When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 578 - 556. The Battle of Black Lettuce Village (Part 1)

Feiliu Castle outskirts, Imperial Decree Camp.

Behind the towering wooden walls were clusters of crowded sheds and wooden huts.

In the crowded wooden sheds, flames licked the cauldrons, and the blacksmiths' forges spewed thick black smoke, smearing their faces black and white.

Along the narrow mud path, emaciated "slaves" walked numbly along the eaves.

Before winter, they were Public Register Farmers or even Armed Farmers, laboring in the fields.

In an instant, a group of Knights stormed into the villages and towns, taking all their possessions and branding them as slaves.

Farmers with slave marks on the nape of their necks carried sacks, their thin calves showing beneath their tattered linen trousers.

With every step they took, their knees trembled like fluttering butterflies.

In the Empire, although there were fewer slaves, legally, slavery had never been abolished.

Even before the Branded City engaged in ceramic trade, it was established on the slave trade.

Otherwise, why call it Branded City and not Inscription City?

The sound of urgent hoofbeats came from the camp's entrance, as seven or eight Knights with feathers stuck to their dome-shaped felt hats rushed through the narrow road towards the central Monastery.

Many Artisans and servants secretly glanced toward the castle. Perhaps an hour later, over a dozen teams of hundreds of Leather Armor Soldiers appeared.

They selected and investigated among the crowd, and under the guidance of old townsfolk, they picked out Hunters and guides familiar with the local terrain.

Having made a selection, they kept about three to five people, and the soldiers led them into the castle.

A blacksmith pretended to wipe his sweat while keeping a close eye on the soldiers entering the Monastery from under his hairy arm.

He gave a signal to an apprentice, who under the shouts and curses of the overseer, clutched his stomach and dashed towards the latrine.

The establishment of the latrine wasn't because the Knights had turned good or found their conscience, but because the plague had struck.

The apprentice didn't stay long in the latrine, quickly returning to the anvil table, since staying too long would lead to the overseer kicking the door down.

But at lunchtime, someone picked up a stone from the latrine.

About ten minutes later, one of the guides just released from the castle was brought by an Artisan to a thatched house on the camp's outskirts.

Inside the thatched house, Valent Taylor, dressed as a refugee, was chewing on a piece of black bread softened in cold water.

"Have you confirmed the time, my brothers?" Taylor approached and embraced the two after putting down the black bread.

"It's confirmed," before the guide could speak, the person who brought him responded, "they'll call back the Knights reveling in the taverns in the city this afternoon, and then set off tomorrow morning.

Because they have to wait for the infantry, they should arrive at Shuimi Town around noon tomorrow."

"Is the marching route finalized?"

"Three guides, with Mr. Bobcat Tuck as the lead guide."

At this moment, Valent Taylor learned the identity and name of the haggard man: "So, Mr. Tucker, correct? Can you control the Knights' marching route?"

"I can't guarantee; I only have the power to suggest, but not to decide." The man, nicknamed Bobcat, spoke in a numb voice, devoid of emotion.

He was thin and wore a tattered, thin linen shirt, but based on his teeth, one could tell he was at least an Armed Farmer or a small landowner before.

"Which route do you think these Knights might take?" Taylor pulled out a crumpled sheepskin map from under the floor.

Bobcat Tuck glanced at him, dipped his finger in the ash on his face, and drew a winding line on the map.

Taylor frowned: "They'd better not go through Pefos Manor; the terrain is too open. Can you get them to go through Black Lettuce Village?"

"I don't have a suitable reason." Bobcat Tuck shook his head expressionlessly, "The manor has more people and better supplies."

Taylor pondered for a moment: "What if the marching route gets leaked and the people of Pefos Manor flee with supplies?"

"Then all three of us guides will face flogging, maybe even hanging." Bobcat Tuck drew another route on the map with his finger, "But they would go through Black Lettuce Village."

"Alright, I'll think of another way." Taylor nodded, about to pick up the map for further study, but heard Bobcat Tuck speak again.

"No need, let's do it this way." Bobcat Tuck grabbed Taylor's hand, "Time it right, so they can't go back and find a new guide, and I'll have at least a one-third chance of surviving."

Taylor opened his mouth, intending to argue, but ultimately said: "Alright, good luck to you, we'll have people observing you from afar, we need to agree on some gestures and signals."

"You can see that far..." Mid-sentence, Bobcat Tuck chuckled self-deprecatingly, "Of course, you're the Witch's men; it'd be strange if you didn't have such abilities."

Taylor tightened his lips unhappily: "Don't be fooled by those Priests, Lady Jeanne and Lady Catherine are Saintesses, not Witches."

"Ha!"

The guide said nothing, but the derision in his eyes was clear.

Taylor looked at the Artisan who brought him, and the man shrugged helplessly.

In Hotam County, not everyone shared the unwavering belief of the Saint Sun's Army.

Even within the Saint Sun's Army or the Salvation Army, there were many who feigned belief, so Taylor couldn't force everyone.

"We will win this battle; just hold on a little longer until the Salvation Army defeats the Imperial Decree."

After agreeing on gestures and confirming the process, Taylor, noting it was almost noon, excused himself to leave.

He had to hide in a manure cart to leave, missing the timing would mean he couldn't get out.

"Valent Taylor, we all know your reputation." The gaunt man in a thin shirt lifted his head, exposing deep eye sockets and dark circles, "Tell me, will it be different?"

"What will be different?" Hand paused on his hat, Taylor looked at the man blankly.

Bobcat Tuck lowered his head in numbness: "When the Salvation Army comes, will it be different? We've signed indentures, owe massive debts, and you know how valuable our skills are.

We craftsmen are like golden hens; give us a little water and grain, and we lay precious gold. Will your Saint's Grandson really not be tempted?"

Will he be tempted?

Taylor was taken aback by the question. Though he had a long-standing spiritual connection with the Saint's Grandson, they had never met.

Although the Saint's Grandson had a reputation for kindness, many Bishops claimed kindness as their creed.

It's not easy to gather so many skilled master artisans together. From a Papal perspective, Taylor couldn't help but be tempted.

But he quickly steeled himself: "Compared to nobles, the Pope is also of peasant origin."

"I suppose I'm risking my life to help you, but you won't even tell the truth? Like how long our servitude would be reduced? Can we see our families?"

Taylor quickly promised: "You won't have any more servitude; your lives will be completely different. You can walk freely on the land without being oppressed by Knights at will..."

Bobcat Tuck sneered.

"You don't believe it?"

"I believe you, but not them. All those high and mighty people are the same, waving the holy banner for personal gain." The gaunt Bobcat dusted the ash off himself, "Those who overthrow the high and mighty just want to replace them under a different sign."

"His Holiness is different."

After Taylor said this, finding it unconvincing, he wanted to add more, but Bobcat Tuck didn't let him finish and stood up.

"I've been idle too long, I'll get whipped, I'm heading back."

Dragging his weary body to the door, Bobcat Tuck turned back for a last remark: "May the Saint Master bless you; hopefully, you'll defeat the Imperial Decree, that you might be no worse than them."