When the Saint comes, she does not collect food.

"Eyewitness!"

The word sprang into Horn's mind the instant he saw Duldauf.

He didn't understand where the fat man's earlier behavior came from, but since he had seen his face, there was no need for him to live.

This priest's clothes were tattered; he probably wasn't an important figure.

Horn's hand went to the hand-and-a-half sword at his waist.

"Cultist!"

At the same time, the word surged in Duldauf's heart.

This longship was the one Jiro had been on, and the steel sword on the young man's back was also Jiro's.

There was only one possibility: Jiro had been killed by this group of cultists.

Considering the uprising at the monastery, a pincer attack, setting a trap with a ship as bait, using Jiro's ship to lure them into an ambush, a meticulously planned and comprehensive scheme...

Damn it, how could someone with such talent not be one of our church members? Those bishops and cardinals are truly occupying positions without doing any work!

Sighing in despair, Duldauf said with a wry smile, "Alright, I understand. I admit defeat. I'm unlucky to be caught by you. The witch, you take..."

Before Duldauf could finish speaking, he suddenly heard a piercing sound of something cutting through the air.

"Your Grace, be careful!"

Landing on his rear on the bow of the ship, Duldauf incredulously clutched the torn opening in his clothes at his abdomen.

If the monk behind him hadn't pulled him back at the last moment, and if he hadn't had a black bread loaf in his chest as a buffer, that sword strike would have killed him.

By the mountain goat, he's crazy! Is this kid really going for it?

The cold glint of the blade shone with a silvery light in the lightning flashes, and Horn's eyes were bloodshot as he gasped for breath.

Seeing this, Duldauf suddenly understood, and he took a deep breath: "They are radical cultists! Believers, retreat quickly!"

Shouting, Duldauf twisted around and tried to escape.

Horn wanted to chase, but as soon as he took a step, he suddenly felt dizzy and almost lost his balance.

That half-second of hesitation actually allowed Duldauf to get ashore.

Originally, Horn didn't want Jeanne to use the Arcane Electric spell so easily, but seeing that the ragged fat priest not only had accomplices but was also trying to escape, he had no choice.

Now, with the thunderstorm, he could only hope that the priest Duldauf hadn't noticed this side.

Kill this one first, then intercept the iron-toothed monk before he sees the priest Duldauf, and eliminate all eyewitnesses—that would be victory.

Originally, this was almost an impossible mission, but now it was different.

"Come, lightning!"

In the darkness, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, accurately striking the monk who was protecting Duldauf as he moved forward.

Blue smoke rose, and the monk, unable to even scream, fell straight to the ground with a peaceful smile.

"Witch—"

Amidst the screams, Jeanne, like a lithe leopard, leaped out of the small boat.

The holy banner was rolled into the shape of a battle-axe, and lightning crackled, carving black lightning patterns into the oak shaft.

The holy banner-axe swept in an arc, cutting off half the head of a night watchman, the white brain matter sliding from the slanting cut like tofu.

Ducking to avoid the hooked spear swung by the night watchman, Jeanne cast another lightning bolt, blasting a charred hole directly through the chest of another guard.

Standing up straight, holding the holy banner pole level, Jeanne struck a true cross pose, using the rear end of the flagpole to heavily thrust backward, stabbing the groin of a night watchman who intended to sneak attack.

Just as the guard clutched his groin and knelt down, she leaped up in a pole vaulting motion, landing from the sky and snapping the guard's neck with a stomp.

In five seconds, Jeanne effortlessly and instantly killed four armed personnel.

But using high-quality Arcane Electric spells and breathing techniques in quick succession, even the witch couldn't help but stand still and catch her breath.

Having just used the spell, Jeanne was somewhat dazed and didn't notice two small balls rolling to her feet.

After all, she wasn't an old witch; her defense against holy objects wasn't as strong as those old geezers.

A massive mist of holy water enveloped Jeanne, her whole body feeling as if her blood was frozen, and her throat and nasal passages burned as if they had been scorched by fire.

"Cough, cough—"

Jeanne coughed violently, covering her mouth and nose. The electric snakes that had been swirling around her body disappeared, leaving only the faint glow of the black lightning patterns in the oak.

"Be careful!"

Sparks flew as Jeschka stepped diagonally, reversed his body sideways in a curved slash, slid down the armored soldier's sword, and directly severed the soldier's right wrist.

The soldier naturally went berserk, ignoring the bloody stump of his wrist still hanging on the sword hilt, and thrust the sword at Jeschka's calf with his left hand.

Then his throat was pierced by the holy banner spear.

The holy water blocked Jeanne's ability to release electric arcs but didn't block her ability to discharge electricity through contact.

The holy banner spear in her hand was still radiating a faint glow.

Without Jeanne's electric light, the surroundings became completely dark.

The torches that were lit would be extinguished by the rain in less than three seconds and would still become targets.

In the darkness, the sound of the wind and rain seemed to lessen, and the previously faint breathing sounds were amplified several times.

Everyone couldn't tell the direction and only dared to walk slowly. The previously noisy battlefield was suddenly quiet.

Until a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating everyone's pale faces.

The child soldiers, the young and strong villagers, and the night watchmen all roared.

In that instant of lightning, they all rushed toward the nearest enemy.

If the guards retreated, they would be hanged by the High Fort Archbishop.

If the villagers retreated, they would be beaten to death by the Holy Grandson, and their families would be exiled.

The pawns who crossed the river couldn't turn back.

They all knew that this time it was only a matter of you or me dying.

Curses, clashes, roars, the sound of tearing clothes, the barking of dogs...

Countless sounds harmonized and played like a concerto in the sound of wind and clouds.

Walking quickly forward in the cold rain, Horn's body felt like a fire was burning inside. His throat itched, he couldn't muster any strength, and his face and arms were unnaturally red.

He might really have a cold and fever, but at this time, he couldn't care less.

The waves of dizziness didn't make Horn lose his mind. He locked onto his target, the fat priest.

Only he had seen his face clearly at close range; he couldn't be left alive!

He could hear the fat priest's heavy breathing, hear his increasingly heavy footsteps, hear the sound of his clothes rubbing as he passed through the bushes.

So close!

The sound of a heavy object cutting through the air came, and Horn hastily raised his sword to block, almost knocking the sword out of his hand.

A flash of lightning illuminated the scene before Horn's eyes: the fat priest in tattered clothes, holding a thick loaf of black bread, glaring at him.

"You damned radical!"

"The one who deserves to die is you!"

In the mud and bushes, Duldauf wielded the black bread, and Horn wielded the hand-and-a-half sword, colliding fiercely.

Horn couldn't muster any strength, and Duldauf was pampered and inexperienced. Both of them were novices in swordsmanship.

In the charge, the two of them inadvertently charged in the wrong direction.

Half a meter apart, one went left, and the other went right, both facing away from the enemy with their backs, wildly hacking and stabbing at the air.

It wasn't until another flash of lightning that the two were able to turn around and face each other with their swords, stabbing at each other with the sword tips half a meter apart.

"Don't be afraid to tell you, I was the runner-up in the Rose Garden Monk Martial Arts Competition in the 12-year-old group!"

"Come on, do you think I'm afraid of you!"

Making up his mind, closing his eyes, and letting out a battle cry, Duldauf stepped forward and wildly swung the black bread with one hand, originally only able to hit empty air.

But it was too dark, and Horn couldn't see clearly at all. He heard the sound of Duldauf stepping forward and thought the fat priest was charging, so he also charged with his head down, getting hit squarely on the shoulder.

Before Duldauf could be happy, he saw that the black shadow that had been hit didn't slow down at all but charged over madly.

The flustered priest immediately tried to jump away with nimble steps, then slipped and fell flat on his face.

As for Horn, he couldn't stop and fell on Duldauf's soft belly.

Both of their weapons were thrown somewhere during the fall.

With their weapons gone, the two began to wrestle and tear at each other on the ground with their bare hands. Crosses, gold and silver trinkets, bone flutes, daggers—their equipment scattered all over the ground.

But their weight classes were too different. In a few rounds, Horn was seized by Duldauf, who pinned him down with a mountain-pressing force, riding on his waist.

Horn struggled desperately, but to no avail.

Thick fingers tightly gripped Horn's neck, Duldauf's face was twisted, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Impure one! You bastard! Die, die!"

His mouth twitching, drool flowing, Duldauf, who was kind and benevolent in front of the believers, looked as terrifying as a demon in the fire hell.

Horn desperately punched Duldauf's face with both hands, trying to pry his fingers apart, but he couldn't exert any force because of his position.

He couldn't breathe.

At this moment, he couldn't tell whether the dizziness was due to lack of oxygen or illness. He was just punching Duldauf's head with increasingly weak fists.

Was he really going to die here?

The rustling of leaves, the sound of rain, the sounds of fighting not far away—everything was gradually fading away.

The lightning flashed in the clouds, and the world before Horn's eyes became increasingly blurred: Duldauf's green and red face, the flickering lights not far away, the branches swaying in the wind...

Wait, what was that?