When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#395 - Are we going to lose the city right from the start? (Two chapters in one)

"Just like that, you're letting them leave?"

Martin looked at the wealthy merchants and citizens with their large bags and packages, questioning Armand in confusion.

He knew that keeping the guards of these wealthy merchants would add at least another hundred soldiers, and they were all elite sword and shield infantry.

Armand stood on the city wall, coldly watching the merchants below as they departed: "They can't be kept here. It's better to drive them out than to have them undermining us from within."

If there had been more time, Armand would have liked to eliminate them all.

For a small group of stubborn elements, only violence and physical annihilation could completely eliminate their crimes.

From Gulag to Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, Armand had learned this truth more than once.

These wealthy merchants and councilors, dressed in silk and gold-threaded brocade, were supposed to be the most representative figures of Petit Lac.

But they would rather flee and abandon all their property, shops, and workshops in the city than spend money to hire armed farmers and knights from nearby, or stay and defend.

Not only this time, but also during the cellar incident, the city councilors from wealthy merchant families firmly chose to stand with the bishop.

The soul-stirring cellar incident was actually driven by small shopkeepers and bricklayers.

These merchants only ran away before the arrival of the Edict Company, and returned after the Edict Company left, relying on collusion with the church to once again ascend to the position of city councilor.

Now, those who firmly stay to defend their hometown and never admit defeat are still the ordinary laborers and small citizens of Petit Lac, who are full of resilience.

They took out their remaining money to customize leather armor, helmets, and 'Good Day' clubs, and sewed leather robes and short boots for their comrades for free.

Martin remembered when he had previously persuaded these city councilors to stay, the result he got was—

"Forgive my bluntness, Lord Martin, but with Petit Lac as it is now, I can't see any possibility of defending it."

"Do you really think of yourself as the bishop? You're just a dog of the Blagoth Monastery!"

The hot, humid wind blew across Martin's face, making his heart feel heavy, and sticky sweat plastered his clothes to his body.

"It's ironic." Martin couldn't help but sigh, "Lord Richelieu, can Lord Hohenheim really arrive in time?"

"I'm sure, I'm absolutely sure." Armand looked at the Rhone River under the dark clouds, where countless reef-like river islands cut through the silky river water, revealing silver-white lines of waves.

The silver-gray wilderness under the dark clouds was fragmented among the undulating hills, and the direction of the scattered and rushing clouds was to the east.

That was the direction of Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, and he seemed to already hear the sound of hooves and footsteps landing on the ground.

"You should go back to Jeanne d'Arc Fortress, before the noble coalition army arrives." Martin pondered for a long time before he could barely open his sticky mouth, "These are not your enemies, and this is not your hometown. Staying here is the mission of us Huguenots."

Without immediately answering Martin, Armand simply lowered his head and stroked the thin black and red monk's robe he was wearing.

The first time he put on this priest's robe, it was so loose and ill-fitting.

After all, compared to Corset's fat body, Armand was still too thin.

Corset used to put a piece of fat in Armand's bowl every day, trying to fatten him up, but Corset was still so thin and short.

But after old Corset died, perhaps hatred really could make people grow flesh and blood, and this robe gradually became fitting.

Just like the way people called him, compared to the former Armand, the people of Cacha County were more accustomed to calling him by his religious name—Richelieu.

This was the name his uncle, his godfather who baptized him, left him, the most elegant name that old butcher, who had been vulgar all his life, gave him.

"No, I won't leave." Armand's palm stroked the surface of the robe, "Those are my enemies, and this is my mission."

Hearing Armand's words, Martin inexplicably breathed a sigh of relief.

It should be known that organizing the city guard, uniting the army to attack, including this series of actions to concentrate the strength of the entire city, were mostly done by Armand.

Martin at most played a role in spiritual enhancement.

"Prepare, it's getting dark, close the city gate..." Martin didn't finish his words before his gaze turned towards the horizon.

Between the wilderness and the network of streams, he saw Andruke actually running wildly alone.

All his guards were gone, and the carriages full of money were nowhere to be seen.

Like a savage or a beggar, he was running with all his might, as if he was escaping from the mouth of some terrifying beast.

Just as Martin squinted his eyes, Andruke's embarrassed running movement suddenly froze, and then his entire body crashed to the ground.

Fresh blood drew an eye-catching red line on the ground, and at his back, the fletching of an arrow was still trembling.

"Doo-doo-doo—"

"Dong-dong-dong—"

The sound of horns and the striking of the bell tower sounded at the same time, and the vibration of the ground almost turned the faces of the merchants at the city gate white.

They looked in unison to the northwest, and the merchants and their servants in that direction were running for their lives.

They could not possibly be chased by bandits, so there was only one possibility left.

"Lord Musac's army!" a merchant screamed.

Perhaps they had a good personal relationship with Count Musac, but that did not mean that the count could completely control all the troops.

Even if these vanguard cavalrymen chopped off the heads of the merchants, Count Musac would not say anything.

After all, the merchants had no opinion, and silence meant consent.

The merchants and their guards who had gathered at the gate scattered with a bang, some desperately fleeing into the city, and some fleeing out of the city.

"Get out, get out!"

"Don't crowd the passage, don't block the city gate!"

The veteran soldiers skillfully drew their armed swords, pointing at the merchant guards and servants who were trying to climb over the chevaux-de-frise, roaring at them angrily.

But these servants were used to being tyrannical and simply ignored the veteran soldiers' words, only supporting themselves on the crossbars of the chevaux-de-frise, surging into the city.

The veteran soldiers stepped forward, punching a guard who was climbing over the chevaux-de-frise in the face, and the man fell to the ground with a wail.

The scream had only just begun when the armed sword cut through his throat, blood splattering everywhere.

Having dealt with the troublemaking merchant group, the soldiers, led by the veteran soldiers, no longer stood blankly in place, at a loss, but instead frantically drove away the ordinary civilians blocking the gate.

The sound of hooves gradually approached, and under the dark clouds in the sky, the colorful knights were so conspicuous, and the coat of arms representing Count Musac was embroidered on more than half of the flags.

The double-headed lion pattern was roaring, but even though they were about to arrive, the gate of Petit Lac showed no sign of closing.

Hurriedly running down the city wall, Armand, who had put on chain mail over his priest's robe, questioned a militia captain: "Why hasn't the gate been closed yet?"

"Two carriages were overturned, and they just happened to block the gate."

"Then hurry up and fix it." After the icy terror, Martin was anxious enough to jump up and down.

They were originally no match for the noble coalition army, and they had to rely on the new city walls built with mortar for defense.

But now, before the formal battle had even begun, they were going to have their city captured by the enemy's vanguard.

Pulling back the sweating Martin, Armand's face remained calm: "Move the chevaux-de-frise forward, let the nearby ordinary people go outside the city, kill anyone who dares to approach on the spot, all natural priests, immediately load the holy rifles."

After the instructions were issued, seven or eight soldiers picked up the two ends of the chevaux-de-frise, turned their bodies sideways like crabs, and moved it laterally forward.

But before they could move two steps, they heard a swooshing sound, and upon looking up, a rapidly flying arrow pierced the chest of one of the soldiers.

The soldier looked down at the arrow stuck in his chest, and just as he wanted to speak, blood flowed uncontrollably from his throat, preventing him from saying a word.

Clutching his chest, the soldier fell to his knees, and his whole body slammed to the ground.

"Raise shields!" The veteran mercenary who reacted shrank his body, raising his round shield over his head.

The remaining soldiers followed suit, raising the round shields in their hands, and almost at the same time, a rain of arrows fell from the sky, whistling and piercing into the round shields.

Wood chips flew everywhere, and arrows swept past their bodies. At this time, they probably knew that these were most likely the Kush knights under Count Musac.

During the pause in the rain of arrows, the old mercenary poked half of his head out from behind the round shield.

He saw that among the hills and fields, yellow, green, black, and red cloaks fluttered, and hundreds of knights wearing short-sleeved robes were whistling towards them.

Whenever there were merchants or any civilians who had previously escaped from the city, these knights would simply chop them down with their longswords.

The sides of the road were instantly filled with the corpses of various city councilors, servants, and civilians, and carrion-eating birds circled low in the air, waiting for this early dinner.

When they rushed to within two hundred meters of the city gate, the knights' bodies and armor were already covered with blood spots.

"Close the gate!"

"Close the gate! Why isn't the gate closed!"

The nearby civilians and soldiers were shouting, but how could the overturned carriages be moved away in such a short time?

What's more, when the merchants fled, they took away the horses, but left behind a large amount of debris, which further hindered the militiamen from moving the carriages.

They held onto the edge of the carriage, their faces flushed red, only moving the carriage little by little by less than half a meter.

But in this short period of time, the enemy commander had already discovered their abnormality.

These Kush knights even switched to a canter, frantically rushing towards the city gate.

Originally thought it was just carrying out a reconnaissance mission, but unexpectedly there was an unexpected gain. This great benefit actually fell to their Kush knights?!

"Charge!" the knight leader roared.

Crossing the distance of more than two hundred meters, as if in the blink of an eye, hundreds of Kush knights appeared in front of everyone.

The leading knight raised his longsword high and slashed down, blood spurting, and the Petit Lac militiaman who came to meet him was hit directly in the face and fell headfirst.

The remaining knights wielded their swords, and under the high-speed impact, these militiamen were broken through. With the waving of the longswords, seven or eight people fell.

The remaining nearly one hundred soldiers shook their 'Good Day' clubs and spears, randomly stabbing and sweeping, but could not cause any casualties to the knights.

The knights were still charging towards the city gate tunnel. Killing through these blocking infantry was nothing. It was most difficult to capture the city gate in time and hold it until friendly forces arrived.

The city gate tunnel was only ten meters away. As long as they crossed these ten meters, it would be the victory they dreamed of!

The bell rang louder and louder, and more and more urgently. Just as the knight leader raised his knight sword to slash down, he subconsciously shrank his neck.

Then a huge force came from his forehead, and he uncontrollably leaned back, and a sharp pain came from the corner of his forehead.

The bodyguard knight next to him let out a scream, covering his neck and falling from his horse.

Friends who are often swept by bullets know that this feeling is that a lead bullet has grazed his helmet or just been deflected by the slope.

Reaching out to touch the dent on the helmet, as well as the hot metal powder, the leader was obviously angry, but he was also a little puzzled.

What was that just now? A new spell?

"Bang—" Neat gunshots echoed in the city gate tunnel.

The Kush knights who were charging originally paused, and the three knights in the lead spurted blood from their chests, slipped from their horses, and fell to the ground.

In the gate tunnel, a dozen natural priests and holy riflemen led by Armand put down the holy rifles in their hands and began to reload for the second time.

In the awe-inspiring gazes of others, Armand had no intention of being happy. He quickly loaded the holy rifle, not daring to be careless in the slightest.

The Kush knights on the opposite side were stunned, not understanding what had happened, whether to continue attacking or retreat.

In just a few seconds of chaos, the old mercenaries seized it, and they immediately roared: "Surround them, surround them, don't stand there!"

The surrounding militiamen woke up from their dreams, reorganized again, and smashed their 'Good Day' clubs at them.

These knights would naturally not stay on their horses and engage them in close combat, but instead immediately turned their horses around, trying to create a small distance and charge again.

This time, the charge would completely defeat these overestimating clowns before the gate was closed.

"Charge again!"

"Your Excellency, do you hear that? Is that the reinforcements sent by Lord Sinnemon?"

"From the southeast, cavalry is approaching quickly."

Inappropriate hoofbeats were heard, and the bell and horn sounds above their heads rang again.

The faces of the soldiers beside the gate turned pale. This wave of extraordinary knights had not been repelled, and another wave was coming. How could this battle be fought?

Holy Lord, is it possible that you really no longer bless your devout Petit Lac?

Strangely, the knights who were still entangled at the city gate were now in chaos. They neither continued to attack nor harassed with arrows.

It was as if they had been beaten silly, standing there blankly, showing no signs of moving.

"Rumble—"

That is? The observing merchants raised their heads, but although the sky was gloomy, there was no sign of rain.

Looking as far as they could, they were stunned to find that under the broken clouds, a few faint rays of sunset were falling on the rolling flags in the distance.

The Valkyrie-like knight raised the battle flag in her hand, and among the seven or eight black and red flags, the image of the Holy Grail was so dazzling.

"It's the Salvation Army, the Salvation Army's reinforcements have arrived!"