When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 63: Betting on the Nation’s Fate (Part 2)

Chapter 63: Chapter 63: Betting on the Nation’s Fate (Part 2)

"What’s going on?"

Quincy cursed angrily, hopping from foot to foot, "Do you even know what timing is? It was supposed to be a dawn raid, and now it’s almost noon."

"Isn’t it because you insisted on taking the narrow muddy ditch, saying you wanted to surprise them? Otherwise, how would the wagon get stuck in the mud pit?"

Someone muttered softly.

Quincy’s head turned 210 degrees, looking in the direction of the voice, "Who, who is talking?"

All Quincy saw was a group of Night Guards using leaves and pieces of wood to fan themselves.

They opened the fronts of their clothes, exposing their hairy chests, sitting askew on stones, deadwood, or stakes alongside the road.

Faced with Quincy’s glaring eyes, they either looked blank or acted like nothing was wrong.

Quincy resentfully withdrew his gaze and continued to oversee the sweaty Public Register Farmers repairing the wagon.

At this moment, about a mile before the slope of the narrow muddy ditch, ten large carts were blocking the road.

Among them, three large carts had broken axles in the mud and bumps, with wheels sunk into the earth, forced to stop at the roadside.

Quincy couldn’t abandon these goods, as the post-flood Thousand River Valley was full of bandits and thieves, even robber knights.

Should the flag of Archbishop Banifus leave, who knows what might pounce on them?

The sun was scorching, making one’s heart anxious, with even the hair sticky with sweat reflecting sunlight.

A few fat horses kept snorting, agitatedly swishing their tails to ward off the flies buzzing around.

The Peasant Soldiers rested on their wooden sticks, leaning in twos and threes, or simply sitting directly in the mud, picking lice for each other.

Only the twenty or so Armored Soldiers sat on their portable stools, carefully sharpening their blades with whetstones.

Like the Night Guards, they were also muttering curses under their breath.

Looking at the high sun, Quincy rolled his horsewhip into a disk, constantly fanning himself with it.

No matter how he fanned, he couldn’t dispel the anxiety in his heart.

Especially seeing Brother Boned and Qianqian, that pair of adulterers, whispering sweet nothings made rage rise within him like wildfire.

When he asked someone to check the axles, he found they seemed to have signs of sabotage.

Although there was no evidence to prove it was Qianqian, Quincy’s intuition told him it was her.

It was because she made trouble in the morning, insisting on checking the goods inside the wagon, causing Quincy’s departure to be delayed by the time of one candle (an hour).

Fearing that the Secret Faction would run away after waiting too long, Quincy urged the wagons to speed up, which led to the axle break and delayed nearly half a candle’s time.

According to Quincy’s plan, they should have departed normally, arrived on time, and then been ambushed by the enemy.

His side would be injured and retreat in defeat, claiming their share of the goods.

Quincy himself would stage a desperate counterattack, charge into the camp, decapitate over ten people, secure a great victory, and save face.

In this way, his men would be injured protecting the goods, the initial failure would be due to the surprise attack, catching them off guard, and he would turn the tide.

Face would be saved, and they would obtain their share, quite perfect.

But unexpectedly, checking the goods and the axle break directly caused him to arrive who knows how late.

One must realize that the Secret Faction, due to their need for secrecy and frequent betrayal, is very sensitive to time.

If there is any sign of trouble, they would flee at the slightest whiff of danger.

If they waited too long without seeing them, they might think Quincy deceived them, planning to backtrack and raid their base.

What made Quincy most helpless was that his ancestors had indeed done such things before.

In the minds of the Secret Faction, the Church’s credibility had long been exhausted through such incidents repeatedly.

To reassure them, Quincy sent his trusted Pico to deliver a message once more.

If they ran, he would quickly call them back.

Quincy stood on a waist-high stake, ignoring the blinding sun, like a longing stone, waiting for Pico’s figure.

"Captain Quincy, why not leave for now?" Qianqian walked over, waving a pretentiously elegant feather fan, "Let’s leave these goods for a bit, and leave a team of Armored Soldiers and a few of my guards to watch over them."

Quincy’s forehead was beading with sweat: "Haha, I wouldn’t go and leave you in danger, would I?"

"This small cargo of mine, how can it compare with something like eradicating the Secret Faction?"

"Neither advancing nor retreating, what exactly do you intend to do? Bishop, how can you handle such an important task like this?" Brother Boned chimed in from the side.

Gritting his teeth, Quincy gave a forced smile as he glanced at Boned: "If I leave you here, what if you encounter robbers or bandits?"

"I’ll just go with you. These rebels are just a motley crew, surely you can handle them?"

"But look around, there are robbers and bandits everywhere. If we leave, who will watch over this cargo?"

"A few carts of goods are nothing to the Meigedi Commerce Association," Qianqian said, covering her mouth with a feather fan. "Our association is always passionate about my Lord’s cause, and if it’s for eradicating the Secret Faction, my mistress Catherine would certainly be willing to compensate your loss, twenty percent above market price."

Damn it, selling this cargo on the black market could bring ten or even ninety percent markup!

Quincy’s expression turned even more grim.

"Are you cowering from the rebels? Isn’t it your standing under Archbishop Banifus’s banner?" Boned mocked.

Cornered by both Boned and Qianqian, Quincy’s face turned ashen: "Alright then, swords don’t have eyes on the battlefield, you both better be careful."

"Is that a threat?" Boned erupted in anger, but Qianqian grabbed his arm beside him.

Qianqian gracefully lifted her skirt slightly: "No need to worry, Brother Boned will protect me, won’t you?"

"Of course." Boned lifted his chin. "I will certainly report today’s matter to Bishop Banifus."

Seething with anger, Quincy ignored the pair and rushed into the peasant soldiers to start maneuvering.

"Get up, you lazy dogs, gutless creatures, all of you get up, time to move out."

The whip waved, leaving afterimages, as it scattered strips of flesh. The peasant soldiers, with urine and blood, scrambled up trembling in fear.

With a stern face, Quincy climbed atop a cart and shouted loudly: "Tisqu, you stay with half a team of Armored Soldiers and untie the reins, the rest follow me to quash the bandits."

Jumping down from the cart, he looked up at the sky, and found he was about an hour and a half late.

Secretly praying in his heart for those of the Secret Faction to be patient and courageous, not fleeing before they see anyone.

If they’ve already fled, he hoped Pico could act swiftly to call them back or reschedule a rendezvous.

Leaving half the team and about ten peasant soldiers, the rest formed ranks and ran towards the small muddy ditch.

The blazing sun scorched the marching men dripping with sweat, especially on such a muddy slope.

The soldiers, complaining as they went, used their weapons to fend off mosquitoes and flies, as mud, fallen leaves, and decomposing animal corpses splattered all over them.

As they got closer to the fence of the small muddy ditch, Quincy’s heart grew heavier. They had reached this point, yet the anticipated ambush hadn’t occurred.

Amidst his anxiety, he spotted Pico, who went to notify Gulag Monastery, sneaking out from the shrubs.

Pulling Pico into the shadows, Quincy whispered urgently: "How is it? Where are they? They haven’t already run, have they? It’s time to come out now."

Faced with Quincy’s barrage of questions, Pico was drenched in sweat and out of breath: "Why, why did you move ahead of time?"

"Cause of that harlot Qianqian, and I feared they’d run, just tell me what’s going on."

"Oh dear." Pico slapped his thigh and stomped incessantly, "Not ran; they haven’t arrived yet!"

"You, say that again?!"

Quincy had thought he was already over an hour late.

But never did he expect that the Secret Faction was two hours late.

Weren’t they supposed to be punctual?

"What now? We’re about to pass the designated ambush spot and I can’t order them to rest."

Quincy lowered his voice: "I suspect Qianqian and Boned have found out about our trade with the Secret Faction, we can’t let it slip, can you notify them, change the ambush site?"

Pico gave a wry smile: "Too late, sir, and the Secret Faction’s timing was just perfect."

"Woo-woo-woo——"

The horns blared, accompanied by shouts and footsteps.

"Rebels spotted! Rebels spotted!"