When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

René's mother was dead.

It had happened ten days ago, but René felt nothing, because the motherly love that belonged to him alone had long since vanished.

The welts all over his body and the corner missing from his ear were proof of that.

Splashing cold water on his face in the early morning, René picked the sleep from the corners of his eyes and wiped his face clean with a handkerchief.

Carrying the wooden bucket, he raised his head and looked at the gray, cloudy sky.

Several fieldfares were flying low among the gray-green mountains, making sharp, whistle-like calls.

It had been almost five days since the potato root purification method was invented.

The torrential rain had been getting lighter day by day, and yesterday it didn't rain at all.

However, René heard the old farmers in the village say that this was only temporary, and a heavy rain would come in a day or two at the earliest, or three to five days at the latest.

This heavy rain would come and go quickly, and only after it was over would the long rainy season end and the clear autumn sky arrive.

When they went down the mountain, there would still be time to replant the fields with fast-maturing barley, so they could save some rations for the winter by the end of November.

After emptying the water from the wooden bucket, René straightened up and looked down the mountain.

As the floodwaters gradually receded, the original Red Mill Village finally came into view.

Like most villages in the Thousand River Valley, Red Mill Village was also attached to the river, growing in the river valley.

However, the river for the villagers of Red Mill Village was not the Nauan River that ran through the Thousand River Valley, but one of its tributaries, the Honey River.

In the long, narrow depression, along the Honey River, Red Mill Village was also long and narrow.

The waterwheel in the stream was overturned, enveloped by swarming mosquitoes and flies.

Near the higher terrain of Mount Holy Grail, behind the tall white stone walls, was Barnett's country villa.

The '屮' shaped ornament on the indigo glazed tile roof had been blown off by the wind, hanging upside down on the eaves, swaying with the turbid wind, with water dripping down from it.

Below the villa, crooked and disorderly, were seven or eight single-family courtyards.

The fences were made of white stone scraps and blackthorn, and the animal pens had been knocked down, pressing on the stone mill.

Beside these small courtyards were granaries, carriage houses, and stables.

Along the main road, wooden stakes and saw pits could be seen everywhere, and the original haystacks had been swept away by the flood, leaving only a patch of different-colored ground.

Looking further west, along the banks of the Honey River were long, narrow strips of land, enclosed by fences covered with vines and hemp ropes.

In the field paths, there were also several old oak trees and the ruins of thatched cottages, where the villeins lived.

The soil-yellow rice stalk withered and floated in the water, intertwined with mud, stones, and branches.

René narrowed his eyes, and among the objects wrapped in the rice stalks, there were even two corpses.

One was human, and the other was unclear, seemingly of cattle or horses, or perhaps also human.

The winding Honey River meandered westward, and behind the high mountain peaks was the Hedge Country Church.

The church there held Sunday school every seven days, teaching all believers literacy and arithmetic free of charge.

Of course, to learn to write and do arithmetic, one needed paper and pens, and there was a designated paper and pen shop outside the church.

Priest Durdafer said this was because the shop was close to the church, so it was imbued with a sacred aura, which qualified it to bear sacred knowledge.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the owner was his lover's nephew.

That place used to be René's most longed-for place.

He didn't yearn for the bright church; what he yearned for most was the pride of the children there when they wrote their names with their parents' accompaniment.

But now, he received the same treatment—personally writing his name and the name of a godfather only seven years older than him.

"René!" Standing blankly on the hillside in a daze, he even forgot the time, until Jeanne grabbed his ear, and he stiffly turned his head as if waking from a dream.

"Not returning to camp after three whistle blasts, did you catch Duvaron's disease?"

"Sister Jeanne..." René tried to awaken the sibling bond with Jeanne.

"Call me Instructor. Go, get yourself five strokes of the cane," Jeanne roared, her eyes wide. "Or do I have to invite you?"

René shivered and quickly ran towards the camp, carrying the empty bucket.

Pushing open the door of the hunter's hut, he saw a young man in a blue-black short robe sitting cross-legged in front of the fire pit in the cramped space, with a wooden bowl on his lap, still braiding the hair of Mika, the only orphan among his godchildren.

The serving spoon that René should have brought was in the clumsy hands of the little monk Armand.

Hone and the others did not wait for René, but strictly followed the schedule, dividing their potato root rice.

"I thought only I could be late, but I never expected that you, with your thick eyebrows and big eyes, would also be late!" As soon as he saw René, the blond Duvaron immediately laughed gloatingly, not even feeling the pain of the redness in his palms.

Tying up Mika's messy hair with hemp rope, Hone glanced at René with some surprise.

He remembered that among these children, René was the smartest and most punctual, so it was rare for him to be late today.

"Why are you late today?"

"The water receded, and I was distracted, confusing the calls of the fieldfares with the whistle."

"The water receding is good news," Hone laughed. He patted René's forehead. "Remember next time, and don't be distracted again."

Taking out the cane, Hone thought for a moment and put it aside: "Let's eat first; if I hit you now, the food will get cold."

"You always protect them." Jeanne, who had just entered, hung her cloak on the hook, pouting in anger. "Do you want to turn René into a second Duvaron?"

"What did I do? I wasn't late yesterday," Duvaron immediately protested.

Jeanne slapped the back of Duvaron's head and squeezed next to Hone, clinging tightly to Hone's shoulder.

Sitting next to the fire pit, René picked up the wooden bowl. The dark yellow potato root paste was mixed with dark green wild vegetable leaves, and the green, oily stuff floating on the surface of the thick porridge was sorrel sauce.

This was not the first time René had eaten potato root rice, and he no longer felt the novelty he had felt before.

He quickly shoveled the potato root paste into his mouth with the wooden spoon. Later, Sister Jeanne would lead them to practice gun skills and breathing techniques, and after the practice, they would eat a roughly half-ounce magic rabbit meat snack.

From the end of practice until lunchtime, they would lead the villagers in step-by-step midday prayers and sing hymns.

Step-by-step midday prayer was Hone's new invention, which was actually to step in place in unison while making rhythmic, loud prayers, with the aim of forging a sense of collective identity and discipline.

In the afternoon, Hone taught literacy, arithmetic, and hymns, and in the evening, they practiced hymns with the other village children.

From morning to night, except after lunch and after dinner, there was almost no time to rest.

Sometimes, they even had to shoulder the tasks of assisting in maintaining law and order, mediating conflicts, and patrolling.

"By the way." Wiping the residue from his mouth with his sleeve, Hone instructed several orphan guards, "It hasn't rained much these days. I've told Cosette that he will come tomorrow to baptize you, making you my true godchildren."

In the teachings of the Misella Church, the godfather is the religious guide of the child.

If the child's parents die, then the godfather also has guardianship over the godson and goddaughter.

The ritual of concluding this sacred agreement is baptism performed by the godfather himself.

But this kind of ritual is mostly prevalent among free people.

People like villeins do not have this kind of power and ritual, but now they are all the elect of the Holy Grandson, and naturally have free status.

René raised his head. The orphans around him had expressions of surprise and anticipation, but his expression did not change; he just lowered his head and looked at the potato root paste in his bowl.

In addition to anticipation, there was also an unspeakable fear in his heart.

Jeanne, who often played the role of a strict mother in front of the orphans, rarely showed a smile. She gently straightened René's back: "Sit up straight. From now on, whoever bullies you is bullying all of us. We'll all help you fight back."

"...Okay."

After receiving Hone's caning, René rubbed his red and swollen hands and cleaned up the wooden bowls and sundries in the hut with the other orphans.

As for Hone and Jeanne, they went to patrol the camp.

"Okay, everyone," Duvaron said loudly while cleaning, "We're about to become the Holy Grandson's godchildren and guards, which is the same status as the invincible Pontifical Guard, so we can't just not have a name, right?"

"Then what do you say we should be called?"

"How about the Orphan Guard?"

"Or the Feather Forest Knights."

"Why not just call it the Godchildren Corps?"

"Actually..." After René's voice sounded, everyone stopped arguing and looked at him. "Actually, the villagers of Red Mill Village have given us a nickname, children like an army, which is—"

René paused.

"Child Army."