When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 51: Witch’s Disease and Spell-Like Abilities

Chapter 51: Chapter 51: Witch’s Disease and Spell-Like Abilities

After inspecting the Pope Country’s treasury and getting a sense of his wealth, Horn felt even more at ease.

As Miseria’s only son, what’s wrong with taking a bit of money from his mother?

Horn had asked Miseria in a dream.

Mother said okay.

Who would dare oppose?

This true angel investment will be Horn’s first pot of gold in his path to fortune.

And the ink and printing technology will be Horn’s money pump.

With the startup capital and relying on ink and printing technology, he would lay low in Black Snake Bay for a few years, avoiding trouble.

Think of a way to get rid of the "Holy Mark" on his neck, see if he could change his appearance, change his face.

After all, it’s a world with spells, you never know.

The church’s power in this world is too vast; in a world with extraordinary powers, rebelling is just courting trouble, isn’t it?

Besides, rebelling with these people, heads rolling here and there, is that fun?

Thinking of this, Horn recalled the Saint Son Beheading Sword earlier, despite that sword chopping off his head, it was quite handy to use.

Maybe that’s the feeling of blood connection.

But after Tommy took power, they did not allow Horn to have any weapons, and the sword was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, go ask around Tommy’s Feather’s group, see who has seen my sword, have it sent back to me."

Previously, only those without backing under Tommy’s core members were strangled by Horn.

Most of the rest were disarmed, whipped five times, put into the dungeon, and reflected for three days.

As for those who "surrendered" early, they were not even disarmed.

"Next, let’s head to the Pope’s Guard..." With a few Child Soldiers, Horn followed the schedule set in the morning, heading towards the monastery gate.

But as soon as he stepped out the door, someone stopped him.

"Grampwen wants to see me?" Horn halted, caressing the Pope’s Staff in his hand, "Weren’t we scheduled for lunch? Why advance it suddenly?"

Looking at the sky, Horn decided to meet these two first.

Walking through the courtyard and flowerbeds, Horn arrived at a monk’s dwelling, not as good as Horn’s bedroom in the church, but much better than the straw huts or dungeon outside.

After all, Horn still needed these two to liaise with the Secret Faction.

Nodded to the guards at the door, the guards returned the gesture with three fingers across their chest.

Knocking on the door, Horn pushed in without waiting for a response.

"Where is Chervis?" Horn scanned the room, seemingly not finding Chervis.

His gaze sharpened, gripping the staff in his hand, could he have escaped?

Noticing Horn’s unease, Grampwen quickly pointed behind Horn with a wry smile.

Turning around, Horn saw Chervis in the fireplace corner behind him.

He was half-curled, burying his head in the cold pile of coal, his body rhythmically rising and falling.

"Why is he sleeping there?"

Grampwen helplessly pointed to a four-legged walnut bed in the corner: "He drank too much of his self-brewed fake liquor, taking the bed as a toilet, and the fireplace as the bed..."

"Where’s the toilet?"

"He used it to store liquor." Grampwen sighed, "Last night, his craving for alcohol acted up, he banged his head against the wall, insisted on drinking.

I had the guards fetch some, but they got it wrong and fetched fake liquor."

Horn inquired, revealing that Chervis made fake liquor by specifically buying cheap heads and tails of the liquor in Tree Hedge Town, then adding toxic hallucinogenic mushrooms, packaging it up to sell in the countryside.

It’s claimed to be high-end black name liquor, smuggled from the Western World via the Blood and Flesh Royal Court, requiring special wooden cups to drink, very particular.

"Alright, Busak, find a couple of people to wash Chervis up and sober him up."

After directing Busak and the others to drag Chervis off to sober up, Horn pulled an oak chair unceremoniously, crossing his legs: "Since Chervis is like this, you guys came to find me early then?"

Grampwen, sitting beside the bed, next to a blind woman, smiled obsequiously:

"Yes, Your Eminence, thank you for moving your holy presence to my place, my wife’s health is failing, you are truly merciful, God will bless you, Your Eminence."

After the flattery, Grampwen hurriedly distanced himself from Tommy: "Your Eminence, I want you to know that from the start, I’ve always trusted and adored you greatly, never doubting you.

All those things that troubled you and disrespected you were ordered by Tommy, and I was just forced by his might, I had no choice...

Alas, you don’t know, my heart was bleeding at that time."

"Alright, alright." Horn quickly waved his hand, "I have matters to attend to later, if I wanted to deal with you, you wouldn’t be here now, so say what you have to quickly."

"Your Grace, now that the Pseudo-Pope occupies a high position, he’s bound to send troops to exterminate us. As the Holy Father’s only true grandson, what will you do if something happens?"

Grampwen feigned a look of regret and urgency, his downcast eyes glanced at Horn, whose expression remained unchanged.

Horn remained expressionless, quietly staring at him.

"And I happen to know a group of righteous men, they may speak crudely, but they are absolutely devout. If something happens, they will surely protect you, as the last spark of truth."

Horn finally showed a smile. It must be said, this circus clown named Grampwen is indeed a clever person.

"In fact, ahem, Tommy might have already contacted them once before, if the timing is right, they should arrive tonight or tomorrow night."

"Oh?" Horn’s eyes lit up, his posture involuntarily straightening.

"But I don’t know their secret code. Given the Secret Faction’s caution, if we don’t make contact, they’ll surely leave quickly." Grampwen’s smile was a bit forced, "We need to notify them again, but this to and fro will probably take five to seven days."

"Does it really take that long?"

"After all, there’s this flood, many contact points are submerged, so..."

"Alright then." Feeling a bit disappointed, Horn stood up, ready to leave, "I’ll send someone with your people, get ready, have people set off this afternoon."

"Your Grace, that’s the issue I wanted to discuss." Grampwen steadied himself, "You are also a sufferer of the witch’s illness, you know the aftereffects and spell-like abilities, and my wife..."

"Aftereffects, what aftereffects?" Horn interrupted Grampwen.

"You don’t have aftereffects?" Grampwen’s eyes widened, as if he heard something unbelievable.

"What aftereffects do I have? I don’t understand." Horn looked just as puzzled at Grampwen.

Grampwen swallowed: "The witch’s illness is a lifelong ailment, it always or more or less brings aftereffects like headaches, nosebleeds, muscle spasms, epilepsy, etc."

Horn was even more surprised than Grampwen: "Is that so? I don’t feel anything, I feel great and eat well."

"You haven’t felt anything unusual?"

Horn furrowed his brows, trying to remember if there was anything unusual.

If he had to say, ever since he got the witch’s illness, not only did his vision and hearing improve, but his sleep quality became exceptionally good, and he even grew half an inch.

"This can’t be? You were infected with Jeanne’s witch illness?"

"Yes, what’s wrong?"

"Have you ever unconsciously discharged electricity? Like when you’re asleep."

"Discharge electricity?" Horn was even more confused, "I’ve never discharged while awake.

If I discharged while asleep, with Jia Li’s personality, she’d definitely mention it...

Wait, why would I discharge electricity?"

"Those who survive the witch’s illness become the witch’s dependents or even offspring, inheriting part of the witch’s spell-like abilities, especially the first generation."

Grampwen was just as confused: "My wife Diya, she used to be the best acrobat in the circus, was infected by a witch with divination abilities.

She barely made it through but ended up blind, paraplegic, never able to perform again.

After recovering from the witch’s illness, she gets splitting headaches periodically, needing soothing potions to relieve them..."

"Explain to me what those spell-like abilities are, I still don’t get it."

Grampwen exchanged a glance with his wife: "Your Grace, spell-like abilities are a degraded version of a witch’s abilities.

The first-generation witch’s dependents use spell-like abilities without needing rituals or materials, they can use them directly.

This is a lifelong curse for the first-generation witch’s dependents, they might use them unconsciously, even in their sleep.

But the price is an exacerbation of aftereffects, each use of spell-like abilities means a reduction in lifespan."

At this point, Grampwen’s voice gradually lowered, his hands on his knees bulged with veins, tightly gripping the wrinkled fabric of his pants.

Diya reached out, gently stroking his back, showing a gentle smile: "Luckily my ability doesn’t harm others."

Is that so? Horn fell into thought. Then why don’t I have such a situation?

Could it be because I’m a Transmigrator?

Or is Miseria really protecting me?

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Horn discarded the stray thoughts, now wasn’t the time to ponder this: "So, what exactly do you want to say?"

The couple exchanged a glance, and finally, Diya spoke softly: "My spell-like ability is divination.

When divining, I can see things happening in the moment, just for an instant.

Last night, my ability activated unconsciously, then I saw the High Castle Archbishop’s army, they have already set out, and their target is us."