When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 96 - 94: All Matters of the Pope Country Are Decided by 10,000 Votes

Chapter 96: Chapter 94: All Matters of the Pope Country Are Decided by 10,000 Votes

In the late afternoon, the rain paused slightly.

The wet wood burned with a pungent smoky smell.

Rigid bodies were impaled on sharp, spiky stakes, and the corpses of mercenaries lay scattered across the ground.

Walking through the open area of this checkpoint, one could feel the distinct slippery and sticky sensation underfoot, a mix of blood and rainwater.

The once yellowish soil was now stained a shade resembling brown.

In front of the devastated camp, both Cléante and Belard wore grim expressions.

They never expected that those country bumpkin rebels could pull off such a slick combo and take over the entire camp.

"How did your encampment get like this, such a secure checkpoint, and not even a single message got sent out!" Belard was the first to attack.

Cléante suddenly turned his head, almost poking his finger right at Belard’s nose: "I want to ask you! How did those short-haired ones get into the White Maple Mercenary Corps’ clothes?"

"All I know is that it wasn’t me, Belard, who let the short-haired ones go, it was you!"

"Yes, yes, and when they left they were still in your White Maple Mercenary Corps’ clothes!"

"I’m just an agent; the White Maple Mercenary Corps is the White Mercenary Corps. There are many captains inside. Who knew they had an undercover captain with me."

"I think the biggest undercover in the White Maple Mercenary Corps is you!"

The two stood at the gap in the stakes, cursing each other for almost five minutes, before finally panting heavily without speaking.

"At this point, there’s no other way." Cléante suppressed his resentment, "Let’s not play dual commander anymore, each of us picks a direction, do not interfere, whoever catches them, it’s theirs."

"Even better!" Belard turned and walked away, but after two steps, he turned back and said to Cléante, "I will definitely report this to His Highness Prince Kongdai."

"Suit yourself."

Cléante snorted coldly, Belard was just a small relative of an Imperial Knight. If he could report to Prince Kongdai, it would be a miracle.

Moreover, truth be told, Belard may not even have the upper hand.

.........

Intertwined grass leaves resembling the fingers of a fairy tale wizard, on a path barely wide enough for two people, a long snake-like procession moved quickly forward.

Chaotic footsteps with the friction sound of rings clashing, the bottom of their long spears and staffs covered in thick mud.

To their left was a deep black forest, to the right were towering mountains, making Horn and the rest seem like ants under a giant’s foot compared to the mountains.

East of the elevated mountain range was the Thousand River Valley, consisting of Shangruifo County, South Mangde County, North Mangde County, Mangde County, and North County.

Among them, Shangruifo County where Horn was situated was half mountainous, half plains.

And the basin downstream of the Nao’an River consisted of Hotam County, Kasha County, Langsande County, and Lower Reif County.

However, the plains were only plain relative to the mountains; the rolling hills in these four counties were vastly different from the endless plains of Windmill Land and Flower Hill.

The Plains County occupied only one-third of the Thousand River Valley but held nearly half of the arable land and over half of the entire population of the Thousand River Valley.

Descending from the elevated mountains, Horn stepped onto the land at the border of South Mangde County and Lower Reif County; further south was Langsande County—Horn and his companions’ destination.

Horn and the others didn’t take the King’s Path built by the Empire but chose a more secluded trail.

This trail led to the Blackbone Marsh, taking a longer route by about five miles.

The King’s Path, though closer, required crossing wooden bridges and checkpoints.

But rather than risk being caught by those mercenaries or blocked at checkpoints, Horn decided it was safer to avoid that possibility.

Along this trail, some drifters occasionally appeared, observing Horn’s procession from a distance without approaching.

After all, the silver bright armor on those black-clothed soldiers was no joke.

This armor was plate cuirass, resembling an iron-strapped vest, with a stitched leather hem under the plate extending to the thighs for groin protection.

In the previous battle, besides the armor seized from the White Maple Mercenaries, Horn also acquired five small carts and over twenty mules and horses from the Mountain Mercenary Camp.

Traveling along with the mules and carts were Boned, Hakuto, and six captives who accompanied Hakuto.

They had been stripped of all armor and weapons, with hands tied behind their backs, tethered to the slowly moving cart.

As they walked, Hakuto was also observing these black-clothed soldiers.

At forty-eight years old, having been a mercenary since he was fourteen, Hakuto had never encountered such rebels.

If this was a band of soldiers, Hakuto would say they were far off and needed more training.

But if these people were just farmers a month ago, Hakuto had to stand up and take notice.

"How do you feel?"

"A rabble! Feels less than the combat power of the White Maple Mercenary Corps." Hakuto continued his sneering.

"Talking back, are you? Feeling a bit rebellious, are you?" Jeska walked alongside, holding the cart edge, "A rabble could walk through the elevated mountains? A rabble could defeat you, Hakuto?"

"Hmph." Hakuto spat on the ground, "That fake camp, was it your idea? Haven’t seen you in years, now you’re working for the Secret Faction?"

"These ideas aren’t mine." Jeska shook his head, looking at Horn ahead who, though shaky in the legs, was still strong enough to advance, "These were ideas that His Majesty Saint Sun came up with."

"Stop trying to flatter your master." With hands tied behind him, Hakuto trudged awkwardly forwards, "I heard from Brother Boned, he was just a farmer before."

"No, including the fake camps, marching regulations, logistics management, Holy Treasury budget, even the menu, it’s almost entirely the work of His Majesty Saint Sun." Jeska’s greasy long hair clung to his round face.

If Horn were here, he would probably cry, as if it weren’t for these green insects unable to do a single thing right, he wouldn’t have had to handle everything himself.

It was all forced upon him, even the time-telling chicken in the Gulag Monastery still stared at Horn every day from the pot.

"Without him, we couldn’t have made it here."

Hakuto turned his head, showing clear disbelief in Jeska’s words.

"I have no reason to lie to you," Jeska’s leisurely voice came from the side, "I’m puzzled too, could there really be one who knows everything by birth?"

"Maybe he learned it in Paradise Mountain," Hakuto’s tone was full of sarcasm.

Not responding to Hakuto, Jeska walked a bit further ahead.

"Look, in our group, only the elderly, women, children, and the sick can ride in the cart, the rest of the bishops, even His Holiness the Pope, must walk.

You have worked with the Church a lot, being a devout Miseria believer yourself; tell me, can the bishops of the Church do this?

Compared to Church people, don’t you think His Majesty Horn, eating the same food, walking the same paths, wearing the same clothes as everyone else, seems more like a Pope?"

Hakuto paused, then continued onward.

Jeska wanted to say more but saw a Child Soldier running from the front lines, "Jeska Corps Commander, Wanpiao urgently needs to see you."