When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#532 - Orderly McGowan

Although the water level and flow of the canal decreased significantly after entering winter, the fleet departing from Fort Jeanne d'Arc still moved at a considerable speed, entering a tributary of the South Nao'an River at dusk.

Amidst the curling smoke from the riverside town's fishing village, the fleet slowly sailed into its designated stop.

It wasn't that they couldn't travel at night, but the local lord had erected bridges across the river to collect taxes.

These bridges were also important land routes and couldn't be dismantled, so they had to transfer and take a rest.

The local townsfolk had already set up temporary camps in advance, and rows of small fir-wood-roofed houses stood by the river under the golden-red glow of the setting sun.

Surrounded by the small houses was a small square that could accommodate two or three hundred people, with a black and red bi-color flag fluttering in the evening breeze in the center.

As quartermasters, the middle school students from Frick Middle School were carrying wooden boxes the size of washbasins, walking past the bi-color flag.

The setting sun shone on their shoulders, as if embroidering their silhouettes with a layer of gold, moving and flowing along the edges of their bodies as they moved.

Gritting his teeth and his face flushed, McGown managed to free his hands to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead only after placing the wooden box under the eaves.

Not only him, but several teenagers around him were also emitting wisps of hot air from their heads.

Half of the box was filled with straw, but it contained several heavy spheres, which, combined with the weight of the wooden box itself, made it quite heavy.

Several teenagers sat down on the nearby steps, mournfully discovering that they were already familiar with the prickly caftan.

A caftan is a type of coarse cloth, knee-length, tight-fitting garment, somewhat like a vest, fastened with buttons in the middle, and a belt around the waist to prevent wind from entering the hem.

This relatively tight-fitting garment was usually exclusive to commoners, and they had never worn it before.

Just as the teenagers sat down, they saw a skinny teenager stepping towards the trestle again.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a little bit left, I'll go get it."

"Take a break, there's no need to rush."

"I'll rest after I'm done moving."

"Sycophant." McGown snorted disdainfully, watching the commoner teenager's back.

After snorting, smelling the aroma of sauerkraut and pork soup wafting from afar, and touching their rumbling stomachs, these knightly youths from Golden River Township couldn't help but feel resentful.

They still couldn't understand why His Holiness the Holy Grandson would make them quartermasters?

Even if they couldn't become officers, they could at least go to the battlefield as soldiers, what was the point of being servants?

If it were the main general's servants, that would be one thing, but they were actually rough servants, the kind that anyone in the entire army could order around.

Was this deliberately humiliating them?

But they couldn't bring themselves to ask this question, the old veteran instructors' devout infusion sticks in Frick Middle School's military class had already taught them to shut up.

The muscle soreness gradually disappeared, and the aroma of meat in the distance grew stronger.

Seeing the commoner student struggling to carry the wooden box, several Kush teenagers still didn't continue to stand idly by.

"McGown, let's continue moving, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can eat."

"I'm not moving." McGown unbuttoned his collar and stretched his neck, "Eating early means eating leftovers, what's the difference... forget it, I'm going to take a piss, I'll continue when I get back."

After saying a word to the other teenagers, he went around the wooden boxes and hid behind the wooden house to relieve himself freely.

Just as he fastened his belt, he turned around and saw a fat middle-aged man unfastening his belt.

The two looked at each other, tacitly not exposing the other's violation of military regulations.

"Can I have a sip?"

Sezinger was startled by the teenager's words, and then belatedly realized that the other party was actually pointing at the wine skin at his waist.

"This wine is strong, can you drink it?" Sezinger shuddered as if electrocuted, wiped his hands casually on his pants, and handed the wine skin to McGown.

Frick Middle School had a ban on alcohol, and the army strictly prohibited drinking during wartime, he had been craving it for a long time: "I've been drinking since I was five, how strong can it be... cough cough cough!"

"Hahahaha." Sezinger couldn't help but laugh, and when he finished laughing, he froze when he was about to take back the wine skin.

"I seem to have seen you at some banquet, are you someone of the Lallufa Knight?"

"Lallufa Knight is my father, my name is McGown Trassiva, and you are?"

"Hahaha, so you are Lallufa's son." Sezinger thumped his chest, "I was hunting with your father the year before last, I am Sezinger, the lord of Eaglefall Fortress, is your father well?"

"He died in battle at Black Mountain Fortress, now my mother is managing the family business." McGown's mother was from the Arco family, but his father was a Fran knight.

After his father died, he transformed and became a Kushite, and was even sent to Frick Middle School to study.

Sezinger opened his mouth, not knowing what to say for a moment, just sighing: "May his soul rest in peace in heaven, what are you going to do now, if you have time, we can have dinner together."

"I'm afraid there won't be this opportunity." McGown shook his head, "I have to go on guard duty next."

As quartermasters, the first lesson is to learn to stand guard.

Of course, it is impossible to let them stand guard independently at the beginning, but a sentry post is composed of a veteran, two recruits, and a quartermaster.

Each time, it is guaranteed that two people are awake, and four people take turns sleeping.

"You're drinking while on guard? Aren't you afraid of being caught by those shit military police?" This morning, Sezinger was fined twenty dinars for defecating anywhere on the ship.

"I'm on the second half of the night shift." McGown complained: "Those with good swordsmanship scores have to stand guard, while those who don't do well can do chores instead, where is the logic?"

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In addition to ordinary subjects such as reading, writing, arithmetic, and laws, Frick Middle School also has physical education courses such as swordsmanship and horsemanship.

Because Kush teenagers come from knightly families, they mostly have innate advantages and often beat commoners in physical education courses.

This time, it is the commoners with better cultural classes who are counting war merits and writing documents, letting these sons of knights pour tea and water, stand guard and watch the night.

Sezinger looked at McGown's gradually reddening face and carefully reminded him: "I can also speak to your Holy Grandson Pope, he is a generous and benevolent person and will not discriminate."

"He just looks generous and benevolent." Sure enough, the aftereffects of acorn wine came up, and McGown's mouth started to run wild, "Without his permission, do you think those Cheka could strangle nobles and arbitrarily throw people into prison?

He lets the Cheka and military police take all the blame, and he himself stands high and dry, without a drop of sewage splashing on him."

Sezinger shook his head: "You seem a bit extreme."

"Extreme? Do you know why he does this?

The empire has brave popes, wise popes, brutal popes, and even greedy and lustful popes, but it lacks the most common type—a benevolent pope.

Everyone hopes for a benevolent pope, hopes for a loving father, so he plays the part."

"Why do you think this is acting?" Sezinger's impression of Horen was not bad, and he was even a little amused by McGown's rant.

Keenly aware of Sezinger's distrust, McGown said with a red face: "Don't you believe me, you haven't seen how he treats soldiers.

He spends three days a week in the barracks, personally serving soldiers food, bandaging wounds, caring for them, and carrying sick soldiers to find doctors... more cloying than a knight pursuing a noble lady.

He eats the same food as the soldiers every day, wears the same clothes, and walks the same roads, is this a normal person? Isn't this obviously bribery?

Those soldiers are obviously older than him, they can't wait to treat him like their own father, and they call him 'our little pope'."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Seeing that McGown was unyielding, Sezinger began to get a little angry, "I would rather have such a little pope!"

"But their little pope will turn around and abandon them on the battlefield to lure the enemy, and they still have to go to their deaths with honor.

In the Battle of Rapidwater City, the Black Hat Seventh and Eighth Legions were half killed by the knights, blood flowed like rivers, and their little pope was still slowly flanking behind.

What benevolence, what compassion, what love for soldiers like sons, he only wants victory."

"Since he is as bad as you say, why do the Kushites still follow him?" Sezinger glared at this cynical little fatty.

"Because he always wins... hic... it's that simple..."

A cold wind blew, and the alley was quiet for a while.

Blown by this cold wind, McGown's wine also turned into fine cold sweat on his forehead: "Your wine is indeed strong, cough cough, I still have to move things, can I go?"

"You go... also, I'm on ship number 3, you can come to me if you need anything."

With a big red face, McGown walked away with faltering steps.

In the cold winter wind, Sezinger's angry expression gradually dissipated, and he stood there, not knowing whether he was pondering or astonished.