When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

"Today has indeed been a roller coaster of a day, and I must first inform you about Andar's situation. He needs to return alone ahead of schedule.

Andar has been excluded for too long, and his heart is filled with too much anger, causing him to be repeatedly rude.

We made a misjudgment; Andar is not suited for the situation here.

If that Saint's Grandson had followed our wishes, signing the first or second contract and merely serving as a spiritual leader, Andar would have been suitable as an officer training soldiers.

Because they depend on us, Andar could take the opportunity to foster our people within the Salvation Army.

But the Saint's Grandson signed the third contract. Although we no longer need to supply them with materials, we have to consider their internal emotional issues.

Andar, being the second son of a knight, places too much importance on his noble status.

I must argue in his defense, he always behaved politely, only complaining in private, yet due to his status and tone, he was disliked by members of the Salvation Army.

I must say, that Witch named Jeanne is not as straightforward as she seems.

I don't know whether she deduced it herself or learned from Armand, because before she arrived, I saw her talking with that little monk.

She saw through our attitude and the possibility of Andar seizing training rights.

She deliberately took us to the recruits' camp, pretended to be naive, misleading Andar.

If Andar could have considered our purpose in coming, controlled his emotions, and maintained basic respect, none of this would have happened.

But his mind was clouded by anger and pride, he underestimated the Salvation Army's combat power, and incredibly demanded a solo fight against ten opponents, getting knocked out by that magical crossbow.

Andar made a fool of himself in public. He couldn't earn any respect here, and even if we kept him, it would be of no use.

The Lightning Witch achieved her goal; Andar can no longer take her armies.

Of course, this is just my personal speculation. Perhaps she acted purely out of disdain or amusement; witches' actions are always extreme and unpredictable.

Except for you.

Next, we will continue to try to find a group within the Salvation Army that can replace that person. I think this action is unlikely to be realized, but what if it is?

Wishing you well.

Mitney."

The night was like water, and the lamp light like beans.

In the cold wind slipping through the window cracks, Mitney rolled up the letter and placed it inside a specially-made small wooden tube.

By the fireplace in the house, a lazybird the size of a pigeon was dozing by the hearth, its feathers nearly catching fire from the flames.

"Wake up, wake up." Mitney flicked his fingers to awaken this special messenger bird and, under its disgruntled gaze, stuffed the wooden tube into its throat.

Opening the window, the lazybird shook its translucent wings and darted into the low-hanging cloud layer, disappearing from Mitney's sight.

This type of lazybird could deliver letters not only because it could find its way and was very fast but also because it would dissolve the letters in its belly with acid upon death to prevent information leaks.

Sitting by the fireplace, Mitney took out a bottle of wine from his luggage.

He really couldn't understand how a leader of a full twenty thousand people couldn't find a single bottle of wine.

Poured the purplish-red wine into a copper cup, Mitney took a light sip, but then he thought of the clockwork musket he had seen this morning.

In the afternoon, to prove his statement, Horn specifically let Mitney try the clockwork musket.

As a result, it was indeed as Horn said, only the so-called Blessed could use it.

Rubbing the copper cup in his hand, Mitney stared at the bright red reflection in the wine, dazed.

Why could only the Blessed use it? Could it be because there was some unique mechanism?

It couldn't possibly be that this Saint's Grandson is actually the Holy Father's grandson, could it? That would be ridiculous.

Swirling the wine cup in his hand and blurring the reflection, Mitney seemed to grasp something, muttering to himself:

"How is the transformation of a mortal into a Blessed so much like witch disease... No, impossible. If it were witch disease, how could so many Blessed show no aftereffects?

And with so many Witch's followers, could they all be infected by Jeanne alone? Surely the Saint's Grandson isn't a witch?"

With a self-deprecating laugh, Mitney downed all the wine in one gulp, thinking how absurd, since Horn is a male.

Speaking of witches, Mitney couldn't help but recall the Salvation Army civilians' attitude toward witches.

Whenever this happened, he couldn't help but admire the Saint's Grandson's ability to incite and deceive.

Those ordinary people actually treated Jeanne as a Saintess, even when they saw the "Saintess" using spells!

Mitney specifically asked Armand about this, and the explanation he got was roughly—

Angels can be tempted by devils, so why can't witches convert to the Holy Father? Surely devils aren't stronger than the Holy Father?

According to this logic, since angels are assistants of the Holy Father, witches are assistants of devils, and after equivalent exchange, the Saintess's status should be equal to an angel's.

In this way, as a witch, Jeanne hasn't faced any discrimination from anyone.

This might be useful in the future, considering Mitney's superior Catherine is also a witch.

After two cups of wine, Mitney gradually became sleepy. Feeling his eyelids starting to droop, he stopped thinking.

Walking to the window, Mitney was about to draw the curtains and go to sleep when his gaze involuntarily lingered on the distant palace where Horn and others resided.

That was a mysterious place, with an eye-catching spire, the only place Mitney wasn't allowed to visit.

Struggling to lift his heavy eyelids, Mitney couldn't tell if he was too sleepy and hallucinating, but he seemed to see the spire of that palace flickering with light.

......

When the light inside the Ethereal Tower vanished, the faint sense of oppression dissipated completely, and after waiting for another ten minutes, Horn finally entered the Mechanical Palace.

Outside the Ethereal Tower, Hilov and others were already waiting for him.

"How is the plasma pool?"

"Still no good." Jeanne shook her head in frustration.

Hilov yawned: "We just tested it, and the result is that these plasma waters are difficult to control; sometimes they discharge, sometimes they don't, and the pattern is unclear."

Horn sighed, joining in their headache. He hoped to use the plasma waters in the plasma pool for welding, which could compensate for the absence of a master welder like Jeanne.

Things can't always go perfectly.

He didn't stay disheartened for long before raising his head: "Hilov, your divination is detailed, can you see what exactly is in the plasma water?"

When Horn first learned that Hilov could divine in detail, he nearly jumped for joy, thinking they could finally explore the microscopic world.

But Hilov told him her limit was seeing things at the level of tiny mites, barely scratching the "element" level.

Even though it's only at the microbial level, it's still valuable.

Horn thought, maybe by comparing the microorganisms in the plasma water with those in regular water, he might find something.

"Alright." Hilov drooped her soft wolf ears, "I'm so sleepy; can I go to sleep now?"

"Go sleep, go sleep." Ruffling Hilov's head, Horn laughed, "Remember to experiment with those methods I taught you tomorrow, otherwise they won't be accurate."

Hilov was nudged back to her room by Ah Fu, and Jeanne yawned as well: "Then I'll go to sleep too."

"Wait." Horn suddenly called to Jeanne, "Jeanne, may I ask what's going on with you?"

"He's not one of us." Jeanne looked into Horn's eyes, speaking earnestly and straightforwardly.

"Is it that simple?"

"Brother, if all of Catherine's subordinates are such 'knights,' then we shouldn't form an alliance with her; she should be our enemy."

Unbraiding her hair into a more dangerous style, Jeanne continued, "I have a hunch that they aren't as friendly and kind as they appear, and do we really need an alliance?"

Jeanne's serious face wavered under the fluorite light, and Horn looked directly into Jeanne's eyes: "Sometimes, even knowing there's a stone in the rice pudding, you still have to swallow it because, after eating, there's a future prospect of digesting or expelling it, but if you don't eat it, there's no future at all."

"Can it really be digested? Is there really no future?" The wind lifted Jeanne's hair, her voice seeming to come from afar.

"It can..." Horn began, but the wind blowing in scattered his words, leaving him only to say, "Tomorrow is the new recruit assessment, get some sleep early."