When the Saint comes, she does not collect food.

According to the physician, Cici had only bumped her head and would wake up soon.

If Horn let go and allowed the physician to try an enema with mint water, it might be effective.

However, Horn politely declined the suggestion.

Using such a method would only create problems where none existed before.

Besides, Horn had an important matter to attend to upon his return.

Having won a battle that staked the nation's fate, how could they not celebrate?

This victory celebration and awarding of honors had been prepared before Horn's expedition, mostly orchestrated by Madelaine.

Escorting the spoils of war and prisoners back to the monastery, followed by the chaotic treatment of the wounded and tallying of military merits.

Then came the suppression of the Black Hat Army and the Guards' brawl before the Holy See, keeping him busy all afternoon, finally calming down when the victory banquet began in the evening.

The setting sun, like blood, draped everything in a red veil.

In the small square in front of the monastery gate, hundreds of uneven, sloping tables were set up, some only knee-high.

To protect against wind and possible rain, the area above was covered with canopies made of branches and canvas.

The people of Gulag Monastery were noisily taking their seats, children running between the tables and benches, while adults, holding bone scraps, shouted "Big, big, big!" and "Small, small, small!".

Although the tables were empty, the tantalizing aroma of food in the air made everyone's devout tears flow from their mouths.

Standing on the highest step in front of the monastery gate, Horn's papal crown gleamed with crooked gold threads, solemn and majestic.

Many Pope Country soldiers awaiting honors, still bearing old wounds from fighting with friendly forces, were lined up in front of the steps.

"My faithful, I want to announce something to you: we have won this special arena event!" Horn's voice was solemn and forceful, echoing throughout the square.

The faithful below immediately erupted in eager, ravenous cheers.

"In this war, my soldiers, you have defended the glory of the Pope Country with courage and loyalty, winning victory. Now, I will fulfill the pre-war promise."

Upon hearing this, the soldiers of the two major legions immediately changed their glares into expectant smiles.

Picking up a scroll, Horn smiled and said, "I felt it would be unfair to grant everyone a barony as initially planned.

Such great merit deserves more than a mere barony.

Therefore, I have decided to follow the ancient El Empire's officer system and bestow honors upon you all!

Of course, if you still want to be a baron, I can still grant you a barony."

There was even better than that?

Originally, the soldiers thought a barony was more realistic, after all, they knew nothing and had no military merits.

But after fighting in such a high-quality and elaborate war game, they felt that with their merits, even an earldom was not an exaggeration, let alone a barony.

"Woolly, Captain of the Fifth Decree Company, First Brigade, First Division of the Black Hat Army, awarded the rank of Junior General, a fief of six hundred mu, nominally leading five hundred and forty mu, and three indulgence tickets."

"Momri, Captain of the First Decree Company, Fifth Brigade of the Guards, awarded the rank of General, a fief of one thousand mu, nominally leading nine hundred mu, and six indulgence tickets."

"Yada, Captain of the Fifth Leaping Company, Third Brigade of the Child Army, awarded the rank of Junior General, a fief of three hundred mu, nominally leading two hundred and seventy mu, and three indulgence tickets."

Every time Horn read a name, the Pope Country's citizens would cheer.

But gradually, they realized something was wrong.

There were too many cheers, and the physical exertion was too much, and they were starting to run out of breath.

Beneath the steps, the Pope Country's senior officer corps was already full.

After this awarding of honors, in the Pope Country's army of 210 men, there would be 140 junior generals, 65 generals, 10 marshals, and 1 grand marshal.

In terms of the number of generals, it could be compared to the El Empire at its peak.

Horn had originally intended to award the title of Grand Marshal to Jeschke.

However, during internal court discussions within the Papal State, public opinion was fierce, especially with the establishment faction of civil officials led by Busak strongly opposing Jeschke's promotion.

Horn had no choice but to award the position of Grand Marshal to himself.

Standing on the high steps, Horn faced the many honored generals, smiling as he handed them the land deeds and rank ribbons.

From time to time, he would pat them on the shoulder and chat casually.

The land deeds in Horn's hands were all genuine, meticulously crafted.

They were made of carefully cut hemp paper, with delicate short tassels along the edges, exceptionally gorgeous.

The text on the deeds was written in elegant, almost translucent light ink, using the flying-brush technique to leave blank spaces everywhere, subtly revealing solemnity.

These deeds not only had real land on them but also had legal effect.

They bore the Pope's personal signature, declaring the distribution of Gulag Monastery's land to them.

Above the signature was the Pope's radish seal:

"Entrusted by the Holy, sacrificing life for the benefit of the people."

As for whether the Church agreed?

Nonsense, they had won this battle of national destiny, and His Holiness Horn was already the Pope, how could the Church dare to disagree?

Moreover, the Church's land originally belonged to His Holiness Horn.

This was not eating the last of someone's wealth; His Holiness Horn was an adopted son, a normal inheritance of property.

From this perspective, His Holiness Horn was the son of a landlord, and the Church was just a tenant farmer.

What was wrong with the landlord subletting his own land to others?

It was perfectly reasonable.

In addition to these land deeds, there were also vertical ribbons representing military ranks, made of linen, in the form of long strips, in two colors: dark red and dark blue.

A junior general had one blue ribbon, a general had two blue ribbons, a marshal had two blue ribbons and one red ribbon, and a grand marshal had two blue and two red ribbons.

These ribbons were sewn to the collarbone positions on both sides of the cloak, crisscrossing to fasten the cloak.

When not in use, they could be used to hang things, such as purses or water bottles.

As for the scraps of cloth left over from making these ribbons, Madelaine still did not waste them, sewing them into palm-sized cloth bags.

One bag for a junior general, two bags for a general, three bags for a marshal, and four bags for a grand marshal.

Watching the Pope Country's meritorious generals change their attire, Horn frowned, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu from somewhere.

When Mencer, as a general, stood before him, this sense of déjà vu reached its peak.

From the ends of the black hooded cloak hung two dark blue ragged strips of cloth, one with a bone scrap of unknown purpose, and the other with a rickety wooden spoon.

The discolored top was covered in patches, two tattered bags sewn from scraps of cloth hung from the waist, wearing straw sandals, and the hairy calves were covered in mud.

For a moment, Horn almost couldn't hold it in.

This was only missing a dog-beating stick from the classic image in his mind.

As soon as the thought arose, Madelaine, wearing three strips and three bags, and leaning on a staff as tall as a person, walked over beaming with joy.

"Your Holiness Horn, look, this is the bishop's scepter I prepared for the bishops."

"Why don't you want it?"

The most ⊥ new ⊥ small ⊥ said ⊥ is ⊥ at ⊥ six ⊥ 9 ⊥⊥ book ⊥⊥ bar ⊥⊥ first ⊥ hair!

"Hey, Your Holiness, don't go, Your Holiness!"

After the awarding of honors, it was finally time to eat.

Twenty or so peasant women and monks carried dirty wooden buckets filled with delicacies for the banquet.

Walking from one table to another, a monk used a large wooden spoon to scoop a spoonful of stewed meat with peas and rotten yellow cabbage onto a plate.

Before the monk could walk away, countless hands and spoons reached out, and in the blink of an eye, the stewed meat disappeared.

Fish soup, baked meat rolls, radish strips, cabbage soup, fried bread sticks, boiled eggs...

In the dirty wooden buckets, there were both dark hairs and still-wriggling flies.

But the villagers didn't care; for them, who toiled in the fields all day, a lavish banquet would be the only sweetness they tasted in a year.

"I saw that bread stick first, put it down!"

"I can still drink, don't stop me."

"Don't drink it, that's the swill bucket!"

"Big, big, big!"

Bowls and plates piled up, juice splattered, and the dirty table was covered with a greasy layer of ash in less than half a day.

The men rolled up their sleeves, put one foot on the bench, and shouted loudly, boasting to each other.

The women tore open their collars, revealing oily white skin, not even caring that the mead slid from their chins into their cleavage.

Despite the coming flood, their time at Gulag Monastery was the fullest and best they had eaten in a long time.

The moon was in the middle of the sky, the smell of alcohol in the air was getting stronger and stronger, and Madelaine had already sent people to light bonfires to cope with the increasingly heated night banquet.

"Burp--"

Gulampwen gulped a large glass of mead and let out a long burp.

He pulled out a lute from somewhere, jumped onto a bench, looking like he was about to fall, but somehow managed to stand firm.

"Are you going to High Fort Market?

Blood celery, rabbit tail grass, rosemary and thyme,

Say hello to a girl there for me,

Ask her to make me a linen shirt, hey ya ho ho!"

As soon as this country ditty started, the drunken villagers stopped gnawing on their bones, pushed away their chairs, stood up unsteadily, and spontaneously walked to the bonfire.

They held hands and formed a circular queue, neatly dodging on the ground with their waists sideways, kicking their legs, and started circling and moshing.

At first, it was just the villagers, then the libertine bishops joined in, and even His Holiness the Pope was dragged into the mosh pit by Janna and Carrie.

Almost everyone joined in.

Around several bonfires, the circles they formed sometimes grew larger and sometimes smaller, with laughter that was cheerful and pure.

Still sitting in the corner, Danji watched the festive scene with a smile.

It was so nice; there were no rogue monks looking for trouble during the banquet, a real difference from the past.

"Danji, what are you doing sitting there? Come join us."

"Yes, come over quickly, we're all waiting."

A little girl suddenly darted out of the crowd, grabbed Danji's finger, and pulled him towards the crowd.

Afraid of hurting the little girl, Danji had no choice but to walk forward.

Holding an old farmer's rough black hand in his left hand and a little girl's skinny hand in his right, Danji danced awkwardly.

Although he was still talking about knightly spirit, he couldn't stop the smile on his face.

The light from the distant bonfire danced in Cici's pupils.

Even though he was in the bedroom on the third floor, he could still hear the laughter outside the courtyard wall.

Leaning against the window sill, Cici sighed after watching quietly for a while.

Forget about it tonight; I'll tell them tomorrow.

When they hear that news, I wonder if they'll still be able to be happy.

ps There will be another chapter later.