CHAPTER 115: CHAPTER 113: FIRST TIME ALCHEMY, GUESS WHO DIDN’T GET AN INVITATION?

"Praise the Holy Gun Spirit!"

"Bang!"

The branches shook, and that tree branch as thick as an arm was directly broken and fell into the water after Jeska’s shot.

Not willing to drink the allocated calming potion, Jeska stumbled over to Hakuto: "How is it?"

Frowning, looking at the spring gun in his hand, Hakuto said nothing, shifting his gaze back and forth from the spring gun to the distant branch.

Under the midday sun, the break on the branch could be seen clearly.

At a distance of roughly 15 Falan seeking (30 meters), even a crossbow arrow could only pierce through, not break it.

Hakuto suspected it was some kind of small crossbow, but seeing Jeska easily reload it, it didn’t seem like a crossbow at all.

"How did you do it? What kind of devilish thing is this?"

Jeska didn’t avoid the question, directly passing the spring gun to Hakuto: "See for yourself."

Looking down at the spring gun in his hand, Hakuto raised his head blankly to look at Jeska.

He was somewhat moved, surprised that Jeska trusted him so much to easily hand over such a dangerous and valuable weapon.

What a good brother.

"Put your hands up!" Hakuto pointed the gun at Jeska, "Untie my ropes."

As if he didn’t hear, Jeska leaned his elbow on the side of the carriage, with a spectating look.

"I’ll count to three, one, two..." Hakuto said while pretending to wind the key, but Jeska still made no move.

"Aren’t you scared?"

Jeska smirked, exhaling through his nose: "You can try winding it."

Hakuto moved the gun aside, aiming at the distant shrubs, and reached to wind the spring key.

"Hmm, hmm, huh, uh ahhhh!"

Hakuto’s square face turned red, and his fingers bulged with veins, his cheeks puffing out from clenching his teeth.

The gears in the spring box only made a light clicking sound, then Hakuto was unable to turn it further.

"How can this be? How can this be?" Hakuto looked at his thick fingers, almost unable to believe it.

He was still unconvinced. This time, he imitated Jeska, saying while winding: "Praise the Holy Gun Spirit!"

"Click, click."

The gears only made two sounds, and once again Hakuto couldn’t turn it.

At this moment, Hakuto felt utterly defeated, as if the whole world lost its meaning; he actually lost to this bastard Jeska.

He could lose to anyone, but he absolutely couldn’t lose to Jeska. He was afraid Jeska would suffer, yet also feared Jeska could wield the Holy Gun while he couldn’t.

"No more tricks left, right?"

Jeska lifted a finger proudly: "Firstly, it’s not loaded. Even if you could turn the key, all it would shoot is air."

Jeska raised a second finger: "Secondly, you don’t have holy power. The spirit in the gun won’t follow your orders to produce the Holy Wind."

"Impossible, absolutely impossible," Hakuto cried in disbelief, "I’m much more devout than you, you cheapskate bastard."

"I told you, that time was a scam, and I asked you to keep it secret!" Jeska’s face instantly darkened, stepping forward to cover his mouth, gritting his teeth.

Snatching back the precious spring gun from Hakuto’s hand, Jeska carefully polished it with his sleeve, "With this, I can pierce Master Knight’s armor from afar.

I’ve already thought it out. Next time when facing a cavalry charge, the first row will be Long Spear Soldiers, the second row will be Gunners.

The Gunners will rest the spring gun on the Long Spear Soldiers’ shoulders. After firing one shot, the third row will step up to shoot, then replace the Long Spear, and charge together."

"Hmph." With years of experience fighting battles, Hakuto was very knowledgeable about weapons, and he immediately retorted, "Such a powerful weapon must have limitations. Not many are acknowledged by the Holy Gun, right?"

"Not many, around seven or eight hundred." Jeska suddenly bent down, pushing his face forward, "Guess who isn’t acknowledged by the Holy Gun? Oh, it’s you, you!"

With the spring gun strapped on his back, Jeska pointed his index fingers at Hakuto, slowly retreating, laughing as he turned and walked away, leaving behind a shaking-with-anger Hakuto.

Jeska’s laughter echoed faintly outside the tent, making Horn pause.

"No, don’t, don’t stop." Qianqian’s hair was stuck to the corner of her mouth with sweat, speaking to Horn. "You’re the Master Mage. If you stop, it’s all over."

Horn quickly composed himself, continuing to meditate in his mind about the lamp-carrying, cane-wielding hermit, uttering thick, meaningless tones.

According to Qianqian, spells are just a beginner’s aid, and it doesn’t matter what you say. Even if Horn chants a holy hymn from Dante’s "Divine Comedy," it wouldn’t make a difference.

The important thing is to use the tone to create a mysterious atmosphere, hinting to your own mind—

I’m about to do some devilish stuff, get ready.

Horn is a master at creating a mysterious atmosphere with spells; he often used them when he performed divinations before.

In the lingering smoke of burning sage, Horn tossed the Frost Moon Grass he held into the heated clay pot before him.

As for the so-called Frost Moon Grass, he thought it was something magical, but it turned out to be just frosted Moon Grass.

Moon Grass is a common dye material found everywhere in the Thousand River Valley.

As materials like Frost Moon Grass and apple peels were added to the pot one by one, he finally sprinkled the powder ground from Slime Core and organs into the pot.

At that moment, Horn suddenly felt a tingling on his scalp, which should be the mana being infused.

As for Qianqian, she immediately put the lid on the clay pot. Even though it was on a low flame, the inside seemed to boil explosively, with a lot of potion spilling out from around the lid.

After a good while, Qianqian lifted the lid, and an indescribable fresh fragrance wafted out.

"Do you feel it?" Qianqian snapped her fingers and said, "Alchemists don’t actively initiate spells; rather, when catalysts and materials contact, they act as a medium and absorb the surrounding mana."

"What if there’s no mana around?"

"Then nothing will happen." Qianqian stretched lazily and stood up, "The concentration of mana around has to reach a certain level, and your meditation is to increase that concentration."

"Is that how pharmacists make potions too?" Jeanne waved her hand through the smoke, suddenly feeling clear-minded and much more alert.

Horn shook his head: "They don’t need mana, but most useful potions require Holy Water and Holy Oil."

"I see."

"Alright." Qianqian instructed a few Child Soldiers to pour the liquid from the pot into Slime Water Bags, "Today’s calming potions are done. Six bags in total, and including yesterday’s, exactly two bags per gunner."

After bidding farewell to Qianqian, Horn mounted his horse and continued practicing his riding skills on the move.

Since taking this small path recommended by Jia Li, the journey has been relatively peaceful.

Except for waking up every morning to find a bunch of sticky slimes crawling everywhere, there haven’t been any other major difficulties.

Occasionally, when attacked by magical creatures, if Jeanne was there, she’d step in. If not, the gunners could handle it.

Due to the spring guns being shotguns that fire pellets, the meat from creatures that the gunners bring down always has bits of metal and stone in it.

As for Jeanne, after Horn tutored her intensely on currents, voltage, resistance, and more with several exercises, she leveled up her control over lightning.

A couple of days ago, a demon hedgehog tried to attack them but was electrocuted by Jeanne, getting perfectly cooked with no char marks.

Horn personally cooked and guided Madlan in making a pot of pork-killing soup, and despite the gamey smell, it was unanimously praised by the villagers.

The pork-killing soup was Horn’s guidance, and the calming potion was Horn’s creation.

Once again, Horn’s status rose in the hearts of the villagers, who saw Holy Father as personally cheating for his true descendent.

Everyone knew that only those who had been sick could use the Holy Gun Blessed Spirit. Isn’t this just Holy Father giving them preferential treatment?

Falling ill was just evidence of the body failing to withstand holiness.

Once they reached Joan of Arc Castle, and His Majesty Horn ascends the throne, what status would these disciples hold?

Tsk tsk tsk, it’s almost unimaginable.

Good days are still ahead.

Compared to the villagers’ confidence about the road ahead, Horn felt somewhat anxious.

With the Wild Spider Forest looming close by, the legendary Long-haired Demon of the Homer Mercenary Corps still hadn’t appeared, while ordinary demons became more frequent.

According to the Homer Mercenary Corps’ notes, approaching the Wild Spider Forest should mean fewer demons, not more.

But they’re taking a small path, so it’s normal for the situation to differ from the main road.

However, they were nearing the entrance to the Wild Spider Forest, and since they hadn’t taken the main road, they had no safe passage map for navigating the forest.

How should they proceed?

With such questions in mind, on the evening of October 22nd, Horn reached the designated campsite.

"What’s ahead?" Standing on the carriage, Horn turned to ask the Child Soldiers.

"Your Majesty, up ahead it’s the Wild Spider Forest."