When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#271 - Letter from the Salvation Army of Jeanne d'Arc to Prince de Condé

“Oh, Charles, the demon of Condé, the devil's crony, Lucifer's own dog……

……The devil shits, and you finish eating it before your army eats it next. You perfect bastard, we're not afraid of your army, go fuck yourself……

……You product of Flower Hill City, prostitute of Changge City, goat-fucker of Branding City, every single boar of the Upper and Lower Two Rivers Islands, you've fucked them all!

……You're a songstress, aren't you, Charles? You're a tendon in my dick. Go fuck your mother! Dog spawn!”

After Montaigne finished reciting this long passage in the style of a Frankish chant, the entire hall was silent.

Several attendants stood by the door, their faces still wearing serious expressions, but judging from their flushed faces, it must have taken a great effort to hold back.

“Tsk tsk, talk about these damned Salvation Army 'Ku Ku Ku',” Montaigne's voice chimed in, “How come secrets always leak from 'Ku Ku Ku'……”

“What are you doing?” Bérald slammed a fist on the table, stood up, and pointed at Montaigne's nose, questioning him.

“What am I doing?” Montaigne shrugged innocently, smiling, “I'm not doing anything, I'm very serious, aren't we discussing the Salvation Army related to 'Ku Ku Ku'?”

“You've been clearly laughing all the time, you haven't stopped at all!” Crimson red instantly filled Bérald's face.

“Can't I just be thinking about something happy?”

“You!” Bérald wanted to say more, but Beaulieu beside him suddenly stepped forward and slapped him hard.

Feeling a sudden burning pain on his cheek, by the time Bérald reacted, he was staring at the leg of the black oak table.

Beaulieu slowly retracted his hand: “Fool, listen to the sounds around you, are you still going to argue?”

Sitting on the cold stone floor, Bérald looked around blankly.

Originally, the other attendants and maids could hold it in, but after his quarrel, they covered their mouths with their aprons or buried their faces in their shoulders to snicker.

Bérald suddenly understood and lowered his head in shame.

Looking at the letter in Montaigne's hand, Beaulieu felt quite helpless. Like Horn, he didn't understand what Prince Condé was trying to do.

Perhaps it was because Prince Condé's family made their fortune with the Border Knights, so he only needed to go to the front line to kill vampires.

But the nobles of the Empire had more things to consider. Over the years, Prince Condé still hadn't adapted and still retained the old straightforward style of the Knights.

“I'm sorry, Lord Beaulieu.”

“Apologize to Mr. Montaigne, you must be polite.”

“I offer you my sincerest apologies, Mr. Montaigne.” Bérald said through gritted teeth.

“Alright, alright, good nephew.” Montaigne said gleefully.

Seeing Bérald's face turning red enough to drip blood, Beaulieu snapped his fingers: “Bérald, take four teams of fifty knights to patrol the wilderness and look for traces of those damned short-hairs.”

After Bérald left the city hall, Beaulieu once again took control of the situation.

“This is just a means for the Salvation Army to anger us. If we really get angry and attack Grey Furnace Town, we'll be falling into their trap.”

Beaulieu saw through it at a glance. This was specifically to enrage them.

There was a reason why Prince Condé left Beaulieu in Jeanne d'Arc Castle. There were many capable fighters in the Edict Company, but few who could strategize.

Although Beaulieu didn't have the strength of a titled knight, he was one of the few relatively rational knights in the Edict Company.

Argan glanced at Montaigne and said to Beaulieu: “Lord Beaulieu, do you mean we should just let the Salvation Army stay outside? I'm not urging you to go to war, I just need a definite answer to prepare.”

Beaulieu fell into silence, and after a long time, he replied: “It's best to make thorough preparations, because the short-hairs are easy to eliminate, but Horn, with the witch by his side, is difficult to kill.”

“Okay, I understand.” Argan nodded, “We will accelerate the recruitment and training of citizen soldiers.”

Walking out of the city hall and returning to his station, Beaulieu sat at his desk and, according to his old habits, began to read military books from the ancient El Era.

But he couldn't even finish a page of the book that he used to enjoy reading, from day to night.

Helplessly putting down the book, Beaulieu had to admit that he was a little impetuous.

The principle of 'a subject dies for the humiliation of his lord' is an unbreakable truth of the Empire. As the lord, Prince Condé was humiliated, but he did not go to war, and the pressure he had to bear was enormous.

Beaulieu made a military judgment at the risk of "social death."

If he failed to defeat the Salvation Army in the end, his treatment in aristocratic society would be similar to that of Duke Danner back then.

Beaulieu still did not go to war, not because he was afraid of the Salvation Army's group of smelly farmers, but because he was afraid of that warlock Horn. His ability to bewitch people was comparable to that of the female Pope Joan!

If he let him run away, ran to Black Serpent Bay, who knows what kind of trouble he would cause.

After drinking two glasses of wine and sleeping for a night, Beaulieu's mind finally calmed down a little when he woke up in the morning.

He lit incense, sat at his desk, and tried again to read that military book.

This time, before he could even turn two pages, he heard hurried footsteps outside the door.

“Uncle, uncle.”

Before the person arrived, the voice arrived first. Beaulieu sighed in annoyance, put the bookmark in the book, and turned around to see Bérald rushing in from the door in a flurry.

“What's wrong?”

“I found traces of a large Salvation Army force outside the city.”

“What did you say?” Beaulieu's breathing became heavy, “How could they run to Jeanne d'Arc Castle?”

Bérald said urgently: “It's true, I was patrolling last night and found them. They seemed to be trying to launch a night attack. I drove them away……”

“Fool!” Beaulieu jumped directly from the chair, “You should have come back and reported to me first. You let them go?”

“Aren't we not ready yet?”

“This is a different situation, do you know what timing is!”

Bérald quickly defended: “After they found us, they confronted us first. In the morning, they turned around and left.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“I sent light cavalry to track and harass them along the way. They can't go fast.”

Beaulieu's mind calmed down a little.

He thought that those Salvation Army soldiers would hold the city and wait for rescue, which could be seen from the fact that they only dared to send out two or three companies to attack.

Unexpectedly, they dared to take the initiative to attack with the entire army, trying to launch a night attack. Jeanne d'Arc Castle was Beaulieu's home field.

Not playing the simpler siege warfare, but wanting to play field battles… Are they tired of living and want to commit suicide? Or have they run out of food?

He couldn't help but wonder what Horn wanted to do.

But he couldn't help but recall the ridiculousness of the intelligence he had collected before, so anything could happen.

The only thing worth being vigilant about was that warlock Horn.

After the news spread, more and more people blocked the camp of the Edict Company.

Even Argan, who was disheveled, arrived. He stood at the door and stared at Beaulieu intently.

Under everyone's gaze, Beaulieu hesitated again, but this time he didn't hesitate for too long.

A conspiracy is a conspiracy. Under the suppression of hard power, even the most profound conspiracy is a farce, at most, it's just failing to catch Horn.

Now that the short-hairs have revealed their flaws, it would be a pity to miss the opportunity.

“Summon the Edict Company, the Ibé Knights, and the Temple Knights to war!”