When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist-Chapter 641 - 602: This Manor Head called Manor Head Henderson is named Henderson

"Again, again." Pouring the drink wildly into his mouth, Adrian tugged on Bryson's sleeve, "You're drunk after just a few drinks?"

Bryson sat by the long table, helplessly and cautiously dealing with the knight: "Sir Knight, it's you who are drunk."

"Nonsense, let me see, let me see if you're drunk?" Adrian leaned half his body on Bryson's shoulder, making it hard for him to breathe.

Meanwhile, Ansel had already grown impatient, frequently glancing out the window. He had thought it would just be a simple meal, but it had dragged on for two hours and wasn't finished yet.

Seeing Adrian finally pass out in Bryson's arms, Ansel finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He called for the servant to carry away the overly enthusiastic knight, who hadn't seen strangers for a long time, and walked to the dining room window to get some fresh air.

The sunlight scorched the land, and the hot air carried the scent of marigolds beneath the window grille.

Ansel looked into the distance, seeing only clusters of cold trees, like a grey iron city wall.

In the forest, it was the cold winter, but in the estate, it was the scorching summer.

This estate was nestled between the forest and the low hills, covering a vast expanse.

Its perimeter was encircled by a rough wooden fence, occasionally revealing tilted vine trellises due to years of neglect.

The land within the fence was divided into plots by shrubs bearing deep red berries, with about three-quarters being farmland, and the rest pasture.

A narrow irrigation ditch meandered past the farmland, ending at a small pond covered with thick green duckweed.

Through a path paved with stones, under the shade of several old elm trees, was Ansel's main knightly residence, built with gray-brown stone and topped with a thick slanted wooden roof.

Under the eaves, Ansel saw several dried wolf skins and dried meat exuding a strong fishy smell.

Through the gaps between the wolf skins and dried meat, beneath the rising mountain wall were clusters of low wooden shacks, crowded and chaotic.

From Ansel's perspective, the thatched roofs were mostly yellowed, with some even exposing the wooden beams.

At midday, this mountain hollow was quiet, with chickens and ducks wandering around.

One had to say, while the mountain people were poor, the knight lived more decently, even if simply, compared to those chaotic wooden and thatched houses behind the warehouse.

Seeing the silent village, Ansel suddenly felt something was off. It was already afternoon; shouldn't the villagers be out working?

"Bryson, look after the knight and let him sleep, then come out and meet me immediately." As if thinking of something, Ansel suddenly impatiently threw this sentence and ran towards the door.

Pushing open the wooden door, the glaring sun forced Ansel to shield his eyes with his hand.

But he didn't slow down; instead, he jogged, bypassing the main house and heading to the back of the warehouse.

Turning the corner, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, standing iron-faced next to the stable.

Behind the main house's stable, on the scorching knight's training ground, hundreds of male and female villagers stood in eight rows under the blazing sun.

The sunlight poured down directly from above, and many were flushed red, their clothes soaked through, looking as if they had just been pulled out of water, continually complaining.

A few frail mountain people swayed, several times nearly falling if not for those supporting them.

The cries of infants rose sporadically from the back of the lines, with women frantically trying to fan with cloth, to no avail.

"Oh, arriving so early, huh." A tired voice sounded, "I thought you might be late."

Ansel turned to look and saw it was Adrian's steward, armed farmer Henderson, speaking.

He chewed on a dry stalk, along with a few other armed farmers huddling in the only patch of shade next to the open space, now smiling at Ansel.

"What's going on here?" Ansel asked through gritted teeth, trying to suppress his anger as he turned to glare at the steward.

"Monk, this is for listening to your instructions; they're all waiting for you."

"Since when have they been waiting?" Ansel asked, his voice louder than he realized.

"Since you started eating," the steward replied lazily, the straw bobbing up and down in his mouth.

"Who made them stand?"

The steward purposely raised his voice: "Didn't you instruct it? I'm just following orders, and they're quite happy, aren't they?"

Listening to the cries of infants in his ears, Ansel's eyelids trembled.

"Ansel!" came Bryson's voice from behind.

Turning around, Ansel saw him rushing over, his face full of anxiety.

"Calm down, calm down," Bryson quietly advised, "Don't stir up trouble with the steward; he's Knight Adrian's uncle, show some respect for the knight."

Ansel's gaze swept over the standing villagers; even though it was the first time meeting them, their eyes already bore a trace of resentment towards him.

Not a good start, he thought, brushing his hair back on both sides, and whispered: "Wait for the knight to sober up, then tell him about this."

Bryson nodded eagerly.

Ansel took a deep breath, turned, and walked toward the small platform at the edge of the clearing, feeling the heat from the ground through the soles of his feet.

He hadn't even reached the platform when he could already hear the whispers and see the hostile, resentful glances from the villagers below.

"Just like a Monk, with such a big ego."

"Don't say anything, or he'll use the Devil Wind to blow your head off."

"Oh dear, oh dear, I'm so scared."

In their perspective, this Monk had invited them to hear his preaching, yet drank too much and was late, forcing them to wait under the blazing sun.

If this had been someone from Pingyuan County, they might have swallowed their pride, but the villagers' fiery tempers wouldn't let them keep silent without grumbling.

"Fellow believers." Ansel began loudly, trying to quell the murmuring, "The weather is too hot. I didn't expect you all to arrive so early. This was my oversight, and I apologize to you all."

Saying this, he bent down and gave a deep bow to the standing crowd.

The villagers were silent, offering no response, though many showed expressions of surprise.

A farmer with a tattered straw hat mumbled, "A Monk apologizing to us, this is a first."

"Fake and insincere!" someone muttered under their breath.

Ansel straightened up, glanced around, and continued, "I was originally going to preach to you about the Thousand River Valley Monastery, but it's too hot today to bear. Why don't you all head home first; I'll visit each household later. If anyone is still interested, they can stay and listen."

Before his words had even faded, those lounging under the trees, the Armed Farmers, shouted, "Let's go!"

With that, they quickly got up and dashed back into the village.

The crowd immediately grew restless. Women supported the elderly, and the young men swung their arms, leaving the place empty in less than a few minutes.

Only two were left, one with a crippled leg and the other with poor eyesight, unable to walk away as quickly and could only slowly head back to the village.

Ansel wasn't annoyed either and took long strides to catch up with the two men.

Seeing Ansel approach, even though they were eager to leave, the Monk had come over, so they had no choice but to stand there awkwardly, praying Ansel would finish speaking quickly.

"There's only the two of you, no need to trouble yourselves by standing." Ansel looked at them with a smile, "Shall we talk in the shade of that tree?"

......

The sun set in the west, its red glow falling among the cooking smoke.

To everyone's surprise, despite the midday commotion, Ansel didn't continue interacting with the villagers but rather stayed put, lodging quietly at the little village chapel for the afternoon, not stepping out.

In a dusty old wooden house at the village entrance, Manor Head Henderson sat lazily in a chair, drinking beer.

When a man with a fine mustache entered the room, he finally spoke, "What did the cripple and the blind man say? What did they talk about?"

The man scratched his head, "Not much, just some chitchat. They asked where they lived, how old they were, about the annual land rent, and who in the village was rich or poor."

"What about the perpetual lease?" Henderson asked coldly.

"It was mentioned, but not much." Another said, "We already warned them, the villagers are afraid that if the Leia people and the Church retaliate, they'll be implicated, so they won't listen to them."

Henderson sneered at this, shaking his head, "They want us to sign a perpetual lease contract? Dream on!"

"But if the Village Magistrate asks about it, what should we do?" someone asked worriedly.

"The Village Magistrate? On what grounds?" Henderson laughed coldly, "It's not that I don't want to; it's that the villagers don't want to. Look, who cares about him, am I right?"

Upon hearing the news, Henderson had already primed the villagers.

Things like "people in the neighboring parish signed, and all their land ended up becoming the Church's." "If you sign the agreement, the Leia will come back to slaughter us."

The villagers had been worried during this period, and the sunbathing incident only exacerbated these emotions.

These mountain villagers had a small circle and were inherently xenophobic; compared to the unfamiliar Ansel, they didn't trust him at all.

"But this can't go on; what if he calls the army to monitor us and enforce it?" another Armed Farmer raised his hand to ask.

Henderson chuckled, "The army has time for that? Besides, he's so young, with a bright future ahead. I have plenty of time and ways to outlast him; they have heavy tasks in the Hundred Households District. After a while, they'll grow tired of it."

With that, Manor Head smiled smugly, "If the army really comes, I'll pretend to give in and sign the perpetual lease. Once they leave, I'll gather all the contracts here.

When the Wandering Cultivators come, show them the contracts, and once they leave, collect them again. Even if discovered, there's no evidence; can he keep calling the army every time?

The mountain villagers are on our side, and with so many estates in South Mangde County, can the Autocratic Duke manage every nook and cranny? He couldn't manage it before; can he suddenly manage it now? Just about right!"

Taking a sip of cold beer, Henderson leaned back in his chair, eyes slightly closed, "Remember to remind me to make contact with Bryson. I have a feeling this Priest is soft-hearted. Once the young one is gone, bring in the old one, and won't this matter be settled?"