CHAPTER 531: CHAPTER 509: FULL OF STRENGTH AND MEANS

Lying in bed, Horn stared at the floral drapery of the bed curtain for almost ten minutes.

This was his habit every morning upon waking up, reminiscing and reviewing recent gains and losses.

A week had passed since Ludvik left, and if nothing went wrong, they should have boarded the ship to Kasha County by now.

If things went smoothly, then their internal voting could be completed before the New Year Festival.

As the liaison, once Martin received Ludvik’s handwritten letter, he could be the plenipotentiary representative to sign the "Holy Axis Pact."

It’s hard to tell what reaction the Thousand River Valley Church would have.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and flicking it away, Horn turned to get out of bed.

The brick walls were fitted with wooden panels, a sturdy walnut wardrobe placed near the bed, and the baseboard lined with wave-patterned carved tiles.

This was Horn’s residence at Joan of Arc Castle, initially the love nest for Duke Kush and his lover.

Later, after being refurbished by the Salvation Army with added conveniences, it became Horn’s residence.

With bare feet on the carpet, Horn walked to the window and turned on the faucet embedded in the wall.

The water gushed out, and he scooped some to splash on his face, shaking off the residual sleepiness.

Just last year on this day, he was using cold water from the creek to wash his face.

Now, he could stand on a warm carpet and wash up at a marble sink.

But this brass pipe wasn’t some high-tech machinery; it relied entirely on manual force.

Horn installed a water tank on the third floor, and the constables used pulleys daily to lift water into the tank.

Then they added purification agents and slime gel to disinfect and condense sediments, creating this seemingly modern "tap water" system.

Wiping his face dry and dressing up, Horn opened the bedroom door swiftly.

"Hmm~"

As soon as the door opened, a gust of cold wind blew a soft, lazy hum across Horn’s face.

Out in the corridor, Catherine was yawning, her crimson lips open wide.

Wearing a silk nightgown that reached her calves, her hands crossed behind her head, stretching, delicate fingers lifting strands of her auburn curls.

By arching her back, Catherine’s chest prominently curved, the nightgown stretching tightly as if something might pop out at any second.

Because of those two mounds, the hem of the gown was pulled up to her knees.

"Good morning."

As Catherine leaned forward slightly, she nearly tumbled down the stairs.

Horn quickly grasped her arm, pulling her back: "Watch your step. Why do you look like you haven’t woken up?"

"Why are you up so early today?" she asked, hastily flattening her dress caught below the equator, her ears subtly flushed pink.

"It’s as if you know what time I usually wake up," Horn smiled. "I always get up around this time. You’re the old one here, needing more sleep, I understand."

"Old?!" Catherine glared, her forehead veins pulsing slightly, biting her lip to suppress her irritation.

Anyway, it’s the last day! The last day...

Unlike Horn and his siblings, Catherine loved to sleep in, usually not waking until nine or ten.

Today, she was up a bit past six because she had completed her training and observations in the Pope Country and was about to return to Rapids City with a team.

And the departure, it was today at noon.

She would be returning with the first batch of material-laden barges.

Currently, 14 river barges were stationed on the Joan of Arc Castle Canal, loaded with nearly 300 tons of mortar, food, stone bricks, and timber.

This number of barges was far from enough.

So Horn placed orders for shipbuilding in Xiaochi City and Rapids City, totaling 36 river barges with a displacement of 30-50 tons, costing 5200 gold pounds in total.

Joan of Arc Castle didn’t have a shipyard or a shipbuilding guild or the necessary technology, so they had to import from outside.

Someday the waterways of the Ibe River and Nao’an River would be full of trade ships carrying food, building materials, and sugar.

With such an extensive network of waterways, it’s simply inconceivable that the Thousand River Valley remained so poor.

Horn even considered widening the river courses and diverting some water from Daze Village.

As Horn descended the elaborately carved stairs, he didn’t notice the increasingly complex look in Catherine’s eyes behind him.

Before reaching the first floor, Horn already smelled the rich aroma of food in the air.

Descending the stairs led straight to the ground floor dining room, where Almen and several Child Soldiers were setting up the dining plates.

Since the duke’s utensils were either sold off to fund the military or reserved for banquets, even Horn used pottery bowls and tin plates.

"Smells so good, what are you making?" As soon as he descended the stairs, the aroma led Horn to turn a corner and slip into the kitchen on the other side.

Next to the restaurant on the first floor, Horn tore down the wall, replacing it with mortar pillars, creating an open kitchen.

The kettle on the fireplace was boiling with hot water, and an enticing aroma wafted from the clay pot, while Jeanne, wearing a headscarf, was busy with several Child Soldiers.

Jeanne had just returned from practicing breathing techniques and horsemanship, and even had time to take a bath.

"Stewed mixed meats, pan-fried vegetable patties, and, hmm, millet and potato root porridge, your invention." Jeanne flipped the patties without even looking up.

"Is there anything I can do?" Standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding his belly, Horn picked up a spatula, "I’ll help you."

"Are you sure?" Jeanne glanced at him sideways, "Then pour the chopped celery into the stew pot, I’m a bit tied up here."

Coming to the stove, looking at the two identical green piles on the plates, Horn fell into deep thought.

"Can you tell which one it is?"

Horn hesitated for half a second and pointed at one: "This one?"

Next to him, Catherine couldn’t bear it any longer, took down an apron from the wall, and poured the other plate of minced vegetables into the pot: "Let me help you."

"I was going to choose that one, but hesitated at the last second." Horn shook his head in frustration and turned back to the restaurant.

But just as he left the kitchen door, he turned back: "Get along well, it’s the last day, don’t fight, okay?"

"Got it."

"Don’t worry."

Both answered in unison, then began their divided tasks.

"Isn’t the pot too hot?"

"No, it’s just right."

Even though it was just a normal conversation, the other Child Soldiers in the kitchen felt a chill down their necks.

"Pass me the butter."

"Okay, do you need honey?"

"No need."

"No honey... Fine."

"This is porridge; it doesn’t need honey. Why don’t you add cheese instead?"

"I was just saying, don’t get so worked up." Putting down the honey jar, Catherine raised her hands, her face still bearing a graceful and warm smile.

Jeanne snorted, opened the stew pot, and took a whiff: "It’s done, just heat it up for lunch and dinner... Are you going to voice some lady-like opinion again?"

"I didn’t say anything."

"I could feel it from your eyes."

"That’s absurd, are you Moliat?"

"Who’s Moliat?" Jeanne frowned.

Realizing she mentioned her best friend’s spell, Catherine cleared her throat and quickly changed the topic, "I don’t understand, there’s not that much conflict between us, right? Why do we have to be at odds?"

"You started it."

"When I first met you, I was very friendly. We are both witches, I can’t think of why you were so cold to me at first?"

"Because you always do like this and like that."

Watching Jeanne awkwardly mimic her actions, Catherine first frowned in thought, then couldn’t help but laugh: "...Ah, I get it, you think I’m trying to charm His Excellency, don’t you?"

Jeanne’s face flushed with a tinge of red, but she still argued, "It has nothing to do with my brother, I just can’t stand your lady-like mannerisms."

"That Wolf Woman’s lady-like demeanor is much more than mine, yet you don’t seem to dislike her?"

Jeanne didn’t speak, only stirred the beef and lamb stew in the clay pot.

Compared to the astute older woman Catherine, seventeen-year-old Jeanne could already dominate the battlefield, possessing a "beast-like mind and wisdom" (as Horn described).

In terms of personal feelings, she remained as innocent as ever, even retaining a bit of a naive girl’s charm.

She actually felt it was wrong from instinct, but if you asked her for a reason, she couldn’t articulate it.

"I value our friendly relationship greatly; as witches, we shouldn’t have internal conflicts, at least for now, I have no interest in your brother." On the last day, Catherine decided to resolve this issue, she took Jeanne’s hand and said proactively.

"...Really?"

"Or how about this, to prove it, I’ll teach you some tricks." Seeing Jeanne’s clear eyes, Catherine couldn’t help but feel a mischievous urge, "I guarantee you’ll handle him with ease, how about it?"

"What tricks?"

Picking up the honey jar beside her, Catherine gave a mischievous smile, leaned toward Jeanne’s ear, and whispered a string of words briskly.

Jeanne’s face instantly turned red: "Shameless! I would never... shameless!"

After cursing, she turned around and vigorously stirred the potato root and millet porridge.