When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Since that rainy night, Hohn had been in a coma for three days, but his condition had not improved.

He slept more than he was awake, and most of his waking hours were spent eating, taking medicine, and strongly rejecting the physicians' treatment plans of bloodletting, enemas, and castration.

During these three days, Hohn drowsily drank a lot of precious medicinal herbs and ingredients from the monastery, and ate a lot of magic beast meat, which stabilized his condition.

But it only stabilized, and Hohn continued to have periodic high fevers.

Most of the time, in his dreams, he was being besieged by the church and the imperial army, and then he was beheaded again, and then spent in an endless cycle of nightmares.

Whenever Hohn woke up, he couldn't help but sigh.

He killed a ** Sacerdos** in full view of everyone, which was not a rural knight like Barnett, but a genuine ** Sacerdos**.

The alias of ** Sacerdos** is rural bishop, although the church does not have this level of bishop, their power and status are equivalent.

What's even more terrifying is that whether he was killing or receiving treatment, countless people saw his face.

He couldn't even determine how many people knew who he was, who exactly had seen his face, and he couldn't think of how to hide it anymore.

At the same time, according to the information he vaguely heard while sleeping, the villagers in the Gulag Monastery area have jointly launched a riot with the ** secret party**.

For some reason, they actually regarded him as the legendary "Chosen One".

Hohn sometimes really couldn't understand these strange-thinking people from another world. How could someone they had never met, someone who suddenly appeared, become the "Chosen One"?

At least there was some foreshadowing and intention when Hohn became the Holy Grandson, which he could understand.

But he really didn't understand the Chosen One incident. Was this reasonable?

Just because he killed that ** Sacerdos**?

In any case, these villagers regarded him as the savior Chosen One, coupled with the previous riot...

If the imperial or church army pursued the matter, they would probably consider him a member of the riot group.

A big black pot was directly placed on his head, and Hohn didn't want to die with this group of lunatics.

It's hard to deal with, but for now, let's think about how to get through this damn illness.

Lying on his back on the bed, as in the previous two days, the high fever gradually turned into a low fever, and thirst and chest tightness woke him up from his sleep. He called out with his eyes closed:

"Jeanne, I want water."

Unlike usual, no one answered Hohn's request today.

Hohn barely opened his eyes, and the huge room was empty, with only a dusty wooden ceiling.

Moving his body, Hohn felt something warm was pressing against him.

Turning his head to look, the first thing that caught his eye was a head of white hair, a head of white hair with a texture like white porcelain, scattered messily.

"You're pressing on my hair..." Perhaps because of Hohn's movement, a mature female voice came from the white hair, as if acting coquettishly.

Nestled beside Hohn, she was wearing a white linen waist-tied nightgown, and her two slender and strong thighs were tightly clamping Hohn's waist and abdomen.

This woman hugged Hohn in her arms like she was holding a pillow.

Through the soft white linen, Hohn could even feel a furry touch on his waist and abdomen.

Seeing Hohn wake up, she obediently sat up, rubbing her ruby-like eyes with her white fists, and murmured:

"Daddy..."

At this time, Hohn could see her face clearly. It was an extremely incongruous face.

On this body of nine heads tall, on the swan-like elegant neck, was installed a small face that looked like it was only fifteen or sixteen years old.

The oval face even had some baby fat, coupled with her sleepy and well-behaved look, people with poor eyesight would think she was just a cute little loli.

But Hohn would not underestimate her. The round objects on her chest stood high, making Jeanne look like a small mound in front of her.

If Hohn guessed correctly, this should be the witch Carrie, the witch imprisoned by Duerdafu.

She should have been the one who blew the bone flute in the rainy night. Looking at her state and thinking about the rumors that she had been force-fed too much holy water, Hohn reasonably suspected that she should have amnesia.

"Why are you in my bed? Where's Jeanne?"

Hohn asked his question directly.

"Um..." Carrie put her index finger against her lips, "Sister Jeanne, told me, to take care of you, and then, I was sleepy."

As she spoke, she yawned.

"Have we met before? Why do you call Jeanne sister?"

"Fatty bullied me, Fatty bad, you killed Fatty, you good."

"Then why are you sleeping in my bed?"

"Because you are hot, very warm."

What do you mean I'm hot, I have a fever, okay?

Hohn didn't know what to say for a moment. He sat up and put his coat on.

He just wanted to get up and get out of bed, but he felt a sharp pain in his sinuses, and his whole body was sore. The familiar dizziness came again.

Helpless, Hohn had to lean on the head of the bed and gasp slightly. He looked helplessly at Carrie, who was curled up like a small animal and about to fall asleep again, and asked in a low voice: "How long has Jeanne been out?"

"Don't know."

"When will she be back?"

"Don't know..."

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"Servants, call the servants."

"............"

Looking at Carrie, who had fallen asleep again with her head resting on his thigh after speaking halfway, Hohn was completely helpless.

He finally woke up a bit this time, and wanted to take the opportunity to save himself.

The treatment plans proposed by those doctors earlier, such as enemas and bloodletting, were simply a joke.

If he wanted to save his life, he had to do it himself.

In his opinion, his condition was probably caused by some kind of bacterial infection.

Then the best way to deal with bacterial infections is antibiotics. He can't make penicillin for sure, but he has allicin.

In the technologically backward Middle Ages, allicin was relatively simple to make.

Just mash twenty kilograms of garlic into a paste, and then distill the golden yellow oily substance, that should be enough.

Most monasteries have special brass distillers for some celebrations and festivals. They know the process, and Hohn doesn't even need to operate it himself.

The only problem is, he doesn't know if the garlic here can distill allicin.

After all, that dead horse has been treated as a live horse by Hohn several times, which is not a problem at all.

But at this critical moment, Jeanne is not here, and this Carrie is a child in an adult's body, what should he do?

The sound of the door opening startled Hohn from his thoughts. He looked up and saw several villagers in wrinkled formal dress walking in.

"You..."

Hohn was overjoyed. Although he was dissatisfied with being chosen as the Chosen One, he was still very satisfied with using the Chosen One status to seek benefits.

It's good that someone came, so why not let them help him get allicin.

But before Hohn could say anything, the villagers rushed up, grabbing Hohn's arms on the left and right.

"Holy Grandson, sorry."

As they said this, the two lifted Hohn from the bed, sandwich him in the middle, and jogged towards the door.

"What are you doing?" Hohn tried to struggle, but the pain in his sinuses and body made it almost impossible for him to move.

He had to be sandwiched obediently and dragged outside.

ps there will be another chapter later, I have a bit of a cold these two days, and the reserves are running out a bit fast