When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#308 - Night in the Cave Forest

The crescent moon hung like a hook, its sparse light filtering through the dense forest of the cave, peeking at the small village nestled within.

Tata Village differed from other ordinary villages, situated as it was on the outskirts of the cave forest, with towering red pines and low houses scattered artfully.

The gray-green, steep roofs blended seamlessly with the red pines, making it nearly impossible to discern Tata Village's shape at night without lights.

Unlike the usual peaceful village, Tata Village was brightly lit tonight.

Amidst the clustered torches and oil lamps, carts pulled by donkeys and horses moved slowly forward, surrounded by people.

Drivers, lamb-holders, box-carriers, silk-toters, sack-luggers—with each step, shiny silver coins tumbled from their bundles, disappearing into the grass and bushes.

Behind them, Tata Village reeked faintly of blood and corpses.

"You killed all the remaining people?" Grush stared wide-eyed. "Why? They were helping us earlier, you..."

"Killed them, so what?" DeFord said nonchalantly, feeding the horses fodder. "I know what they were thinking.

If I hadn't decisively killed that Salvation Army monk back then, they probably would've called the Blackskins to kill us."

"How can you be so arbitrary?" Grush moved in front of DeFord. "They helped us farm and sell goods; they deserve some credit..."

"It's not like I didn't give them a chance!" DeFord, annoyed by Grush's questioning, slammed the fodder heavily into the trough.

"I asked them—'Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay?' They chose to stay themselves... so don't blame me!"

Grush fell silent for a moment, looking at the stout man before him, and he felt a sense of bewilderment.

When he was captured by slave traders at the age of seven, DeFord was still an honest, simple, and cheerful young man, often taking them hunting.

When he escaped and returned at seventeen, he didn't even recognize the man with the fleshy face at first glance.

He still couldn't understand how the honest and simple DeFord from back then had turned into the person before him.

"Grush, I know you have feelings for them, but they're outsiders. Only us old brothers from the cave are trustworthy."

"I spent ten years outside; I'm an outsider too..." Grush said blankly, looking at his neighbors and friends lying in pools of blood.

Back when their fathers escaped from the dark cave, it was these forest people who took them in.

But now, those forest people had either become their slaves and beasts of burden or turned into bandits and robbers just like them.

"If you want to blame someone, blame the Salvation Army. If it weren't for them, why would we have to run?" DeFord tugged at the reins, leading his warhorse out of the stable.

Running away was something these bandits had to do; their outer outposts had been removed by either the Cheka or the Black Hats.

If they didn't leave, the Black Hats would be standing right in front of them.

Eight outposts, a full eight outposts, and only two people escaped.

Remembering the mysterious flute, DeFord couldn't help but reveal a look of fear on his face.

Taking a deep breath and pushing the distracting thoughts out of his mind, Grush asked coldly, "What's next?"

"I've sent people to Golden River Township to ask for help. The Ibe Knights in the south will definitely be willing to help," DeFord said through gritted teeth. "Since we've shown our cards, let's play with them properly.

Blackscar has gone out to raid via the small paths, only harassing and not robbing, to keep them on the run.

We'll play cat and mouse with them in the forest and caves. Let's see if they have the guts to crawl through the caves like us.

They don't have much food left; even if we can't kill them, we can exhaust them.

Damn it, we only escaped from the cave twenty years ago, and now we have to run back."

DeFord glanced back at the bright moonlight, 'Just wait, I'll be back eventually!'

…………

"Commander, what exactly is in that black-covered carriage? It's like pulling a snail when we carry it."

"You just pull it. I asked His Eminence, and he said it's a wonderful tool for future use."

After dismissing the company commander who came to inquire, Zhuerdan raised his head and looked at the Black Hat Legion advancing on the Elgu Road.

According to the marching formation prescribed in the 'War Monk Codex - Officer Edition,' they advanced in five columns.

Two Holy Rifle Divisions in the front, two Holy Rifle Divisions in the rear, and six Lancer Divisions in the middle.

After the Battle of Jeanneburg, due to the significant increase in the number of Favored, the ratio of Holy Riflemen to Lancers increased from the original 1:4 to an astonishing 2:3.

According to calculations by Horn and Jeshka and others, this ratio will continue for quite some time before bayonets are equipped.

On both sides of the winding ancient road, besides sparse bushes, were rolling hills like waves.

The relative height of these hills did not exceed one hundred meters, and exposed rocky mountain walls could be seen from time to time.

Between the moss- and lichen-covered rocky mountain walls, the remaining hills were filled with lush green red pines, chestnut trees, and poplars.

Looking at the gloomy sky, Zhuerdan took out his pocket watch; the pointer already pointed to four thirty.

These fine mechanical pocket watches could only be produced by the machine tool of Autumn Dusk Island's Mechanical Palace.

So far, there were only twenty or so, all of which had been distributed to officers and bishops of various levels.

"Alright, we're only a few hundred steps away from the campsite; let's hurry up," Zhuerdan shouted to the war monks behind him.

"You said there were only a few hundred steps left an hour ago..."

The war monks muttered in their mouths, but they still quickened their pace, trying to set up camp before it got completely dark.

Another half an hour passed before they finally stopped, but they hadn't actually reached the campsite.

"What's going on?" Zhuerdan stood up on horseback and looked ahead.

Zhuerdan waited for the advancing Commander Momuli to arrive before learning that their path was blocked by giant trees and large rocks.

"Did those bandits put them there?" Zhuerdan asked Momuli.

Momuli blinked and said, "They probably did. It'll take a lot of effort to move them."

"Then why don't we set up camp here first and move them tomorrow when the light is better? Otherwise, if the formation is disrupted, it'll be another night battle, which is not good for us," Zhuerdan advised.

"I sent people to search the vicinity, and I didn't find any traces of bandits. They probably ran away early," Knight Leader Mula of the North only rode over at this time.

"We've been walking for a day; let's rest first."

The three chief officers reached a consensus, and the war monks began to erect tents on the spot and started cutting down the outer bushes and small forests.

In the swaying evening breeze, tents and wisps of smoke rose in the forest clearing.

Scouts took dry food and canvas sleeping bags and scattered around, setting up secret哨探 around the camp.

The quartermasters in the food tent stirred the large pot, handing the sticky rice porridge and salted fish to the war monks who came to receive their meals.

The Black Hats cooked and ate in groups of fifty, according to the divisions.

According to the menu personally set by Horn, each war monk received 3 pounds of staple food, 3 ounces of meat, and 1 ounce of vegetables per day.

During training, the meat and vegetables were stewed meat and cabbage soup. If they were operating outside, the meat and vegetables became salted fish and pickled vegetables.

But even this standard of living, with meat every day, made the villagers at home green with envy.

"Woooo—"

Zhuerdan had just picked up his rice porridge when a sharp horn sounded from under the black-gray night clouds.

The war monks stopped eating, stood up, and looked in that direction.

Pouring the rice porridge back into the pot, Zhuerdan dropped the wooden bowl, drew the armed sword from his waist, and ran towards the higher ground in the camp.

Picking up the telescope, in the vision shrouded in shadows, Zhuerdan saw a sentry standing on the hillside.

He blew the horn while anxiously waving the torch in this direction.

The torch illuminated the leaping warhorses in the shaking, and the neighing, battle cries, and horn sounds merged into one.

A stout man on horseback roared, and with the momentum of the warhorse's charge, the scimitar in his hand slashed towards the sentry's neck like a phantom.

The bright blade of light flew smoothly, and a human head flew up, with bright red blood spurting from the bloody neck break.

The headless body of the sentry rolled down the hillside, charging along with the stout man.

Behind the stout man, hundreds of horse-riding bandits made strange howls, crossing the hillside and corpses, rushing straight towards the camp.

"Why blow the horn so late? What are the outer sentries doing!"

Zhuerdan was usually good-tempered, but he couldn't help but curse when he saw this scene.

"Quick, assemble!"