When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 618 Loud Thunder

The lights in the church flickered in the rain, and the dim candlelight made the statue of the Lord hanging on the pillar flicker. Its pupil-less eyes stared quietly at Ansel on the bed.

Ansel's face turned slightly pale, and he was sleeping peacefully after drinking the medicine.

If he hadn't occasionally kicked off the lower half of the blanket with his bare feet, Bryson wouldn't have been able to be sure that the person in front of him was a young man under twenty years old.

A child less than twenty years old taught him more in three months than he had learned in twenty years of studying in a church school.

Bryson turned his head to look at the side of the room. The cold wind was hitting the window, bringing with it the shouts of the mountain people outside and the sound of wood colliding.

Lalor's screams were mixed with the sound of rain: "Hurry, build these fences, and you two, dig the trench deeper!"

Following his voice, old Laffer shouted: "Have you pried open the blacksmith's shop? What are you afraid of? Just treat it as a credit. Tie the dagger to a long wooden stick, just like we usually hunt wild boars!"

"Those who are good at archery, come to the back and treat those cavalrymen as foxes and wolves."

At some point, Lalor and old Lav became the commanders, and their shouts sounded alternately without stopping for a moment.

Under the gloomy sky, nearly two hundred mountain men and women were efficiently setting up spiked stakes and fences around the church.

In the small square in front of the church, a semicircle of spiked wooden stakes was erected, and mountain people holding makeshift spears and flails made from daggers walked back and forth in the square.

I have to say that the martial virtues of the mountain folks are more abundant than those of the plain farmers, and I'm not praising the mountain folks.

They usually have to deal with monsters, bandits, bears, wolves, pigs and beastmen roaming the mountains. Doing these things is easy for them. That's why the mountain people can be mercenaries without any training.

However, can these two hundred people really resist the infantry led by two knights?
Listening to the shouting outside the window, Bryson slowly sat down and put his hands on his knees.

Although these mountain folks are extremely ferocious, there are probably less than ten of them who have the Knight's Breathing Technique, and they lack armor and weapons.

Would it really work if we just let them fight against the knights?

And according to what Ansel said, the Holy See might not allow the Saviors to directly participate in the war, and the attitudes of the village sheriffs were similar to that of Knight Adrian, which was a kind of fence-sitter type of ambiguity.

If the Holy See chooses to compromise, then these monks and nuns will probably have died in vain.

Even if those knights just wanted to take Ansel away, given Ansel's current condition, if he got caught in the rain, I'm afraid a minor cold would turn into a severe chill.

At that time, the knights' consciences would be tested, but the knights' consciences were the things Bryson least trusted.

Looking down at Ansel, Bryson didn't know whether he was asking him or himself: "Is it that important? Why bother?"

In the past, when Bryson was confused or in crisis, Ansel could always speak a lot of truths or come up with good solutions, but now Ansel just lay on the bed, not saying a word.

"what should I do?"

Bryson looked at his hands on his knees. Compared with the hands that used to hold the quill, they had many more calluses and wounds.

He remembered where some of the cuts occurred, but he had forgotten some of the calluses.

"Someone is coming!" The mountaineer in charge of lookout on the wooden tower of the chapel shouted down in the rain.

With a jolt in his heart, Bryson quickly walked to the window.

The mountain people around the church stopped what they were doing and looked into the depths of the rain.

The faint sound of horse hooves came from far away, splashing mud and water.

Gradually, a cavalryman and two followers riding mules came running through the rain.

Their figures were as blurry as ghosts, and the rain was flowing like streams on their armor that reflected the dim sky.

Leading the way was a tall man in well-worn leather armor, with a mud-spattered oilskin cloak covering his shoulders.

The mountain people stood behind the trench. They wore thin vests and hoods on their heads, holding sickles, flails, daggers and spears in their hands, and many of them were trembling.

"Did you receive the letter?" The horse exhaled white steam, and the knight took off his helmet, revealing a shining bald head. "Our martial law troops have arrived at the avenue. Hand over the two monks and don't resist. We won't kill innocent people. How do you do it?"

Lalor shouted to the knight, "Our monk is sick and cannot be exposed to the rain. Please come back when the weather is clear."

"You said he is sick, so he is sick. Let us go in and see if he is sick or not." The bald knight pulled the reins impatiently and walked back and forth in front of the spiked wooden stake.

"No, what if you come in and want to take them away by force?" Lalor continued, "Let someone throw away his weapon and come in, and I will take him to see it."

"What are you bargaining for? Huh? What are you bargaining for?" The bald knight completely lost his patience. "I don't care if he is sick or not. I want to take him away now."

"Then we have no choice but to resist."

The knight laughed angrily. He turned to his two followers and said, "Listen, if you want to resist, yes."

"Hahahaha." The two followers riding mules behind him let out dramatic and exaggerated laughter.

Compared with the laughter of the knights and their followers, the mountain people behind the wooden stakes and trenches gritted their teeth, and the pitchforks and flails in their hands were even shaking slightly.

"For the last time, hand over the monks and the wool, and we won't kill anyone! Otherwise, when the martial law troops behind me come, it won't be so easy to deal with them!" After laughing, the bald knight threatened lightly.

The open space in front of the church was silent. The mountain people stood beside the trenches and wooden stakes, exchanging uneasy glances with each other.

After all, hearing it from Lalor and actually seeing the knights coming are two completely different concepts.

When the Super Knight actually stood in front of them, this feeling of oppression was quite different from a few passionate declarations.

Only raindrops dripped from the eaves, hitting the puddles and creating tiny ripples.

Some of the mountain people retreated slowly and unnoticed.

Raindrops hit Bryson's window, and the shouts, laughter, and rain outside were beating against the window like drumsticks. He stood by the window, and the mountain folks in the rain were like a wheat field bent by the wind and rain, and the cavalryman was like an iron plow ready to crush them at any time.

Lalor and old Laffer looked up at the church from time to time, as if expecting Ansel to come out and say a few words to boost everyone's morale.

Stepping back from the window, Bryson looked down at Ansel, a face that was much younger than his own.

He looked up and around the simple church, which seemed more familiar and approachable to him than the church school where he had lived for twenty years.

He lived in the parish church for twenty years, but he was only there.

But it's different here, this is his church, this is his place, he doesn't stay here just for the doubled salary.

He walked to the door and picked up a flail leaning against the wall. When he looked up, the hesitation on Bryson's face was replaced by an inexplicable calmness.

He walked to the church entrance and pushed the door open. The rain hit his face, freezing him.

The mountain folks looked at him, all of them stunned. Lalor strode over, frowned and asked, "Brother Bryson, why did you come out?"

Bryson carried the flail on his shoulder and said calmly, "This is my church, the territory of the Holy Lord. Without my permission, not even a knight is allowed to set foot in."

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The rain slid down his brow and flowed into the corners of his eyes. After wiping his face, Bryson looked up at the cavalry in the distance.

He walked step by step to the front of the team, and the surrounding mountain people made way for him.

Taking a deep breath, Bryson straightened his chest, looked directly into the knight's contemptuous and interested eyes, and swung the flail vigorously: "This is the land of the Holy Lord and the home of His people. Your armor may be able to stop the spears, but it cannot stop the faith.

You may enter this church, but before your dirty horses' hooves set foot on the steps, please step over my dead body first!"

Bryson's tone was calm but firm, like a shepherd facing a pack of wolves. Although he only held a wooden stick in his hand, he had no intention of retreating.

The mountain people were stunned for a moment, and then they all clenched their weapons.

The leading knight raised his eyebrows, a hint of coldness flashed across his face. He rode his horse back and forth in front of the wooden stakes a few times. Seeing that the morale that had been gradually collapsing was actually stable, he smiled grimly:

"Since you are determined to die, I will grant your wish. I hope you can still maintain your courage later."

He didn't continue speaking, but turned around and waved to the cavalrymen behind him.

The horses' hooves stepped onto the muddy road again and gradually moved away. The sound of rain once again drowned out the sound of their receding hooves.

The rain was still falling, getting heavier and heavier. The mountain people standing by the trench outside the church no longer had any uneasy looks.

Their eyes flickered back and forth between the church and Bryson. Some of them left quietly, while more returned to their seats.

Lalor looked around and patted Bryson on the shoulder: "Brother Bryson, thank you."

Bryson just shook his head and didn't answer. He leaned against the wall of the church and silently watched the busy figures of the mountain people.

Three months ago, these people clearly regarded them as strangers or even enemies, but now they took up arms and fought desperately for the Holy Father Society.

These hands, which usually farm the land, can actually clench weapons today.

As the knights left, the flames of war seemed to have died down, but Bryson and his men did not relax their vigilance at all. They just kept patrolling and sending out scouts for investigation.

This time they didn't have to wait long. The lookout on the church's wooden tower suddenly shouted, "There's movement! The knights are coming back!"

Everyone looked up, but they couldn't see how many people the knights had brought back. They could only hear the sound of dense footsteps approaching in the distance.

"be prepared!"

"Blow the whistle and call all the scouts back!"

"Everyone return to your seats!"

At the shouts of Lalor and Old Lafer, the mountain people returned to the edge of the spiked stakes in accordance with the measures to guard against the robbers.

The only difference is that in the past they were defending the knights’ main residence, but today they are defending the church.

The spears were soaked by rain, wetting the palms of the mountain people. Their tattered clothes stuck to their bodies and they were shivering in the cold rain, but they still stood behind the wooden stakes.

The straw on the thatched hut was shaking, and people pursed their lips tightly. The rain flowed down their collars and onto their backs, but they seemed not to feel it.

The sounds of footsteps and horse hooves were getting closer and closer.

However, although the sounds of footsteps and horse hooves were there, they remained outside the door and disappeared for a long time.

This made their already tense minds even more tense. Why hasn't it come yet?

"Did you see clearly where they went?"

The lookout on the tower leaned most of his body out and tried his best to open his eyes in the rain, but there was no response for a long time.

Old Laffer was so anxious that he turned around and around: "Speak up, don't force me to beat you up!"

"They... aren't... why are they black and red... Eh? The Knight's House, what's going on?" In the blurry rain, the lookout's voice became blurred.

"Just give me some fucking truth, you fucking pig!" Old Laffer's anger was so intense. Even at this time, this lookout was actually unreliable.

"No, I, I can't describe it. There was a group of mountain people in front, another group of mountain people in the back, and a dozen cavalrymen following them... They were heading towards the Knight's House!"

"what?"

(End of this chapter)