When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Standing behind the fence, Mitney remained dumbfounded.

Beside him, the bulrushes with large heads and thin stems swayed from side to side in the gusting wind.

The sound of the clockwork gun ceased, and the meadow filled with roars and cries returned to calm, yet Mitney still couldn't comprehend what had transpired.

He clearly saw Andar rush out like a bolt of lightning, just a few steps away from extending his longsword to the heads of those Salvation Army soldiers.

He was ready to jump into the fence to intercept when Andar became bloodthirsty.

Then, then...

Mitney began to doubt whether what he had witnessed was a dream.

Amidst a crackling sound like popping beans, Mitney clearly saw Andar as if struck by a giant hammer, flipping backward.

About twenty paces from Mitney, he saw Andar lying on his side on the left, face down on the ground, completely still.

His left arm curved to protect his head, his right arm extended to the left side, pinned under his left elbow, with his palm open as if trying to grasp something, his left leg bent against his right arm's elbow, and his right leg almost fully stretched.

"Don't worry." Jeanne whispered beside Mitney, "They're using 15mm caliber and have changed to stone bullets in advance, he'll just suffer a little at most."

Indeed, when Andar was carried over and examined by Mitney, he found no severe injuries, just a stone bullet that happened to hit his helmet, knocking him out.

Unlike other firearms, the clockwork gun can theoretically fire any projectile, and these flint bullets can produce certain blunt force impacts.

As long as it doesn't result in immediate death, reputations can pass unscathed.

This Andar wasn't a particularly important figure; otherwise, Catherine wouldn't have sent him here to Horn.

If from the beginning, he had faced the Salvation Army with the proper respect, even if Jeanne disliked him, it wouldn't have escalated to this point.

He challenged the duel himself, and if he lost and still had complaints, it would instead reflect poorly on Mitney's side for lacking magnanimity.

"Andar was too rude, and he deserves this lesson." Mitney said apologetically after confirming Andar had only suffered minor injuries.

With a wry smile, Jeanne bowed slightly to him: "To unwelcome guests, we greet with holy guns; to friendly guests, we welcome with fine wine and courtesy.

On behalf of my elder brother, the Battle Commander of the Salvation Army, Saint Son Horn, I welcome your arrival."

Before him, this female knight still exuded a naive straightforwardness, yet Mitney felt somewhat bewildered.

Her demeanor seemed like that of a silly country girl, yet she effortlessly taught the arrogant Andar a lesson.

And this lesson, frustratingly enough, left Mitney with nothing to say.

"Come, I'll take you to see the real military camp."

Upon hearing this, Mitney's spirit lifted: "Isn't this a military camp?"

"This is the recruit camp; they were only conscripted this morning. Is their performance that unexpected?" Jeanne said, slightly annoyed, "I know we aren't great, but not to such an extent, right? You came along with the new recruits; even if you take a closer look, you'd know these were soldiers who only entered camp today."

After settling Andar, Mitney rode forward awkwardly on horseback and soon saw another training ground.

On this training ground beside the main entrance, soldiers marched uniformly, like lines of black threads.

They lifted their legs together and lowered them in unison; if Mitney weren't close enough and saw only blurs, he'd think it was a shadow.

These soldiers were like a completely different breed from those recruits earlier.

Every time they raised or lowered their legs, if anything appeared out of sync, the veteran captain would jump out and harshly whack the erring soldier with a stick.

Mitney had to admit, these soldiers looked much better than the mercenary infantry in appearance, even rivaling the armored soldiers.

However... forming neat lines doesn't mean they possess the ability to confront knights.

"Twenty days ago, the soldiers here weren't much different from the ones outside, maybe even worse. In just twenty days, they transformed to this; give us two months, and they'll be stronger."

As if reading Mitney's thoughts, Jeanne pointed to the soldiers with her whip, speaking.

Without replying to Jeanne's words, Mitney observed the soldiers' training and marching: "What are those white spots on the ground?"

"Oh, those are designated footsteps for practicing footwork." Jeanne glanced casually as she walked, explaining.

"May I hear more details from you?"

Jeanne slowed her horse, observing Mitney's intrigued expression: "Of course, footwork training is the second phase in the recruit camp training..."

"Could you start from the first phase?"

"...The first phase for new recruits joining the camp is to stand at attention: heels together, toes pointing outward, knees straight but not overextended, upper body perpendicular to the hips, arms naturally hanging down, elbows close to the body.

They must practice standing at attention and at ease several hundred times daily until they can repeat it fifty times without error and maintain the posture for an hour.

Next is turning left and right, interspersed with practice of standing at attention, similarly passing with fifty consecutive correct commands.

After mastering these exercises, they will begin practicing marching techniques."

"Marching techniques, does that require special training?" Mitney asked softly, remembering that as long as one could walk neatly, it didn't matter how one walked.

"No, free movements prevent us from measuring and controlling the pace and timing of the formation. We need more precise control." Jeanne, having spent some time with Horn in the camp, was well-versed in the training and military affairs.

"Our normal pace is 60 steps per minute, each step two-thirds of a meter, advancing 40 meters per minute.

The quick march is 75 steps per minute, each step two-thirds of a meter, advancing 50 meters per minute.

To maintain formation alignment, we require them to step on the white dots with each footfall, each white dot also two-thirds of a meter apart.

They will continue practicing and marching like this every day until we erase the white dots, and they can still proceed with the same stride and frequency; then the training is complete."

"This training is too harsh." Mitney thought about those mercenaries who played for three days and trained for two, shaking his head, "How frequently do you train?"

"Once a day, no rest is allowed in the new recruits' camp, and after entering the regular corps, there's one day off every ten days."

"Once a day! How long is the training?"

"From 5 AM..."

"5 AM?" Mitney had never heard this term.

"Uh, that means waking up at morning prayer, 5 minutes to get dressed, 5 minutes to wash, 5 minutes to assemble, then a 5-kilometer run for 40 minutes.

15 minutes for group prayer and hymn before meals, 20 minutes for meals, 30 minutes rest.

Then at 7 AM, based on progress, we practice posture and marching techniques for about 4 hours, followed by 45 minutes of memorization from the Soldier's Holy Scripture - Military Law Chapter.

Next is another 15 minutes of group prayer and hymn before meals, after lunch at 1 PM, training continues, with half an hour of memorizing and writing the 28 Falan letters, and the remaining three hours on military posture and polearm raising techniques.

Before dinner, 15 minutes of military law recitation and 15 minutes of hymn, formal dinner during evening class (5 PM).

After dinner, there's typically 1.5 hours of duty time for soldiers to organize their quarters and rest.

At 7 PM, they go to the military chaplain to hear the sermon, free activities from 8 to 9 PM, and they go to bed no later than 9 PM.

Depending on the progress, there are different trainings, for example, for those whose military postures are almost perfect, extra training on physical fitness and breathing techniques will be added, such as weight-bearing running and 100-meter sprints..."

"That clockwork firearm mentioned earlier, was it practiced here?" Mitney asked as if unintentionally.

"Clockwork firearm, ah." Jeanne's expression was unchanged, "I'm just a rustic village woman, how would I know about these, you'd better ask my brother."

What kind of rustic village woman are you, Mitney cursed silently, thinking he could pry some information out, but was interrupted right at the start.

As Mitney stood in front of the military legion command mansion, Marshall had been waiting there for some time.

As soon as Marshall saw Mitney, he began speaking incoherently: "Mr. Mitney, you have no idea what I saw... so marvelous, so terrifying... the might of the Holy Father..."

"Alright, alright." Mitney helplessly calmed Marshall down, "Maintain your decorum and dignity, Marshall."

"...Apologies, Mr. Mitney." Marshall suppressed the urge to speak, directing his attention to the three-story El army mansion before him.

As a jurist, Marshall had occasionally audited architecture classes in university, having a slight understanding of this art.

"Mr. Mitney," Armand, who had previously left, emerged from the pediment of the marble door pillar, "Mr. Horn is currently holding a debate meeting, it might take a while. If you'd like to listen in, I can take you there.

If you don't want to listen, I can take you to the guest waiting room in advance to wait. What is your preference..."

"I would like to witness the wisdom of the Saint's Grandson." Mitney did not use overly presumptuous titles, which would seem too meek.

"Very well, please follow me."

Bidding farewell to Jeanne, Mitney and the others ascended the steps, led by Armand, and arrived outside a room on the second floor.

As soon as he stood at the door, he heard a roar coming from inside through the thin door.

"You're truly invincible!"

"Am I invincible? Am I invincible? I even wonder if I'm too gentle!"

Mitney withdrew his hand from knocking, looking enquiringly at Armand, who opened the side door without surprise: "Please."