CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER 107: I AM NOT A GOOD POPE

Before the chaotic footprints, Bo Ao Lie stood up.

He gazed at the intersecting rivers, puddles, and creeks in front of him, lost in thought.

"Escaped?" Bo Ao Lie looked at Cléante.

Cléante was covered in mud, looking very embarrassed, as if he had just been pulled out of a puddle or mud pit.

"They were smart, throwing away those old sick ones, they moved a lot faster than before." Cléante grumbled.

"You still haven’t answered my question." Bo Ao Lie remained indifferent.

"They probably ran through the water, didn’t take the main road, probably entered the swamp." Shivering, Cléante immediately answered honestly, "Further ahead is the area where dangerous creatures appear, they’re doomed."

Bo Ao Lie shook his head: "Not necessarily, they have witches with them, two even, those creatures shouldn’t be a problem for them."

"Should we keep chasing them then?"

"No." Bo Ao Lie massaged his temples, "We need to hire some Demon Hunters to clear the path for us, otherwise, it will still be hard to chase them."

"Anyway, they have to go into the Wild Spider Forest, we can wait here, they can’t get past the forest, they’ll come back eventually." Cléante suggested.

"We can’t just hang around here with him." Bo Ao Lie impatiently waved his hand, "These farmers can really run, if only I had known, I would have left you and gone ahead lightly equipped."

Bo Ao Lie was still dreaming of returning to Xiaochi City to be part of the grand event.

Unlike the inland Thousand River Valley, his family was coastal; the Public Register Farmers on his fief were almost drained, the grain prices crushed by the smuggled grain from the Blood and Flesh Royal Court.

Otherwise, why would he endure the hardship to train and join the Permission Decree unit.

Like the rest of those Knights, just practice some cavalry combat, then climb up through honor and connections on the battlefield.

"After all, we are just ordinary people, how can we compare to Master Knight?" Cléante dared not be impudent in front of Bo Ao Lie.

Unlike his arrogant demeanor in front of Belard, this was completely different.

"Sir, please have a look at this." A Squire Knight suddenly walked over from the side, handing a ruler to Bo Ao Lie.

Receiving the ruler, Bo Ao Lie looked at it up and down, puzzled.

"What’s the matter?"

"Sir, the material of this ruler is unique cork from Kasha County, while the decoration looks very much like it’s from Shelley City, and look at the Falan script on it."

In the daylight, Bo Ao Lie read the words on it word by word: "Gift to my student, Madlan."

"Sir, this ruler is very likely from the Blago Monastery in Shelley City, it was found on Short Hair."

If we can compare the handwriting, maybe we can determine which monk’s handwriting it is. You know, Dean Juanuo and Archbishop of Constans are in fierce contention now."

Bo Ao Lie’s eyes instantly lit up, he pondered for a long time, then shouted towards Belard: "Belard!"

A distant voice seemed to come from beyond the sky, Belard still stood there dumbfounded.

"Belard, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, nothing." Belard hastily tossed away the piece of paper in his hand and hurried toward Bo Ao Lie.

The paper fluttered in the evening wind, carried forward by the breeze, landing on the water’s surface.

It spread out on the water, revealing its original form.

On the yellowed paper was a simple line drawing of two adults holding a child’s hand.

The water slowly soaked the entire paper, from edge to center, gradually blurring the drawing until it was unrecognizable.

This simple paper gently floated forward with the water, continuing to drift.

Floating past reeds and bald cypress trees, past water snakes and water spiders, rocking back and forth, it caught on a branch sticking into the water.

A mud-covered shovel stretched out beside it, dipping into the creek.

Horn shook the handle of the shovel, washing away the mud blocking the soil.

He stood up, carrying the shovel, and walked back toward the small hill.

The Cloud Snow at his waist swayed along with his body.

The sword’s hilt on Cloud Snow had been replaced with the one Frick gave him.

It was smaller than Horn’s half-sword handle, making it look awkward fitted, even more so with the exposed length of the blade in the scabbard.

Reaching the top of the small hill, Horn picked up the jug on the ground, took a sip, then pressed his foot on the edge of the shovel, stomping it deep into the soil.

Horn exerted both hands to shovel out the last bit of soil.

He planted the shovel into the ground, staring blankly at the medium-sized pit before him, just enough for one person to lie down.

"I feel like I could go find a job as a gravekeeper in the future, just dug Danji’s grave, now I have to dig one for you, and for you all too."

Sitting in front of the grave pit, Horn thought he would feel sad or be as furious as when Danji died.

But when he was actually here, he felt nothing but confusion.

The night wind whistled, swirling around the bald cypress and pine trees, lifting the hem of Horn’s clothes.

Those words he couldn’t utter to Frick, the ones he wanted to say at their graves, were all carried away by the wind.

Sorrow, anger, it all seemed to drift away.

He stared at the shallow pit before him that could only accommodate one person lying down, suddenly tossed aside the shovel in his hand, and jumped into the pit, lying down himself.

So quiet, it seemed like all sounds and troubles disappeared, so peaceful.

With his ear pressed against the soil, surrounded by the tips of bald cypress trees, a sky full of stars spread out before him.

"Tell me, why did you have to come for me?" Horn gazed at the starry sky, "What am I? Tell me, what am I?"

The night was as silent as mist, ethereally concealing all sounds behind.

"Danji, Frick, look, I’m just an ordinary person, and I’m terribly cowardly."

"I’m neither sacred nor have a system, I’m just an ordinary person with a bit more knowledge in my head."

No one responded, Horn even doubted whether these words had been said out loud or just echoed in his mind.

"I just want to make up for regrets, I’m afraid of being hurt again."

"Living again, I just want to be a selfish person."

"Danji, Frick... the things you’ve entrusted to me, I might... I..."

Lying in the grave pit, Horn couldn’t utter a single word he wanted to say.

Isn’t it just saying, ’Sorry, I can’t do it’?

Speak, hurry up and speak.

The starry sky in front of him began to blur, something seemed stuck in his throat, making Horn’s lips tremble.

Speak, why can’t you say it for half a day?

"Brother?" A delicate face peeked out from the edge of the grave pit.

Horn immediately held all those other thoughts back.

"Why are you lying here?"

"I’m tired, just resting for a bit." Horn forced a smile.

Jeanne gazed at Horn’s face for a good while, then suddenly jumped into the grave pit.

"Make some room."

Pushed Horn aside, Jeanne also lay down, filling the small grave pit completely.

The two pressed tightly together.

"Frick and the others are already dead, right?" After an indeterminate time, Jeanne asked.

"Yes."

"After traveling for so long, almost reaching Joan of Arc Castle, what a pity."

Horn remained silent.

"Brother, you didn’t let anyone starve or die of illness."

Still silent, he continued to stare at the sky, wanting so badly to say to Jeanne:

This shouldn’t be what I’m supposed to do!

He should be a ruthless transmigrator, he should abandon all the sick and elderly, he should no longer love anyone and live just for himself.

Like those transmigrators before, quickly ditch these burdens, find a base, farm, develop, wage war, marry, form alliances, eventually becoming the continent’s dominator!

Then, seek revenge for them.

Then, marry a bunch of wives.

Then, become a cold king, sitting in a splendid palace, indulging in debauchery, sharing a huge bed—this is right!

This is... right, isn’t it?

Horn felt as if someone were stirring his brain with a high-power putty mixer, turning it into mush.

Is it right?

Horn closed his eyes, tightened his brows, as if in a nightmare.

Strong white arms encircled Horn’s neck, Jeanne breathed moistly past Horn’s ear.

"Brother, I think old man Frick must have left with a smile."

"Us Thousand River Valley People have nothing left, no dignity, no fairness, no freedom, only life and family."

"Old man Frick couldn’t bear losing his children a third time."

Almost half a minute later, Horn slowly turned his body: "Jeanne, let me hug you."

Jeanne opened her arms.

Like a baby, he curled up, burying his head in Jeanne’s strong, reliable chest.

"However long you want to stay here, I’ll accompany you." Jeanne shifted to a comfortable position, leaning her mouth on top of Horn’s head, hugging his head.

Starlight filled the grave pit, Jeanne and Horn lay like sleepers, motionless.

"Jeanne."

"Hmm?"

"You, during this time, have grown."

"Hmm, having gone through so much." With a slight smile on her lips, Jeanne gently stroked Horn’s hair tip, "If I don’t grow, it’s indefensible."

"I didn’t mean that..."

As soon as he spoke, Horn knew it wasn’t good.

He felt the soft arm encircling his neck instantly become as hard and hot as fiery steel.

"Alright! I’ve rested enough!"

Decisively, Horn pulled his head from the arm, escaping Jeanne’s embrace before it could turn fiery, crawling out of the grave pit.

Turning around, Horn extended his hand to pull Jeanne out of the pit, dusting off the mud from his body, and stood again before the gravestone.

He stood for a long time, then reached out to gently caress the gravestone:

"Rest assured, I will do my best to safely send your children to Joan of Arc Castle, and not let them die on the path you’ve paved."

"As for the rest, I can’t promise."

"Sorry, I’m not a good Pope."

Throwing his old sword hilt into the shallow pit, Horn and Jeanne each shoveled dirt back in, forming a small mound.

Patted firm the mound, they placed the wooden gravestone in front of it.

Horn stepped back two paces, ensuring it wasn’t tilted, then walked with slightly numb legs, following Jeanne, carrying the shovel as they staggered away.

In the brilliant starlight, the inscription on the gravestone seemed to glow.

"Here lie the fathers and mothers of all Thousand River Valley People."