When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

"Father Dürrfeld!"

Watching the black-robed monks weeping while holding the fat priest's head, Horn felt his brain shrinking.

You're a simple priest; shouldn't you be staying in the monastery on a rainy day, drinking fermented grape juice and playing with little boys?

What exactly are you trying to do running around outside?

A violent dizziness attacked Horn once again. He was already struggling to breathe, and even his eyelids were twitching uncontrollably.

Biting his tongue hard, Horn forced himself to stay awake. He couldn't afford to pass out at such a crucial moment.

"They killed the priest!"

"By Messiah! Quickly, arrest them, or the Church will surely blame us."

Some of the refugees shouted, but Redbeard Tomly and the others from the Secret Society couldn't actually take action.

If a Secret Society leader with a witch protector died at their hands, not even nine lives would save them.

The Secret Society is extremely ruthless to traitors.

In the eyes of Tomly, Chilvers, and the other Secret Society members, this group clearly came to rescue the witch.

However, these Secret Society leaders were all radicals, and they acted without restraint, actually killing Dürrfeld.

Now, the original plan was completely disrupted.

If they attacked this group of people, the Secret Society would investigate, and they would be finished.

If they let this group go, and the Highfort Archbishop investigated, they would still be finished.

"Jeanne, kill them all!" Horn said in a low, hoarse voice, close to Jeanne's ear.

"No, I can't."

Horn thought Jeanne's saintly disease had relapsed and whispered, "They haven't seen a miracle and will surely recognize you as a witch. Now is not the time to be softhearted."

"No, I really can't do it."

Only then did Horn realize that Jeanne's body was actually trembling slightly, and even the lightning was much weaker than before.

"It's the aftereffects of the holy water," Jeanne's voice trembled. "The mental stress of using divine magic while exposed to holy water is too great. I have a feeling that if I continue, I might lose control."

Why did it have to be at this moment!

Horn almost fainted. He supported Jeanne's shoulders, gasping for air.

At that moment, the remaining villagers in the battle surrounded them, protecting Horn in the middle, except for the two child soldiers, René, Duvaron and Jeshka, all the other villagers were dead.

More and more refugees came from the darkness, holding flails, threshing flails and pitchforks, and holding torches burning in their hands.

In the distant woods, on the trails, and even on the high walls of the monastery, torches were erected one by one.

In just two minutes, the number of refugees had increased to over a hundred.

Originally, they were afraid of Jeanne's lightning, but now that their side had so many people, they immediately became bolder.

Looking at the fearful and malicious eyes in front of him, Duvaron stood up first.

"Listen up, the one next to you is the Eye of the Holy Father, the Holy Father's possessor, the Son of Messiah, the Resurrector, the Destroyer of the Magic Rabbit, the Great Holy Grandson—Horn!"

"If you don't want to offend the authority of the Holy Father, quickly let us, the Holy Father's chosen people, leave!"

Hearing Duvaron's words, the refugees laughed.

"Hahahaha, if you are the Holy Father's chosen people, then I am Saint Borre!"

"Where did this kid come from? Don't talk nonsense, be careful of going to hell."

"Wait, look at his neck!"

Someone suddenly shouted.

At this time, the rain and wind had gradually subsided, and torches were erected one by one, illuminating this small area brightly.

Following Madelaine's voice, everyone looked at Horn, who was protected behind the lightning witch.

Only now did they truly see Horn's face and his neck.

Even in the dim light, the dark red thorn scars could still be seen on this man's neck.

These scars… how are they so similar to the stigmata in Messiah's portrait?

Everyone's mind was filled with the prophecy of the chosen one that had been circulating in the Thousand River Valley for hundreds of years.

"White light in the rainy night, the sorrow of our Lord, grant him the stigmata, the chosen Pope!"

There are fifty-one dioceses of various sizes within the Empire, with a population of hundreds of millions. Almost every diocese and every kingdom has produced a Pope.

But only Thousand River Valley, since Thousand River Valley became imperial territory, has not had even one person chosen as Pope.

Countless people in Thousand River Valley hoped for such a day, when a Pope from Thousand River Valley could reverse their situation.

This is also why the people of Thousand River Valley love "presenting auspicious omens" and "pilgrimages."

Even the armed farmers and lords are keen on the religious activity of the "Children's Crusade," which has an extremely low survival rate.

They desperately desire such a Pope to lead them out of their predicament!

These visions formed the prophecies and ballads in the mouths of people like Madelaine: "White light in the rainy night, the sorrow of our Lord, grant him the stigmata, the chosen Pope!"

Look at this man's appearance!

White light in the rainy night—it is currently a rainy night, and the woman next to him is emitting white lightning.

The sorrow of our Lord—the only thing that can be called Messiah's sorrow is that beheading.

Grant him the stigmata—and this man actually has a scar on his neck like a stigmata after being beheaded!

In addition to the prophecy said by the blind female diviner some time ago, the prophecy that this Pope will appear within three days and will give the evil Dürrfeld punishment.

And today is exactly the third day.

As for the punishment, although it's a little heavy, I believe Dürrfeld will understand.

He himself has no objections, so what can others say?

Is the person in front of him really the chosen Pope in the prophecy?

The refugees who were originally preparing to pounce stopped, even looking at the not-so-tall young man with some reverence and fear.

The chosen one, has the chosen one really come?

"This, this, this, no,…" Madelaine, wearing a leather cloak, couldn't help but stammer.

But soon, his eyes were filled with tears.

Unlike those timid refugees, Madelaine really wanted to punish the greedy priest.

He had worked in the monastery's warehouse before, and he knew what kind of life Dürrfeld lived. He knew that Dürrfeld clearly had enough food stored for everyone to eat, but he still hoarded it.

As for the reason, of course, it was for the soaring grain prices after the flood receded.

Now the evil Dürrfeld has been defeated, and the person who defeated him almost everywhere meets the criteria of that prophecy.

Having heard Huannuo's lectures, he knew that so-called prophecies are actually just bubbles.

In his opinion, even if there is this chosen Pope, it must be Dean Huannuo.

But this seemingly miraculous coincidence still made him couldn't help but waver—perhaps, this young man standing beside the lightning is indeed the legendary chosen Pope.

"Are you really the chosen one?"

The scene instantly quieted down. Whether it was the refugees from the Gulag Monastery or Horn's own side, they were all waiting for Horn's answer.

Under the gaze of everyone, Horn lowered his head. It wasn't that he didn't know how to answer, but that he had completely reached his limit.

He tried his best to raise his head, nodded to Madelaine, and then passed out directly.

ps: Sorry, I was stupid. I thought I had scheduled the upload for chapter 30, but it was actually just saved in the draft box.