in exotic robes and bone decorations, only swapping the scepter for a cross-shaped staff, driving the beastmen away, Mitney fell into total silence.

"Qianqian, are there any more surprises I'm not aware of?"

"Ahem, well, here we are at the central Mansion Square in El Town!"

"Did you know about these things beforehand?"

"Look, isn't that the Ancient Aier Theater? Never mind, focus on the church over there, my dear Mitney."

Seeing Qianqian's evasive expression, Mitney had a guess; she probably kept things from Catherine to prevent her from losing all hope.

"Don't be fooled by their appearance; they're actually quite reliable." Seeing the odd expressions on Mitney and Andar, Qianqian hurriedly said.

"Is that so." Mitney adjusted quickly, changing the topic smoothly, "Brother Armand, perhaps you should take us to meet, um, the Saint's Grandson."

"It's not even noon yet. Why not tour the industrial area?" asked Thomas, puzzled. "There's the wheel miracle machine orchestrated by the Holy Father's invisible hand, guaranteed to blow your mind—it's truly amazing."

Industrial area? It's probably just full of lousy blacksmiths and makeshift workshops.

As for the so-called wheel miracle machine, given their decree-like recruitment and leader deification antics, Mitney guessed it was merely a simple water-powered gear mechanism.

Thomas' words, Mitney and Andar wouldn't believe a single one.

Seeing the conflicted yet resigned expressions of the two, Armand stopped Thomas from persuading further, and smiled:

"Since both of you are so eager to meet Your Grace, why not let Mr. Marshall visit the industrial area, while you two accompany me to the military camp to meet Your Grace?"

Mitney looked at Marshall, "Does this arrangement work for you?"

"Absolutely," Marshall, showing no pretense, chuckled, "I've been wanting to broaden my horizons."