When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 72 - 71: Today we drink heartily to celebrate victory, rewarding generals with no gray hairs

Chapter 72: Chapter 71: Today we drink heartily to celebrate victory, rewarding generals with no gray hairs

According to the physician, Qianqian just hit her head and will wake up soon.

If Horn lets go and allows the physician to try using peppermint water for an enema, it might help.

However, this suggestion was gently declined by Horn.

If that method is used, something minor might turn into a real problem.

Besides, Horn has an important task to handle upon his return.

They won a battle that gambled the national destiny, how could they not celebrate?

This victory banquet and awards ceremony had been prepared before Horn’s expedition, with Madlan handling most of the arrangements.

The spoils of war and prisoners were escorted back to the monastery, leading to a chaotic treatment of the wounded and assessment of military achievements.

Then came the suppression of the Holy Pre-Ceremony brawl between the Black Hat Army and the Imperial Guard, which kept them busy all afternoon. It wasn’t until evening, when the victory banquet began, that things quieted down for a while.

The setting sun, like blood, draped a red veil over everything.

In front of the small square at the monastery’s entrance, hundreds of sloped tables of varying heights were set, some as low as knee-high.

To protect from the wind and possible rain, large canopies made from branches and canvas were set up over this area.

The citizens of Gulag Monastery were noisily taking their seats, children running among the tables and benches, while adults held bone fragments, chanting "Big, big, big" and "Small, small, small."

Although the tables were empty, the aroma of food in the air made everyone salivate with reverence.

Standing on the topmost step in front of the monastery, Horn’s Pope crown glinted with a crooked, solemn light.

The many soldiers of the Pope Country awaiting their honors, still bearing scars from fights with allied troops, lined up before the steps.

"My faithful citizens, I have an announcement for you: in this special competition, we have won!" Horn’s voice was solemn and resonant, echoing across the square.

The citizens below immediately erupted into cheers of anticipation and eagerness.

"In this war, my soldiers, you defended the glory of the Pope Country with courage and loyalty, and you won victory. Now, I am here to fulfill the pledge made before the war."

Upon hearing this, the soldiers of the two major corps, initially glaring at each other, immediately beamed with anticipation.

Picking up a scroll, Horn smiled and said, "Earlier, I mentioned conferring the title of baron to everyone, but I always felt that was too little.

For such great achievements, a mere baron is simply not enough.

Therefore, I have decided to follow the Ancient Aier Empire’s officer system and grant you honors!

Of course, if you want to be a baron, I can still confer baronship on you."

Isn’t this great news?

Originally, the soldiers thought baronship was more practical, considering they didn’t know much and hadn’t achieved significant military merits.

But after completing such a high-quality and intricate war competition, they felt that with their achievements, even a count wouldn’t be too much.

"Wuli, Black Hat Army First Division, First Brigade, Fifth Imperial Decree Company Commander, granted Junior General rank, land of 600 acres, remotely managing 540 acres, and three indemnity tokens."

"Mormul, Imperial Guard Fifth Brigade, First Imperial Decree Company Commander, granted Grand General rank, land of 1,000 acres, remotely managing 900 acres, and six indemnity tokens,"

"Yada, Child Soldiers Third Brigade, Fifth Leaping Company Commander, granted Junior General rank, land of 300 acres, remotely managing 270 acres, and three indemnity tokens."

Every time Horn read a name, the citizens of the Pope Country cheered.

But gradually, they realized something was amiss.

The cheering happened too often, with such exertion they began to run out of breath.

Beneath the steps, the high-ranking military officials of the Pope Country were already gathered.

After this honors ceremony, within the 210-strong army of the Pope Country, there would be 140 Junior Generals, 65 Grand Generals, 10 Marshals, and 1 Grand Marshal.

In terms of the number of commanding officers, it would rival the Ancient Aier Empire at its peak.

The Grand Marshal rank was originally intended to be awarded to Jeska.

However, due to the fierce opposition during the internal court debates of the Pope Country, especially from the institutional faction led by Busak, which strongly opposed Jeska’s promotion.

Thus, the Grand Marshal position had to be awarded to Horn himself.

Standing on the tall steps, Horn smiled as he handed the land contracts and rank insignias to the newly honored commanders.

From time to time, he would pat their shoulders and casually exchange a few words.

The land contracts in Horn’s hands were genuine, meticulously crafted.

They were made of hemp paper carefully cut, with fine short fringes along the edges, especially elegant.

The text on the land contracts was written in almost transparent light ink with graceful pen craftsmanship, leaving blanks throughout that discreetly conveyed solemnity.

These land contracts not only contained real land but also had legal effect.

For they bore His Holiness the Pope’s handwritten signature, declaring the allotment of Gulag Monastery’s land to them.

Above the signature, there was also His Holiness the Pope’s large carrot seal:

"By the command of the holy, whether for life or death."

As for whether the church agreed?

What’s the point in asking, they won the national fate battle, His Majesty Horn is the Pope, how could the church disagree?

Not to mention, the church’s land originally belonged to His Majesty Horn anyway.

This isn’t taking advantage of an orphan, His Majesty Horn is the adopted son, a rightful heir.

From this perspective, His Majesty Horn is the landlord’s son, the church merely renting the land.

What’s wrong with the landlord renting his own land to others?

It’s perfectly reasonable.

Apart from these land contracts, there were also rank insignias, made of linen, presented as long strips in two colors: dark red and dark blue.

The Junior General wears one blue strip, the Grand General two blue strips, the Marshal two blue strips and one red strip, and the Grand Marshal two blue and two red.

These strips are sewn at one end to the cloak’s sides at the collarbone, crossing over to secure the cloak.

You can use them to hang things when not in use, like water bottles and pouches.

As for the leftover scraps from creating these strips, Madlan did not waste them, stitching them into palm-sized cloth bags.

One bag for a Junior General, two bags for a Grand General, three bags for a Marshal, and four bags for a Grand Marshal.

Watching these Pope Country army heroes change their outfits, Horn frowned; he felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu.

When Mengse, the Grand General, stood in front of him, Horn’s déjà vu reached its peak.

At the ends of the black hooded cloak, each hung a dark blue tattered cloth strip, one with a piece of bone for an uncertain purpose, and the other with a precariously hanging wooden spoon.

The patched-up top whose color was unclear, with hundred-patch bags made from fabric scraps hanging at the waist, straw shoes, and sweat-covered legs all covered in mud spots.

For a moment, Horn almost couldn’t hold it in.

It was just missing a dog-beating stick to perfectly match the iconic image in his mind.

As soon as the thought came to him, Madlan, holding a staff as tall as a person and with three strips and three bags hanging, joyfully approached.

"Your Majesty Horn, look, this is the bishop’s staff I prepared for the bishops."

"Why not take it?"

"Oh, Your Majesty, don’t walk away, Majesty!"

After the conferment ceremony, they could finally start eating.

Twenty or so peasant women and monks carried dirty wooden buckets filled with exquisite feast dishes.

Moving from one table to another, a monk used a large wooden spoon to ladle a scoop of stew with peas and rotten yellow cabbage onto a plate.

Not waiting for the monk to move away, countless hands and spoons reached out, and in the blink of an eye, the stew vanished.

Fish soup, baked meat rolls, radish strips, cabbage soup, fried bread sticks, boiled eggs...

In the dirty wooden buckets, there were both dark hair and flies still wriggling.

But how could the villagers care? To them, toiling in the fields day in and day out, a lavish banquet would be the only sweet taste for the year.

"I saw those breadsticks first, put them down!"

"I can still drink, don’t stop me."

"Don’t drink that, it’s slop bucket!"

"Big big big!"

Bowls and dishes stacked up, juices splashed, and within half a day, a greasy dirt accumulated on the filthy tabletop.

Men rolled up their sleeves, planted a foot on the bench, shouting loudly, bragging to each other.

Women tugged open their collars, revealing greasy white, letting honey wine slide down the cleavage without care.

Despite the coming flood, the time spent at Gulag Monastery was surprisingly the best-fed period.

The moon hung high, the air thick with the scent of wine, Madlan had already sent people to light bonfires to enliven the increasingly fervent night feast.

"Burp—"

After guzzling down a large cup of honey wine, Grampwen let out a long burp.

Unknowingly, he had found a lute, jumped onto the bench, seemingly about to topple, yet somehow could stand firm.

"Are you heading to High Castle Market?

Blood celery, rabbit tail grass, rosemary, and thyme,

Send my regards to a girl there,

Ask her to make a linen tunic for me, hey yah ho ho!"

With this folk melody playing, the villagers who were drunk on wine abandoned their food. They pushed away their chairs, wobbly stood up, and spontaneously gathered around the bonfire.

Hand in hand they formed a circle line, swaying sideways close to the ground, kicking legs, and started their disco around.

At first, it was just the villagers, then the unrestrained bishops joined in, and even His Holiness the Pope was pulled in by Jeanne and Jia Li to disco.

Nearly everyone joined in.

By the bonfire, the circle they formed sometimes grew larger, sometimes smaller, their laughter was joyous and pure.

Sitting still in the corner, Danji watched this festive scene with a smile.

Wonderful, not a single troublemaking rogue monk tonight, quite different from before.

"Danji, why are you sitting there? Come join us."

"Yes, come on over, let’s be together."

Faced with the invitation, Danji raised his cup: "I am a Knight, I cannot join such activities."

"In our eyes, you are much better than a Knight, come on!"

"Yes, everyone is waiting."

A little girl suddenly darted from the crowd, grabbed Danji’s fingers and pulled him towards the crowd.

Afraid of hurting the little girl, Danji had no choice but to walk forward.

Holding a rough black hand of an old farmer with his left hand, and the skinny little hand of a little girl with his right, Danji clumsily bounced around.

Even though he was still talking about knightly spirit, the smile on his face couldn’t be contained.

In the distance, the flames of the bonfire danced in Qianqian’s pupils.

Even though he was now in the third-floor bedroom, he could still hear the laughter from outside the courtyard wall.

Leaning against the windowpane, watching quietly for a while, Qianqian sighed.

Tonight, let it be. Tell them tomorrow.

When they know that news, who knows if they’ll be able to stay happy.