When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#156 - Blood Covered Cloud

Returning from the Duke's castle, Madelaine and Jeanne did not go to sleep under the night sky but discussed in hushed tones.

"Did you also feel that the Duke's reaction was strange?"

"Yes," Madelaine frowned. "Wasn't he angry at all? He seemed pleasantly surprised and even asked if we had it."

What Madelaine and Jeanne handed over to the Duke was naturally a copied version. The relics preserved by the nameless monk and the evidence found in the Blue Blood Monastery were still in Jeanne's box.

"This appointment is also strange," Jeanne said, riding her horse, her beautiful eyebrows furrowed together. "How could he appoint Bourville as his agent in the camp? Doesn't the Duke know that we imprisoned and punished him?"

"Perhaps he thinks Bourville has been in our camp for a long time, so he understands the situation?"

Filled with doubt, they walked back from the camp gate towards the former Papal Palace. As soon as they got close, Jeanne immediately noticed people arguing in front of the gate.

Several beast-like Varangian guards were even pushing and shoving some refugees.

The most conspicuous of them was Bishop Bourville, dressed in white robes, grabbing the little girl Gisele's apron, with an unrestrained smile on his face that he couldn't stop.

"What are you doing?" Jeanne immediately shouted angrily.

Seeing Jeanne and the others rushing forward, Bourville released Gisele and retreated behind two guards.

Jeanne recognized the two guards; weren't they the refugees she had previously expelled from the camp?

Jeanne's heart immediately sank a little.

"Bishop Bourville, what is going on here?" Madelaine stepped forward and asked.

"What am I doing? I should be asking you what you're doing?" Bourville glared at Jeanne and the others fiercely. "Why are you hiding the real evidence?"

"This is just a necessary measure to protect the evidence."

"I see, you want to sell the Duke and Jeanne d'Arc Fortress to the Empire, don't you?"

Bourville had been tortured miserably before, and now that he had become the Duke's contact in the refugee camp, he naturally wanted to retaliate.

"We don't mean that. I must say, our willingness to cooperate with the Duke is very sincere, but that doesn't mean you can slander us at will."

Jeanne stared straight into Bourville's eyes.

She had expected this day to come, but she didn't expect it to come so quickly.

After staring at Jeanne for almost half a minute, Bourville finally relented.

"Okay, then I'll back down a step."

Bourville reluctantly glanced at Gisele beside Jeanne, "But I, as a bishop, don't even have anyone to serve me. How about giving me the maid beside you?"

"No," Jeanne saw Bourville's intention at a glance. She directly blocked Gisele in front of her. "Everything must be done according to the rules of His Holiness the Pope. If you want a maid, I can arrange one for you, but it doesn't have to be Gisele."

"What a joke, I'm not from your camp. Why should I abide by your camp's rules?" Bourville cursed angrily. "You're hiding evidence and not letting me get close to the people around you. I really doubt whether you have any intention of cooperating at all."

By this time, refugees who were watching the excitement had gradually come out, discussing what was happening in front of them.

Since Hohen had left with a large number of high-ranking officials, there was somewhat of a power vacuum in the refugee camp.

Even some "veterans" began to reconnect with their former subordinates. The centurions couldn't maintain order, and the security was much worse than before.

"Lady Saint, how about..."

"Lady Jeanne, the bishop is the Duke's agent after all."

"His Holiness is not here, and the Duke is not easy to provoke."

Hesitant voices came from the crowd surrounding Jeanne, but when Jeanne's angry gaze swept over them, those voices immediately disappeared.

"Sister Jeanne," Gisele tugged at Jeanne's clothes. She forced a smile. "Why don't I go to him? I'll just endure it."

"No, if there's one of you, there will be more," Jeanne slammed her staff heavily on the ground. "This precedent cannot be set."

"Oh, so there's no room for negotiation?" Bourville turned around to leave. "I'm going to write a letter to the Duke right now. You just wait and see if the Duke will still provide you with food and supplies."

As soon as these words came out, many of the new camp's squad leaders and centurions wavered. After all, they hadn't followed Hohen on the long road of blood and sweat, and they didn't have much willpower.

Moreover, the person in front of them was a bishop of the diocese. If the Pope was here, they certainly wouldn't be afraid, but the Pope had left, and this was a supreme and noble figure.

"Bishop Bourville, please wait a moment."

"Oh dear, Lady Jeanne, isn't it just a maid?"

Many of the refugees who shouted these words had been punished by Hohen. They didn't dare to resist Hohen, but they dared to resist Jeanne.

Jeanne didn't have any lofty status in the eyes of the refugees; she was just related to the Holy Grandson.

In the eyes of many people, Jeanne's transformation from a witch to a saint was purely due to her connections.

Although Hohen made the decisions regarding the camp's security and punishments, Jeanne was the executor. Those hooligans and ruffians had long been unhappy with her.

Under such circumstances, a group of ignorant refugees began to follow those former hooligans who held grudges, heading towards the bishop.

The people from the old camp leaned towards Jeanne in the middle, while the rest stood in place, at a loss.

Only three hours after Hohen left, the camp was actually showing signs of splitting into three factions.

Taking a deep breath, Jeanne gave Coleman a wink, holding up two fingers in her hand. This was the gesture they had agreed upon.

Two fingers meant a small-scale action, meaning that the camp was entering a state of emergency.

This wasn't a matter of a maid, but of the camp, of who controlled these twelve thousand people.

She hadn't wanted to start the game so soon, but Bourville had become arrogant after gaining power and even wanted to override her and Madelaine's authority.

The method he used was to win over those former hooligans and bandits who had been on the fringes, these unstable elements.

Facts proved that only violence and death could subdue hooligans and villains.

Although this would risk harming the refugees and cause widespread resentment, she wasn't the Holy Grandson after all. If she wanted authority, this was the only way.

Jeanne was no longer the ignorant village girl she once was. She had learned too much about such things from 《Knight Sifar》, Dangi's annotations, and Hohen's stories.

If necessary, she wouldn't be soft-hearted.

Just as Jeanne was about to shout, "Bishop Bourville is tired, send him to the ice cellar in the west, where he suddenly died of a sudden illness," a voice cut through the sky.

"Do you still consider yourselves the Chosen of Messiah?"

The refugees in the camp looked up in surprise.

Bourville shuddered, his legs went weak, and he couldn't even stand straight.

Under the moonlight, the crowd looked towards the source of the sound. Jeanne turned her head in disbelief, her eyes widened.

Hohen, who should have already gone to the Holy See, appeared before everyone again.

The crowd made way, and the young man in a simple jacket appeared at the end of the road, with Bloodveil Cloud at his waist and an indescribable light in his eyes.

Every step he took seemed to be stepping on the chests of the hooligans and ruffians surrounding Bourville.

"Your Holiness, you're back?"

"Good evening, Your Holiness."

"Oh dear, I got lost and ended up on the bishop's side."

Facing the greetings from the refugees present, Hohen did not respond, but instead, expressionless, walked step by step into the middle of the crowd.

He faced all the believers, with his hands behind his back, without saying a word.

No matter what the believers said or how they greeted him, he responded with silence, constantly scanning the crowd before him with his eyes.

The believers stood there at a loss, gradually becoming uneasy. They whispered to each other, even starting to accuse each other in fear.

But Hohen remained silent, seemingly endlessly silent.

So the entire camp was gradually swallowed by the wave of silence, and everyone quieted down.

They closed their mouths and stared at Hohen.

In an instant, only the howling wind remained in front of the Papal Palace.

Bourville opened his mouth to say something, but his voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, and he couldn't say a word.

Although it was only a minute at most, it felt like a year had passed for the refugees present.

Turning around, Hohen took two more steps forward, to a position where everyone could hear his voice.

Facing the refugees present, he didn't need a so-called small-scale action, but simply opened his arms.

"Believers, I have returned," he said in a low voice.

"Holy Grandson Your Holiness, we love you!"

"Holy Trinity, the Holy Grandson is back!"

"Brothers, prayer really works!"

The voices that had previously supported Bourville were immediately drowned out by the voices welcoming Hohen's return.