When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Stepping out of Morialta's wooden house, Horn's footsteps on the steps grew heavier.

It was unclear whether Horn was being too gentle, or if Morialta was entering her rebellious phase.

At this moment, Morialta was, for some reason, covered in thorns.

Although it was uncertain how much Morialta had absorbed, the difference in strength between the two sides was considerable.

Although Morialta was stubborn, she was not a useless, good-for-nothing rich kid.

Although the Crag Ogres had a numerical advantage, theoretically possessing strength far exceeding Morialta's.

But in Horn's view, the Crag Ogres might have both hands and a divine sword at their waists, but only two fingers could move.

Although Morialta only had one hand, she could clench all five fingers into a fist.

Winning was possible, but he feared the high cost of maintaining stability and that Morialta's sense of self-importance would become even more arrogant.

The cool summer breeze of the Crag Ogres brushed against Horn's face, but his eyes flickered uncertainly.

During this exchange with Morialta, he noticed that she was becoming increasingly radical.

She was becoming more like Morialta and less like Carrie.

Horn was unsure whether this was her illness acting up or her desire for power gradually intensifying.

The Thousand River Valley could only avoid splitting due to their equal relationship.

If Morialta decided to take advantage of the great victory and turn the Holy Alliance into the Thousand River Valley's Holy Alliance, then Horn would find it quite tricky to handle.

It wasn't that he feared Morialta could really succeed, but that he feared losing the upper-level channel for equal and objective communication.

Looking at the calm upper reaches of the Nauan River, Horn was silent for a long while, then smiled: "Whatever, she fights her battles, and I'll fight mine."

…………

Along the west bank of the upper Nauan River, a massive army was trudging laboriously along the muddy dirt road.

Laborers, infantry, cavalry, carts, cattle, and sheep formed a long, turbid line.

Scouts galloping back and forth stopped their horses at the head of the column, unable to see the tail of the long line.

They totaled twenty-one thousand men, divided into three parallel columns, each with four rows, interspersed with horse-drawn and donkey-drawn carts carrying military equipment and weapons.

Most of the mounted soldiers were mountain cavalry infantry, neatly dressed in identical charcoal-black armor.

The central column of infantry was a mixed force of newly formed New Armies, militias, and mercenaries.

Some wore black-gray knee-length jackets with a short alpaca-colored cashmere cape.

Others simply wore a sleeveless vest, haphazardly wearing ill-fitting, ragged armor on their waists, shoulders, and hands.

The column farthest from the river was Andrei's Iron Fist Warband, a poorly disciplined version of the Black Crown Warband.

Old Raffer and the others should have been in the middle column.

But Warband Leader Andrei greatly admired Besse and the others, integrating the two incomplete infantry regiments plus Besse's infantry regiment into one.

Still led by Besse as regimental commander.

Most of the centurion-level officers were from mountain knight backgrounds, so Besse was able to seamlessly command.

"Stop slacking off!" Old Raffer's whip cracked, startling several cart-pushing laborers.

Caller, also a reserve formation leader, couldn't bear it but could only watch.

If the whip wasn't used, then rattan canes would be used on them.

These laborers were already fortunate enough to be part of the transport team.

If they could see the Nauan River beyond their line of sight, they would see flat-bottomed barges sailing.

The oarsmen in the barges huddled in the narrow cabins, desperately rowing, panting like dogs to resist the current and strong winds.

But occasionally, when encountering turbulent waters, they still had to forcibly conscript strong men from the surrounding areas to serve as trackers.

The ropes were tied around the shoulders of these trackers, and even with leather to reduce friction, it almost rubbed their skin raw.

Compared to them, these ordinary laborers had a better life.

However, because the wages for trackers and oarsmen were too low and the work too hard, soldiers had to capture a batch of them from time to time.

The original trackers either ran away or died from exhaustion and illness.

If it was just scaring the laborers with whips, then this trip would be considered easy.

But soon, the centurion's orderly ran over arrogantly: "You two, each take ten soldiers and go to the nearby villages to get twelve laborers, fifteen chickens and ducks, and twenty sheep."

"Isn't it almost at Saltpan Market?" Caller subconsciously retorted.

The orderly originally wanted to be sarcastic, but seeing the medal on Caller's chest, he forced a smile: "Precisely because of this, we must reward the entire army."

…………

A young boy was kicked out of a house and tumbled onto the ground.

The village elders stood helplessly, watching the soldiers in iron armor stuff chickens and ducks into wicker baskets.

Several young and strong men were pushed out of the thatched huts with spears against their backs, the openings in their torn linen clothes revealing their gaunt ribs.

"No—no—" a woman's scream came.

The door panel slammed to the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust.

A burly soldier carried a terrified, bleating ewe into the house, behind him, a woman with blood flowing from the corner of her mouth grabbed his leg, trying to stop him from leaving.

"Bitch, let go." The soldier angrily tapped the woman's forehead with the hilt of his military knife.

The corner of her forehead quickly turned purplish-blue and slowly swelled up.

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ say ⊥ in ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

But the woman's arm was like a lock, tightly clasping the soldier's leg.

"What's going on?" Old Raffer immediately ran over with his whip.

"My breasts were cut off by the sheep thief, I have no milk." The woman immediately knelt in front of Old Raffer, hugging his leg, "If you take this ewe away, there will be no sheep milk, my child will starve to death."

As if sensing her owner's plea, the ewe actually kicked wildly like a human.

While kicking, she bleated, her moist eyes seeming to be about to cry.

"Alright, alright." Old Raffer pointed the whip at the soldier, "Give her back the sheep."

The soldier who had been fierce in front of the woman was now submissive in front of Old Raffer: "The order was for twenty sheep..."

"Is it really that important to have this one?"

Caller reminded in a low voice: "The centurion's order, distributed evenly to each household, if there are no sheep, then provide people, but she..."

"Aren't there many sheep in the sheepfold?"

"Her Highness Morialta said to treat the village elders well, and not to rob them at will."

Old Raffer was silent for a moment, then took out some silver coins from his pocket, threw them into the hands of the village elder, and led a sheep from his sheepfold.

"Let's go."

The ewe and the woman hugged each other, overjoyed and weeping.

But the eyes of the shepherds behind the window bars were full of disgust and fear.

Although enough strong men and sheep were conscripted, everyone present was in a bad mood.

Unlike those seasoned mercenaries, they were still farmers a year ago.

Not only had they not been alienated by the terrifying battlefield, but they also had chaplains to guide their minds, still maintaining a sense of simplicity.

What they hated and feared most was being forcibly conscripted and robbed by soldiers.

But now, they were actually doing this themselves, it was really, really...

"I guess, if it were the Savior Army, they definitely wouldn't have to forcibly rob cattle and sheep." One new recruit grumbled, "If there's a chance, I'll definitely transfer to the Savior Army."

"You want to go, I want to go too." Another new recruit also complained, "Are you literate? I asked."

"Damn it, I'll move my family to Priest Town later, I heard that town residents' children get free education." An old new army soldier with a full beard cursed, "Don't be like his father, losing his conscience for money."

"Priest Town's land is expensive..."

Caller also felt uncomfortable, but after all, he was the young master of a military family and didn't have the deep feelings of the farmers.

Although Old Raffer felt frustrated, he didn't want to show it.

Just as he was about to remind the others not to say such things in front of superior officers, he heard a sharp whistle.

Old Raffer and Caller both changed color at the same time, they had heard this sound many times, it was a signal cannon, reminding them to return to camp urgently.

"Woo woo woo—"

Immediately following was the deep sound of the bugle.

"That's the sound of the bugle, it's the bugle call to return to camp." Looking at the red smoke column in the fog, Old Raffer jumped up, "We're under attack, return to camp quickly, prepare to fight!"

(The picture below is of the Mountain Infantry Regiment, formerly Mountain Knights, refresh more if it doesn't appear)