When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

"Now, are we launching the attack now?"

Standing outside the door, Boritz tilted his body slightly, trying to hear the voices inside the conference hall, but was forced back by the stern gaze of the Imperial Guard war monk at the door.

"Yes." Horn sat at one end of the long table, calmly observing the many elders present.

After laboriously finishing reading the documents in his hand, Thomas hesitantly raised his hand, "Your Holiness, I don't quite understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"You see, our preparations aren't adequate, many of the war monks haven't met the standards you set..."

"Standards are dead, people are alive," Horn waved his hand, "There will never be a time when everything is ready."

"Or maybe we can wait two more days. With rebellions breaking out in two places, it's possible Joan of Arc Castle will divert troops to suppress them, which means fewer of our good lads will die," Hakuto said with a frown.

"Our supplies are running out," Armand said, trembling with the ledger in hand, "We can only hold out for about ten more days at most."

"Your Holiness, actually..." an elder raised his hand, "You know, Daze Village has abundant fish resources, when spring comes, we can rely on fishing to get through the spring famine.

There are also many fallow fields on Autumn Dusk Island. If we use more laborers to plant fast-growing crops like radishes, we might last a few more days.

If we're still short, we can smuggle from Joan of Arc Castle.

I've calculated it— with the efficiency of the scroll loom, if we expand production, import wool from them, and then weave it into cloth, the money made would be enough to buy daily necessities."

After a suffocating silence, Horn let out a soft sigh.

He stood up from his seat, placing his hands on the table, glaring at everyone present:

"Most of our food and supplies are smuggled to us at great risk by the people of Joan of Arc Castle.

They have families and homes, and the reason they help us smuggle instead of reporting us is because we have given them hope.

They hope we can defeat the Church, just like we did before, and return the land to them.

This promise is also our mandate; you can see it as a contract we made with the people of Joan of Arc Castle.

They have paid their support on time, so we must fulfill our promise on time as well."

After Horn's words, most of the high-ranking officials remained silent, or bowed their heads in thought.

But to Horn's observation, a large part of them were daydreaming, only a few were truly contemplating.

Standing under the emblem known as the "Stag," Horn did not disturb them, instead giving them some time to digest and brew.

"You shouldn't see three months as a fixed deadline," Horn said, tapping the table, "You should see this war as a continuation of the bloody battle of Joan of Arc Castle. Do you still remember why we resisted the Duke in Joan of Arc Castle back then?"

The officers, bishops, and elders were collectively taken aback.

Involuntarily, they recalled the long lines of torches, knights tumbling down the long bridge, and the blood-stained grounds and rivers.

Back then, they fought to avoid massacre, to honor dead friends and loved ones, and for those wronged and oppressed.

In the end, realizing they were temporarily no match for the enemy, they chose to enter the Black Bone Swamp, slowly gathering strength for vengeance.

Horn looked at these high-ranking officials whose expressions were gradually changing: "Grand Duke Moliat has now initiated an uprising, previously that letter of goodwill didn't hold; do you think the city hall of Joan of Arc Castle can restrain those mercenaries?

Today, the people of the Duchy of Kush maintain peace and labor because Moliat's news hasn't spread entirely.

If it were fully spread, with Moliat becoming the target of all, what do you think the fate of Joan of Arc Castle, under her protection, would be?"

The elders shifted restlessly in their chairs; many faces began to flush slightly.

Life on Autumn Dusk Island was more comfortable than imagined, they were almost forgetting that this was just a stopover.

"Even though our lives are stable now, this stability is bought with the suffering of the people of Joan of Arc Castle and the Thousand River Valley.

If we set out one day earlier, we can save them from suffering one day sooner. Do you want our fellow believers to continue drowning in agony?"

The voice echoed in the chamber, Horn's youthful tone surprisingly carried a touch of the Holy Father's authority.

"Do not evade; remember our original intentions! Think carefully, why are we here?"

After a brief silence, Elder Sachis was the first to stand up and declared loudly, "I support going to war!"

"Any decision by His Holiness the Pope, I support."

"I agree!"

"I concur! Your Holiness, it's virtuous!"

Amid the chaotic declarations, Horn slammed his right hand heavily on the table, silencing everyone except himself:

"Then the date for the expedition is set for the day after tomorrow, that is, February 16th."

On the evening of the day the meeting ended, the Half Moon Theater was packed with people.

Brune squeezed through the crowd, moving slowly against the tide of people, heading towards his designated seat amidst countless pairs of calves and knees.

Judging by the cheers around him, His Holiness the Pope's speech had already started.

However, the elders' incompetence meant they couldn't maintain good order, causing this small group, including Brune, to still not reach their designated positions.

According to the notice issued in the afternoon, every ten households must send three to five people to participate on-site.

Typically, a respected adult head of the household was sent to serve as the people's representative.

Brune had no family, but as a War Monk, he was still chosen as one of the people's representatives.

As for what His Holiness the Pope was going to announce, the Military Chaplain of Brune's legion had hinted at it long ago.

Most likely, it was war.

"...Look at this, the ones who grow wheat can only eat chaff, the weavers have no clothes, the masons live in straw huts, and the wet nurses have to sell their sons!"

"What kind of life are we living!"

Finally seated on the volcanic ash stone chair, Brune looked up towards Horn at the center of the semicircular stage.

Today, Horn wasn't wearing his Pope's Holy Robe but instead donned the Battle Commander's ceremonial attire custom-made for him by the Holy Casting Department Clothing Workshop.

It was a more fitted, crisply ironed long coat with a short cape sewn across the shoulders down to the knee bends.

The cape was embroidered with a sun with crimson gold edges, symbolizing that there could be no second sun in heaven, nor a second saint in the nation, and the church had only one sun, Pope Horn.

Meanwhile, the Cardinals also received the Archbishop ceremonial attire resembling military uniforms, with a large floral Falan word "Piety" embroidered on the back.

As for those at the rank of Legion Commander, the military attire was similar to the bishop's, but their capes had the word "Loyalty" embroidered on them.

At this moment, Horn stood behind the lectern on the high platform, and as he spoke, the flames on the torches erected beside the theater trembled.

His voice, thanks to the theater's special acoustic design and the bronze urns buried at the steps, was accurately transmitted to everyone's ears.

With almost every pause, applause and cheers followed, almost unstoppable.

"...All humans are children of Adam and Eve, regardless of surname or nationality; physically, they come from the same ancestor, and spiritually, they are created by the Holy Father!

Why, in ancient times, did humans live in peace and prosperity, yet now there's so much suffering and turmoil?

It was nothing but the demons emerging from the Fire Prison, invading Paradise, deceiving and tempting the people.

People have always regarded priests and nobles as shepherds acting as paternal figures to the citizens, yet never realized, at the beginning of Paradise, humanity was humanity, everyone was equal.

Despite having bishops and kings, they would still respect commoners, not oppress them; bishops and kings were chosen from among the commoners.

So, where do our current bishops who inherit through redemption and kings who descend from their father come from?

They harbor evil; they do not come from the Celestial Kingdom; initially, humans were good at heart; they do not originate from the world of humans, then they can only come from the Fire Prison!

If they come from the Fire Prison, their identities are self-evident.

They are demons and devils!

Otherwise, how would they swallow the blood of our kin, seize the food that keeps us alive, destroy our homes?

How could the Holy Father's kingdom become such? It is the devils dragging our world into the Fire Prison.

Now, to the west, there is the uprising by the devout believers in Rapids City led by Catherine, and to the north, the uprising by the devout believers in Cold Spring Castle led by Moliat.

The devils have emerged; should our Salvation War Group remain stagnant? Aren't our War Monks precisely existent for salvation?"

Saying this, Horn took a breath, straightening his back. Below the stage, the flickering firelight reflected in countless angry eyes.

It is time.

"I declare!" Horn extended his right hand, as if to clasp hands with everyone, "From this moment on, to purge the church of devils, the Salvation War Group launches a great judgment against the Thousand River Valley Church.

We shall fight, and continue to fight, until we have completely eradicated the devils within the church! Until we save this world on the brink of death!

With the Saint Master's blessing, we raise the flag of salvation high, surely and justly judging all, repaying all blood debts and grievances!"

"For our dead children!" someone suddenly shouted.

The words were like stones thrown into a lake, the ripples prompting countless people to rise and shout.

"For those who have suffered injustice!" an artisan stepped onto the railing.

"For dignity, for freedom, for equality!" a blind Thousand River Valley person, a low-ranking monk, gripped the flagpole and roared.

Everyone stood up, their words continuously converging, echoing in the hall, transforming into unanimous chants:

"For victory!"

"For victory!!"