When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#270 - Quack! Yes, when did you come? !

Amidst the sea of rolling, blue-green hills, the country knights in their yellow and green wool tights moved like disoriented Latin fish, blindly circling the fortress of war wagons.

On the riverside meadows, Hussite war wagons with reinforced wooden planks stood end to end, the inner ring occupied by farmers who had migrated with the army.

Rudilo strained to peek out from the ranks of the musketeers, watching the Ibese country knights circling back and forth, searching for a weakness.

Squeezed between two extraordinary musketeers, Rudilo irritably adjusted the brimmed helmet that was a size too big for his head.

"This piece of shit helmet, I'm definitely getting it changed tomorrow!"

His eyes searched the sparse woods and bushes, and he could hear the sound of horses' hooves.

"Over there, over there," Zhuerdan, with the best eyesight, shouted from the branches of a large tree.

Pushing aside the burly men beside him, Rudilo freed himself from his predicament.

He gripped the edge of the wagon, nimbly flipped over, jumped into the wagon bed, and squeezed to the front line of the holy gunners.

A total of thirty or so extraordinary knights and squire knights appeared in sight, arrayed in a long line, charging in a loose, jagged formation.

"They never learn!" Rudilo licked his yellowing teeth excitedly and raised the plumed spear in his hand. "Second Division Holy Gunners, aim!"

The dark muzzles of the holy guns protruded from the firing ports of the war wagons, and the knights swallowed hard in unison.

"Fire!"

Amidst a chorus of praises to the Holy Wind, the holy gunners in the wagon beds rotated and took turns, placing their holy guns on the triangular firing ports to fire.

Lead bullets whizzed past them, and the knights abruptly lowered their usually high heads, charging forward tremulously.

They could no longer maintain a proud, chest-out charging formation, but could only crouch furtively on horseback, shrinking their bodies as much as possible.

They buried their heads in the horses' manes, constantly calling out the names of various angels, hoping they would come to their aid.

Those dog knights have quite the imagination when it comes to saving their lives.

But the Holy Wind comes from the Holy Father, so how could angels possibly resist it?

The dark projectiles struck the squire knights' chainmail, and with crisp cracking sounds, shattered iron rings and sprays of thick blood splattered everywhere.

Falling from their horses, several squire knights curled up in agony in the muddy pits, unable to even stand, only able to emit heart-wrenching screams.

"Retreat, retreat!"

Leaving behind four or five corpses, the remaining knights, amidst the extraordinary knights' terrified shouts, turned a corner in front of the war wagon fortress and wheeled away.

Supporting himself on the edge of the wagon bed with one hand, Rudilo leaped down and waved to the apprehensive villagers and Home Guard: "Don't worry, everyone, we've repelled them again. Once the breastplate holy knights arrive, they won't be able to escape."

Although they were going to face the enemy head-on, it didn't mean they had to charge straight in.

Friends who often fight know that insufficient foreplay will lead to difficult advances, so it is necessary to fully mobilize the enemy before smoothly driving straight in.

Previously, Honne's pre-war meeting only unified their thinking.

Of the heavenly timing, geographical advantages, and popular support, they currently only had popular support, and in terms of the current strength comparison between the two sides, there was still a gap.

This gap needed to be bridged through various tactical means.

Starting on the 28th, Honne began to gradually withdraw the villagers and Home Guard between Gray Furnace Town and Jeanneburg to the rear of Gray Furnace Town.

This move naturally attracted the attention of Jeanneburg, and the Ibese knights repeatedly launched attacks, attempting to intercept these retreating farmers.

During this period, they also launched a probing attack on Gray Furnace Town, but other than leaving behind a dozen corpses electrocuted by Jeanne, they gained nothing.

In this war situation, Honne's "invented" war wagon fortress tactic played a huge role.

Perhaps the war wagon fortress tactic could not actively attack, nor could it cope with high-level extraordinary knights, but it was still quite effective against these low-level extraordinary knights.

The battle situation was often that the knights arrived, the knights charged, the knights could not break through the war wagon fortress, their formation was disrupted by volley fire, and they had to wheel away.

Like today, even if Honne and the others were relocating the farmers near Jeanneburg, these Ibese knights had no way to stop them.

If these extraordinary knights had left any later, they would have been entangled by the arriving breastplate knights, then surrounded by other legions, and become one of the knight corpses displayed for all to see.

Another famous scene outside Jeanneburg was dozens of naked knight corpses tied to dozens of 屮-shaped racks.

Local farmers who came to admire the scene every day used stones and slingshots to smash these knights.

Especially between the knights' legs, the length was even smashed into the negatives.

These knights' corpses rotted and were smashed to pieces in a few days, so they had to be constantly updated.

Holding the plumed spear on the ground, Rudilo shielded his eyes with his hand and asked Zhuerdan, who was lying on the tree branch, "Did they retreat?"

"They retreated, they retreated!" Zhuerdan stood up on the thick tree branch and waved excitedly to Rudilo below.

"Careful." Suddenly, a hand reached out and yanked Zhuerdan's collar backward.

Losing his balance, the two of them rolled off the tree together, crashing heavily to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

A feather arrow flew past the spot where Zhuerdan had just been standing, embedding itself in the tree.

"Thanks." Getting up, Zhuerdan grabbed Laurent's arm and pulled him up. Laurent had now become a member of the Home Guard.

Covering his nose, which was bleeding, Laurent said resentfully, "How can these devils shoot arrows so far?"

"That's a balsa arrow." Rudilo straightened his brass-colored brimmed helmet and pulled the wooden arrow from the tree. "Oh, they even wrote us a letter."

Opening the letter, Rudilo frowned and looked at it for a long time. With his limited literacy, he read in a low voice: "I, Prince Condé, want, money."

"Is that how you read it?"

"I'm not a monk of the Holy Father's Church, I can't understand this stuff." Stuffing the letter into his chest, Rudilo walked towards the middle of the war wagon camp. "Old Maro, Old Maro! Friar Old Maro, where are you?"

…………

Gray Furnace Town.

The sky had been overcast all day, but it still hadn't rained.

In the faint, pale-white light, the officers of the Salvation Army sat with Honne and the members of the Holy Father's Church, listening to the gold-medal scripture reciter read the letter from Prince Condé.

"As Prince Condé, descendant of the Golden Oriole Dynasty, brother of the Knights of the Holy Sepulcher, undefeated extraordinary knight, steadfast guardian of the Misaila God's Tomb, devout believer chosen by the Holy Father, hope and comfort of the faithful.

—I command you, the Salvation Army of Jeanneburg, to voluntarily surrender to me without resistance."

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After reading this letter, Honne didn't feel anything, and even found it a bit ridiculous.

Things that can't be obtained on the battlefield, you want to get with a piece of paper? I don't know whether to call him arrogant or naive?

Honne turned to Madelaine beside him and asked, "Is everything ready?"

"Everything is ready. The relocated villagers have nothing to do, so they are helping us dig earth and clean up giant spider silk sacs."

"What about the location?"

"We've identified several, but haven't completely decided yet."

This was because Honne had not yet decided on the final battle location, after all, he was not sure whether he could confuse Béreault.

Having the Salvation Army relocate farmers using the war wagon fortress tactic was one aspect. He also blockaded roads, specifically cracking down on Leia merchants, but let Franconian merchants go.

He didn't know what the relationship between the Franconians and Béreault was like. Perhaps this method could create suspicion between them.

In this way, the efficiency of Franconian support for Béreault was estimated to decrease a lot.

Looking up at the sky, Honne stroked the stubble on his chin. He had originally planned to wait for the spring rain to fall before fighting, in order to maximize Jeanne's power.

But fate was so coincidental that the spring rain was late in coming.

"Your Excellency."

Honne lowered his head, looking directly at the officers and priests in front of him.

"How should we reply?"

What to reply? Honne stood up and walked around the table placed on the temporary training ground.

Picking up a pen and paper, he suddenly walked to the war monks who had finished training and were resting. First, he read Prince Condé's letter, and then asked:

"Everyone, this is the letter sent by Prince Condé. What do you think I should reply?"

"Tell him to eat shit." Someone shouted from the crowd.

The war monks immediately burst into laughter. Honne smiled, but actually copied this sentence onto the paper.

This surprised the war monks. Your Excellency, you're really writing it down.

"Anything else? Is there anyone else who wants to send a message to Prince Condé?"

"Me, me!"

Seeing that Honne really wrote down this sentence, after a few seconds of silence, more people immediately raised their hands.

"Prince Condé, you eat the devil's shit." Jonal suddenly stood out and said boldly.

"And then say 'After you finish eating, your army will continue to eat your shit'... hahaha." Saying this, another war monk couldn't help but laugh.

"Hahahaha—" Coleman was so happy that he rolled off his chair.

Inspired, Mengsai followed up and said, "I know, old brother Armand, write it like this, you say 'Prince Condé, you're just a geisha!'"

"That's good, that's good." Victor quickly clapped in agreement.

"I have another one..."

"Let me say one, let me..."

Gathered around the table, the war monks spoke one after another, racking their brains to turn the dirtiest rural slang and insults they could remember into hot, steaming words amidst laughter.

Soon, a response letter unprecedented in imperial history was written and sent to Montaigne by a passing Franconian merchant.