The golden light illuminated Horn’s face.
The light came from a raised golden thread.
The rabbit fur thread that previously drooped limply in Jeanne’s hand, stiffened instantly as if electrified, like it had taken a blue little pill.
Jeanne reached out her thumb and index finger and gently flicked the thread as if presenting a treasure.
The sound of metal clashing was crisp and pleasing.
Horn reached out a hand wanting to touch the rabbit fur, but hesitated for fear of getting shocked.
"When I electrocuted those rabbits earlier, I found that their fur would flash gold upon contact with my electricity and become as hard as steel."
Jeanne dissipated the electrical glow and set the thread aside:
"I’m planning to make a flag, so when electrified, it can become the spearhead wrapped together, or unfold into a long knife, and fold into a battle axe, solving any weapon usage issues."
Although Jeanne seemed indifferent, her left foot was repeatedly rubbing the ground like a wagging tail of a puppy.
The other hand was rubbing the corner of her linen shirt behind her back, nearly writing "Come praise me" on her face.
Despite her usual righteous and valorous appearance, Jeanne was, after all, only a sixteen-year-old girl, in Horn’s previous life, she would have just started high school.
Hesitantly reaching out, Horn gently stroked Jeanne’s head: "Have you thought about what design you want to sew?"
"Not yet." Jeanne’s cheeks were slightly flushed, shaking her head.
"Then why not ask the villagers, decide and weave together, otherwise doing it alone is too slow, just as a..." Horn suddenly stopped speaking.
He remembered since Jeanne was labeled as a "Witch," her relationship with the villagers had nearly dropped to freezing point, hardly speaking.
Even if she had to talk, she’d keep it as brief as possible.
Correspondingly, Jeanne became increasingly reliant on Horn, following him wherever he went.
From one extreme to another, no wonder people say "Witch" has a stubborn temperament.
How to get rid of her in the future would be a major challenge.
"Alright." Jeanne didn’t show much emotional change, she turned and continued spinning the rabbit fur thread with the spindle.
"If you don’t want to go, I can talk to them."
"No need, I have to face them eventually, this is my hometown after all, I am a Saintess." Jeanne’s smile gradually faded, "But the current me is completely different from the past, so-called knights... it’s just a story."
Two days passed quickly, although it remained cloudy, the rain had stopped.
Jeska, wearing a newly woven straw hat, walked slowly along the forest path.
He carried a wicker basket on his back filled with sliced and peeled root potatoes.
Compared to other pale and emaciated refugees, Jeska was much stronger.
His arms were robust, his waist and abdomen stout, his stature about four feet six inches (1.75 meters) tall, which was considered exceptionally tall among commoners at this time.
Among villagers and refugees who mostly stood at around 1.6 meters, Jeska was like a crane among chickens.
Jeanne, with her height of 1.7 meters at sixteen, was an example of genetic mutation.
She ate little yet grew tall, the source of her nutrition unknown.
Horn, considered tall himself, was still an inch shorter than Jeanne.
However, Jeska’s height was unrelated to his frequent zero-cost procurement at the lord’s estate, but rather due to family reasons.
He hailed from a knight family in the Norn Kingdom, being the fifth son, was sent out by his father upon adulthood, delivering talent to the Empire.
As the Norn Kingdom was a labor force exporting nation of mercenaries, naturally Jeska followed this path, becoming a glorious mercenary.
He fought battles across the land, working for ten years.
Until five years ago when Duke Paparini of Jinmen and Monarch Jishi of Bacon Castle both declared claims to the throne of Codfish Castle.
During the succession war, Jeska fought as a mercenary for Duke Paparini of Jinmen.
In battle, due to some minor incidents, he killed three illegitimate children of the High Castle Archbishop.
Since the High Castle Archbishop only had these three illegitimate children, the bishop became somewhat angry, ordering the execution or exile of Jeska’s mercenary corps.
Of the three hundred, Jeska alone escaped, yet still had to be a refugee, living in constant fear.
Stepping onto the millennia-old soft humus, Jeska held onto an outstretched black branch, crossing a fallen giant tree.
A drop of rain fell onto Jeska’s ear, he looked up at the sky, seeing only countless dry branches like Wizard’s fingers.
They intertwined, twisted, and stretched, nearly covering all the sky.
Only the raindrops, like tears, slid down the crocodile-like bark.
Jeska continued to walk in silence, for some reason, he suddenly thought of the "Master Saint Grandson Pope."
He had thought this "Holy Grandson" would be his lifeline.
Knowing that at the Holy Seat City in Golden Horn Bay, within the Red Cardinal Group, the one currently most prominent in the struggle for the papal position was recognized by the Church as the "Angel Reincarnate."
Alas, Jeska shook his head, once the flood receded, the identity of Saint’s Grandson would likely prove useless.
The Church was unlikely to recognize Horn’s identity.
The villagers of a remote little village might not be aware, but the well-traveled Jeska knows that since Pope Joan, witches have been a taboo for the church.
Other "signs of good fortune," with good luck and proper handling, once they become an established fact, even if it’s "an angel reborn," the church accepts it while holding their noses.
But as for witches, they show no leniency.
Lightly jumping over a ditch, Jeska walks with a steady pace, his lone eye gazing deeply.
Emerging from the bushy path, there is a small forest stream.
Dozens of baskets woven from vines and bark soak in the stream, and about ten young adults are busy around several pottery pots.
They use torn linen to scoop the steaming hot tuber roots out of the pots and into cold water nearby.
As for the bluish water in the pot, it is poured into the stream.
"How’s it going?" Jeska places a basket on the ground, walks to the pottery pot, and peers inside.
"This is the last batch of tuber roots from a day ago. Once this pot is cooked, we’ll leave two people to guard it, and then we can head back."
Jeska nods and sits on a nearby green stone.
Picking up a processed tuber root from some linen beside him, Jeska breaks off a piece but doesn’t dare to eat it.
He had once seen with his own eyes someone dying painfully from eating such a harmful crop.
For the wandering refugees, knowing that tuber roots are inedible is a rule engraved in their minds.
Is Horn’s method really effective?
Since knowing that Horn’s "Holy Grandson" identity was fake, Jeska couldn’t help but suspect more.
He even wonders if Horn intends to poison them all to make it easier for his escape.
However, with that "Saintess" who holds a grudge against the villagers, this Holy Grandson seemingly has no need for such hassle.
Thinking back and forth, Jeska still can’t understand Horn’s intentions. What is this whimsical idea meant to achieve?
No one has ever discovered a way to consume tuber roots for hundreds of years, and now a fake saint, does he know?
Even if the tuber roots are indeed edible, who would be willing to test them for poison?
A young man carrying a full basket of tuber roots approaches Jeska, but as he opens his mouth, a companion beside him knocks on his head.
"How many times have I told you to address him as Ten Households while at work."
Jeska waves his hand: "Let’s make it an exception this time, let’s go."
Suddenly, the young man’s expression changes as he points to the tuber root that Jeska has broken open: "Ten Households Leader, you didn’t eat this, did you?"
"How could I? I just broke it open to see if there are any residual toxins inside." Jeska replies casually, not paying much attention.
He shoulders the basket full of tuber roots, taking the lead as he and the other young men head back, but suddenly, he senses something is amiss.
Turning around to look at these former refugee companions, although they are still chatting and laughing, Jeska can clearly feel a discord.
Their first reaction upon realizing they might have eaten tuber roots is not worry about him being poisoned but fear that he has eaten food that should have gone to the Holy Treasury.
Forcing himself to suppress the confusion and fear in his heart, Jeska doesn’t say much more and slowly advances with the partners from the Ten Households behind him.
The forest path is cold and long, and with his head lowered, Jeska continues pondering a way out.
Perhaps feeling it was too quiet, suddenly, someone starts singing all of a sudden.
"Eighty acres of good land, with gentle in-laws, kids can smoothly reach adulthood, adults can build houses, grow their food, more work yields more harvest..."
This was a little tune Horn taught a few days ago, and it quickly became beloved by the villagers of Red Mill Village due to its simple melody and catchy lyrics.
Horn gathered all the children together, forming a choir with his orphans at the forefront, singing this song daily.
Be it refugees, public register farmers, or even armed farmers, everyone could sing it.
Though still feeling uncertain about the future, Jeska listens to the tune, unconsciously humming along.
Stepping out of the forest, before even reaching the camp, Jeska hears rounds of cheers.
It’s only upon getting closer that he sees it’s a public register farmer.
His face is flushed, and the corner of his mustache still holds remnants of tuber roots.
Raising the tuber root high, his face is full of pride.
On that tuber root, visible bite marks and clear tooth imprints can be seen.
Could it be that tuber roots are actually edible?
Pupils constricting, Jeska once again feels a sense of unreality.
For years, no one succeeded in finding a way to consume tuber roots.
The church even claimed this was a crop from the Fire Prison, forever inedible, used by the devil to deplete the land.
So many times, his refugee companions died of hunger in front of tuber roots, but now Jeska suddenly feels his experience and warnings were laughable.
Could it be that he truly is a Saint?
Laughter of celebration also rises behind Jeska, and the sweet aroma of tuber root rice wafts into their noses.
Looking at Horn smiling while standing on the Snake Head Stone, Jeska seems to see a golden glow above his head, in a daze.