When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#281 - The Chosen Pope

After a quick cleanup of the battlefield, Horn did not immediately lead the Salvation Army to Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, but instead temporarily settled in a nearby noble manor.

After bandaging his wounds and arranging for the injured and dead war monks, Horn was finally able to rest.

After hastily eating some bread and hot soup, he could no longer resist the deep sleepiness and fell headfirst onto the bed, sleeping until nearly noon the next day before waking up.

However, after waking up, he was surprised to find that he couldn't get out of bed at all due to muscle soreness and a fractured femur.

Helpless, he had to call for Jeanne, who princess-carried him onto a wheelchair and pushed him outside.

"Jeanne, you're so quiet today."

Jeanne muttered a few words in a voice as small as a mosquito, but Horn didn't hear clearly, though he could roughly guess what they were.

He didn't respond, but suddenly asked, "Jeanne, who do you think would be faster if I raced Sylvaine in a wheelchair?"

"Ah?" Jeanne was first stunned, then lightly tapped Horn on the shoulder in a blaming manner, "Why do you always ask such disrespectful questions?"

"You laughed yourself, and you're blaming me."

"I didn't!"

"You're clearly smiling right now,"

After the two joked around for a few sentences, Horn changed the subject: "I know what you're thinking, but the deaths of the soldiers are not your fault, it's our fault for being too weak, it's the world's fault for being unreasonable."

"..."

"War always involves death, you and I must face and remember it."

"Hmph, I will remember it." Jeanne snorted softly, "One day, I will drive all those nobles out, so that the people of Thousand River Valley will never have to go to the battlefield again."

"That day will come." Turning to face forward, Horn leaned against the back of the wheelchair and shouted, "Armand!"

As soon as Horn shouted, he felt the muscles pull, causing the wound on his brow bone to ache faintly.

"Your Majesty, I'm here."

"What are our battle losses in this battle?"

The sunlight, carrying moisture, swirled in the dark corridor, as Horn's wheelchair rumbled over the dust-covered ground.

"Approximately 895 dead, more than 400 seriously injured, more than 1100 lightly injured, almost everyone is injured."

"So many?" Although he had expected it, Horn still felt a tightness in his chest upon hearing the number.

Having lived and eaten together for three months, Horn was already quite familiar with these good lads, and he couldn't help but feel sad at the sudden loss of several friends and relatives.

Sensing Horn's slightly depressed mood, Armand quickly added: "But we captured 788 warhorses, 320 sets of full knight armor, 277 ordinary breastplates, 489 sets of chainmail and leather armor, as well as weapons such as armed swords, spears, and maces, and other supplies, which are still being counted."

Hearing Armand's words, Horn cheered up a bit, knowing that as Pope, he was the last person who could afford to be depressed.

With these weapons, and with the territory and resources of Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, at least they wouldn't die so many people next time.

These war monks all died in the best years of their lives.

The average age of the war monks was less than thirty years old, and it was this group of young people who forcibly defeated the most powerful force in Leia - the Edict Legion.

Not to mention farmers defeating the Edict Legion, even examples of farmers defeating transcendent knights are extremely rare.

But the Salvation Army did it, this was the first time in the history of Thousand River Valley, but it was not the last time.

Dispelling the depression in his heart, Horn calmed down and continued to ask: "How are the legion commanders doing?"

"The legion commander of the Black Hat First Army, Victor, broke his neck. He has a three-stage breathing technique, and he was rescued by relying on potions and forced blessings from the monks. He's not paralyzed, but he needs to rest.

The legion commander of the Black Hat Second Army, Coleman, had his right foot amputated below the ankle.

The legion commander of the Black Hat Fourth Army, Rudylow, was shot in the skull by a crossbow bolt. He was rescued, but the arrowhead is still in his brain.

The legion commander of the Second Guard Army, Mencer, screamed all night during the debridement and just woke up.

The head of the legion commander of the Black Hat Third Army, Woolley, is all that has been found so far. The legion commander of the Black Hat Fifth Army, Chuck, died of severe injuries after his chest was crushed by a horse's hoof. The legion commander of the Black Hat Sixth Army, Colton, died after his heart was pierced by an Edict Knight."

Of the Salvation Army's eight legion commanders, three died and four were seriously injured in the battle, with only Das suffering minor injuries because he commanded the matchlock squad.

Even Horn had to sit in a wheelchair because of a fracture in his right leg.

Passing through the admiring and fanatical gazes of the war monks, Horn was pushed to the dining table in his wheelchair.

The four strangely shaped wounded legion commanders at the dining table looked at Horn sitting upright in the wheelchair and smiled wryly at each other.

They are now stationed in Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, those who know understand that they won the battle, those who don't know would think they lost.

"The Judge Advocate should write a report as soon as possible to record the battle history and prepare for the matters of recruitment and compensation." Picking up the bread on the table, Horn ate while instructing Armand.

Turning his head, looking at the legion commanders and war monks in front of him with dirt on their faces, he couldn't help but laugh: "When we enter the city this afternoon, let everyone wash their faces, we must enter the city with our heads held high."

…………

On the sticky wet grass after the rain, a knight's sword shining with a bright silver luster was stuck in the mud.

Bernardo bent down, stretched out his hand, and tensed his muscles to pull out the knight's sword, but he was disappointed to find that only half of the knight's sword remained.

Examining the precious longsword decorated with gold, jade, and jewels in his hand, Bernardo recognized that it was Beauregard's sword.

After staring blankly for a few seconds, he shook his head and threw the luxurious sword into the wicker basket behind him.

With the wicker basket on his back, he walked laboriously on the muddy ground. All around Bernardo were the Guardian Army soldiers wielding shovels and digging in the dirt.

They were ordered to bury the bodies in place to prevent the spread of plague.

The fresh sunlight passed through the leaves, turning the brown ground into a brownish-red.

Shrubs, grass, rocks... everywhere was stained with blood.

The smell of mud mixed with the smell of blood, blended together in the evaporation of water vapor, making Bernardo's head ache.

Broken armed swords were inserted into the roadside to form a fence, and broken limbs and arms hung on the dilapidated red and white round shields. A few human bones supported them, swaying precariously in the damp spring breeze.

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ said ⊥ in ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

Walking past these bloody scenes, Bernardo and his fellow Guardian Army soldiers gathered together and poured these almost new, slightly flawed, broken weapons into the wagon.

Bundles of long spears, armor plates, and arrows lay quietly in the wagon, slowly leaving under the control of the coachman.

"Bernardo, it's a good thing you came, our account books are wrong again, 3 dinars are missing, and we can't find them no matter what."

Before Bernardo could say anything, a burly man put his arm around his neck and dragged him towards the tent.

"Didn't they send a new accountant? Why is there an error again?" Wiping the muddy hands on his body, Bernardo asked helplessly.

The burly man strode forward carelessly: "It was the new accountant who made the mistake, who can do anything about it? Speaking of which, aren't you a coachman? How are you so good at arithmetic?"

"I originally wanted to be an accountant." Bernardo replied without changing his expression, "Unfortunately, I only studied with an old accountant for two days before my father died of illness and I had to come out and be a coachman."

"Tsk tsk tsk, it doesn't matter, I heard that His Majesty is very short of accounting talents and has specially opened a crash course in arithmetic. If you go to participate, it will definitely be better than being a coachman."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to join the army. The priest of the Holy Father Society said that the new recruits will be recruited from the original Guardian Army." The burly man knocked on his chest, "I, Leffe, am a man who will become a marshal sooner or later."

Listening to Leffe's sweaty bragging, Bernardo couldn't help but turn his gaze to the distance.

From the morning, villagers from nearby had been coming one after another.

They wore short clothes and stood on the edge of the battlefield, not daring to approach, just standing on the hillside and looking out.

But as time went on, they got closer and closer to the battlefield. The Guardian Army didn't stop them, after all, the valuable things had basically been picked up.

Finding that Bernardo's attention had been diverted, Leffe looked in the direction he was looking and laughed roughly: "Do you believe that the first reaction will definitely be vomiting?"

Before Leffe finished speaking, several villagers who had approached the battlefield were holding onto the trees next to them and vomiting wildly.

"There you go."

Wiping the corners of their mouths, the villagers did not leave, but walked step by step towards the pile of knight corpses.

They kept identifying the bodies, and when they recognized a familiar knight's body, they immediately burst into tears, as if they wanted to cry out all the grievances they had suffered before.

The priests of the Holy Father Society limped up to comfort them, and before they could even say a few words, they jumped up, their eyes red, and frantically punched the knight.

The villagers would not stop until they were beaten beyond recognition and their fists were pierced by bone fragments.

The priests gently stepped forward and guided them to the side, under the sheds that had been set up long ago. Batch after batch of villagers asked about the course and outcome of the battle.

The monks of the Holy Father Society repeated the story tirelessly, but they still couldn't get enough of it, until someone shouted:

"It's the Holy Grandson! The Pope, the Pope is here!"

At the end of the road, the Salvation Army and the sun banners appeared in everyone's sight.

The villagers present immediately abandoned the preaching monks of the Holy Father Society and rushed towards the advancing Salvation Army.

Bernardo could swear that he had never seen a Pope so welcomed by the people in his life.

They raised their hands frantically, constantly shouting Horn's name, jumping and dancing on the roadside, and throwing flowers and cheers madly at the Salvation Army.

After seeing the knight's corpse, after recalling Horn's promise, and after remembering the pain of the past, all the villagers knew who the seated youth was.

He is the Pope who killed the Duke, the Pope who exposed the Blue Blood, the Pope who defeated the Knights, the Pope who stood on the side of the common people, the Pope of the Thousand River Valley people themselves.

The chosen Pope!