CHAPTER 128: CHAPTER 126: IF I CAN’T ASK THE HOLY FATHER, CAN’T I ASK YOU?

"I am the Saint’s Grandson!"

Horn dug into his ear, suspecting whether he had developed auditory hallucinations after coming to this world.

Why did he always hear some words that were difficult for him to understand for no reason?

If you are the Holy Grandson, then who am I?

The man over here successfully summoned the presence of the Holy Grandson, and began to recite a set poem:

"Move here, move there, where can a poor man live?"

"Driven by hunger and cold, like a donkey or mule, no place to hide without killing the demons!"

"You believers argue for this reason, witnessing with my soul-mirror method, I can tell there are demons in your hearts!"

The man on stage circled around, eyes wide open, scanning the surroundings.

"This, what’s this?" Amidst the cheering crowd, Horn turned his head incredulously to look at Casti.

Casti grabbed Horn’s arm and dragged him out of the crowd, to a corner where he spoke softly:

"This person’s name is Thomas, claiming to be the adopted son of Horn the Holy Grandson, the Holy Great-grandson."

"Then what is he doing now?"

"He is inviting his father, Horn the Holy Grandson, to possess him. Most of these displaced are rebellious mobs, none listens to another, they can only rely on the Saint Sun Pope’s judgment when things go wrong."

"Am I not still alive? Isn’t asking the Holy Grandson to descend so fake, yet these displaced dare to believe it?" Horn widened his eyes, "Is this Thomas a fool?"

That’s not for you to say, is it?

Casti forcefully swallowed the questions back, awkwardly smiled and said, "An unreasonable order is still better than no order."

"True enough."

This was something Horn was very familiar with, and also deeply detested.

But he still couldn’t quite understand, if they were inviting a divine presence, why not invite the Holy Father and Holy Tree?

Even according to the concept of ’generational connection,’ they should be inviting Miseria.

Why invite him?

At the right moment, Casti answered Horn’s confusion, "You ought to have said something akin to being the sole eye of the God on earth once, right?

Previously, many tried to invite the Holy Father to descend, but were branded as devils by opposing displaced groups for this reason.

Therefore, to circumvent restrictions, Thomas could only invite you first, and if necessary, then ask you to invite the Holy Father to possess."

"...Then what do you want me to do?"

"You know, our Joan of Arc Castle’s work capacity can only accommodate up to 40,000 people or so, and the Duke didn’t heed advice, sheltering this batch of short-haired displaced," Casti said with a bitter smile.

"So..."

"We aren’t able to provide them work. Money and grain can only be allocated according to relief standards for refugees.

Many in this rebellious displaced group have started stealing, robbing, and defrauding around, severely damaging our previous security environment.

But they are well-organized, and I’m afraid the disorder is hard to manage.

Therefore, I hope you can, in the name of the true Saint’s Grandson, help us lawfully punish them. I don’t expect them to stop causing trouble, but just reduce it a bit."

In Casti’s hopeful eyes, Horn’s expression was hesitant.

It wasn’t for other reasons; he originally intended to shake off the so-called titles of "Pope" and "Saint’s Grandson" on this trip.

If he were to handle these mobs again, then the previous lies would have to be perpetuated, but at this point, it’s somewhat difficult to keep them hidden, how could he continue deceiving?

As a professionally trained courtier and scholar, Casti’s skill in observing and understanding was essential; he roughly perceived Horn’s dilemma.

"Your Excellency, you don’t need to do much." Casti scanned the area over the guard’s shoulder, bowed his head, and said, "Thomas is our man, as long as you endorse him, everything else will be handled by them."

"You know I’m not cough... uh," Horn glossed over the term Holy Grandson, "Moreover, what benefit does this have for me?"

"Whatever requests you have, feel free to make them. I will do my utmost to fulfill them," Casti pleaded near enough, "The Duke entrusted the territory to me, to settle these folks well, imagine if he comes back to find this mess... I, I still owe the Upper River Island Royal University a loan... I must keep this job..."

Weren’t you claiming to be the Duke’s confidant, knowing all secret matters? Why would the Duke dismiss you just for this?

Horn was somewhat speechless, that group of courtiers’ words couldn’t be believed at all.

"As for your case, I’ll put it simply, just understand, all in all, this is the situation now..."

"Hey, hey, don’t leave, Your Excellency..."

"I didn’t say for sure how it’s going to be, just that, I’ll think about it, you wait and see, let’s talk tomorrow, alright, brother..."

With the guards surrounding him, Horn used ramblings to shake off Casti and walked swiftly out of that foul-smelling camp.

Going east half a mile, he once more returned to his campsite, that rubble-strewn place.

This should have originally been a small town or village, yet after being destroyed before, it was never rebuilt, its layout resembling a "#" shape.

Accompanied by guards, Horn moved along the overgrown paths with broken bricks scattered wildly.

Grass grew thickly between the bricks, the cracked stone paving prohibiting easy passage.

On each side of the road, dilapidated stone walls and wooden houses protruded as though dead giants, iron-clad oak doors rusted, even locks were rusted.

Citizens wearing black hats came and went in the ruins, stacking bricks and rubble to one side, clearing blocked roads.

In the dilapidated ruins, every house still able to be used had two or three citizens sitting on beams, joyfully covering tiles or straw.

Perhaps they saw this place as their future home.

Horn made a mental note, perhaps Duke Dane could grant this wasteland to these villagers, at least ensuring they have a refuge.

However, Horn didn’t immediately return to his residence but instead turned to head to Armand’s dwelling.

In the small tent, the Chief Bishop of the Pope Country, Kosse, sat dumbfounded as Armand wiped his face.

"Kosse, Old Kosse, Archbishop Kosse, can you hear me speak?" Horn waved his hand in front of Kosse.

Kosse glanced dully at Horn, nodded slightly in greeting, and returned to staring blankly ahead.

Horn asked helplessly, "Still can’t speak?"

"Yes."

"I knew I shouldn’t have given him those two letters."

Armand, as Kosse’s successor, smiled bitterly, "It was inevitable, who could have predicted it."

Horn did not expect it to coincide so precisely, that Kosse’s two kidnapped daughters were exactly in that monastery.

He hesitated for a long while, preparing Kosse multiple times with precautions, all saying it didn’t matter, it was past.

Only then did Horn hand the letters to him, thinking even if it’s unavoidable, at least there should be an explanation.

But who would’ve expected Kosse, despite being rigid, fainted upon seeing the letters, aging ten years overnight, acting normally but unable to speak.

Joining Armand out of the tent, Horn scratched his head, thinking it was still necessary to find a physician to treat him.

"Where is Harbin? I need to find him."

"Not here, he ran off as soon as we arrived, no one can find him."

"Needed him, couldn’t find him, didn’t need him, chatterbox,"

After some complaints, Horn continued asking, "Has anyone questioned why I haven’t officially ascended to the position of Pope yet?"

Armand thought for a moment, "Judging by the confession of the villagers lately, a few are asking, but mostly, people aren’t in a rush.

However, it seems many of the Imperial Guard and Black Hat Army soldiers are asking when the new conferral ceremony will be held."

"Ugh," Horn immediately felt a headache, "Forget it, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, take it one step at a time."

After saying goodbye to Armand, Horn could finally return to the Pope’s Palace.

The Pope’s Palace had finally turned back from tents to a wooden cabin, he smiled and nodded to the guard standing at the door as Horn stepped inside.

Sitting inside the cabin was someone wearing light gauze over her face, yet her striking white hair and tall stature allowed Horn to recognize who she was.

"Jia Li, have you finally verified your identity?"

"Yes... What’s with the ’finally’?" Jia Li crossed her legs and slapped a map on the table, "I’ve been working hard for you all along!"

Horn walked to the opposite side of Jia Li, leaned his head toward the map on the table, and curiously examined it, "What’s this?"

"You’ve been asking about the Witch’s territory, haven’t you?" Jia Li propped her chin with her left hand, leaning against the table, and pointed her finger on the map, "Here, I’ve got it for you."