CHAPTER 130: CHAPTER 128: POPE COUNTRY EXPANDS TERRITORY AND REPELS BARBARIANS!

"Really?" Upon hearing that Horn was willing to help, Casti immediately stood up and asked excitedly.

"Don’t get too happy too soon. I do have conditions." Sitting on the walnut cushioned chair, Horn raised his palm, signaling to hold on.

Seated across the table, Casti immediately straightened up: "What conditions? Just say, I will try my best to meet them."

"The first condition is, I need you to find some pharmacists, stonemasons, and engineers willing to go to Black Snake Bay for me."

"Ah..." Upon hearing Horn’s words, Casti immediately understood what Horn was planning, "May God bless you...

As for pharmacists, that’s easy. I can find you several good ones who are willing to go to Black Snake Bay, but most of them have records of making and selling counterfeit drugs or violating guild regulations.

But I can assure you, their skills in formulating medicines are absolutely top-notch. The counterfeit drugs they sold are only ’counterfeit’ in the eyes of the guild; they’re not really ineffective.

As for stonemasons, we do have some stonemason guilds here, but I doubt any master-level stonemasons would be willing to go with you. I can find you some stonemason apprentices.

As for engineers, frankly speaking, I know where you’re planning to go, but is it really necessary to find an engineer?"

Talking about the engineers, Casti was at a loss. Engineers are high-salary professionals, who would want to go to Black Snake Bay, where even birds don’t shit and giant snakes bare their fangs?

"I only need those specialized in mechanical engineering like pulleys and waterwheels. Can’t find any?"

"I’ll try to help you find one, but I must be honest, it’s really hard to find..." Casti replied tactfully.

Looks like it can’t be helped, just what Horn suspected. After all, engineers are tech talents.

"The second condition is about the villagers I brought. Can we allocate the ruins they are in as their living area?"

"Sure, we can sign a land rental agreement." Casti agreed without hesitation, "But after you leave, we won’t guarantee food and work."

Horn nodded, these villagers have mana, they can set up a small workshop and clandestinely produce some alchemical products like mortar to sustain themselves without much issue.

Anyway, in a year or two, Horn can come and take them away.

"Third, even the cleverest cook cannot make a meal without rice, you still need to give them a meal..."

"Sir, you’re joking with me, right?" Casti couldn’t hold back, "If I could give them a meal, would I need to ask you? The lord’s family has no surplus grain either."

"You see, rushing again. Listen to me." Horn tapped the table with his knuckles, "This money and food do not need you to provide but should be exchanged for work.

I saw it on my way here; your roads are full of potholes from the flood, don’t they need repairs?

And those rivers, don’t they need dredging or dams to prevent flooding?

The refugees are only looking for a meal, just don’t let them starve, and the labor cost will be much lower than regular laborers.

This work has to be done sooner or later. The flood just passed, and the citizens and merchants are probably still traumatized. Refugees’ wages are much cheaper than usual, they’re willing to spend the money."

"What a coincidence, I happen to have something that requires their help!" Casti’s eyes lit up, as if he just thought of something.

"Oh? What is it?"

Casti suddenly began to stutter: "Well, it’s, more or less, about clearing the river... Sir, how do you plan to control these refugees?"

Suspiciously glancing at Casti, Horn continued: "I don’t need Thomas’s help, I can handle it with my people."

"You don’t need him? He’s very useful."

Frankly, someone who can think of such a convoluted plan is indeed quite imaginative, but Horn decided not to create further complications.

Experience tells Horn that leaving matters to these dragons and phoenix chicks will only result in them bringing you a big mess.

"Paying back the great political affairs" and "report time chicken soup" are living examples.

The shadow of it still lingers in Horn’s mind, impossible to shake off.

This period has given Horn some practice; as long as he gives the refugees a meal, he is confident he can manage them with both carrot and stick to prevent robbery.

As for the citizens of Pope Country, Horn decided that since he had already lied, he would see it through to the end.

Horn planned to tell them that he was going to Holy Seat City to be crowned and would come to take them to "Holy Seat City" for enjoyment in a couple of years.

After handing everything over to Casti, Horn and Grampwen escorted Casti to the camp gate.

"Actually I’m a bit confused. Since the Duke handed these people over to Casti for arrangement, how could he overlook these problems?"

Watching Casti ride away, disappearing at the end of the road, Horn couldn’t help expressing his doubts.

"Ahem." Grampwen coughed and whispered, "I went to Joan of Arc Castle for a look yesterday and gathered some information.

Apparently, the Duke actually bought cheap smuggled grains specifically to soothe the refugees.

But on the day the grain arrived, Lord Casti had a few drinks, and due to a scheduling error, caused the grain ships to crash into each other and block the river, preventing the grain from being delivered, leading to the subsequent events..."

Oh, so it was your own fault all along, no wonder it wasn’t reported, you were trying to cover it up.

The thing he said was in need of the refugees’ help was probably clearing the river.

"So now..."

"Get ready, get ready, this afternoon we’re going to the refugee camp across the way."

......

The sun was shining brightly, and leaves were falling.

With seven or eight legion commanders, Thomas stretched his neck and looked towards the end of the road.

He felt quite uneasy in his heart. Others might not know, but he knew himself well that inviting the Saint’s Grandson was not the same as inviting the Holy Father.

He was a fake.

What if the Saint’s Grandson didn’t recognize him as an adopted son?

Even if Casti vouched for him, Thomas couldn’t help but worry.

As Thomas was lost in his internal conflict, a figure in a black cloak appeared at the end of the path, a guard of 300 soldiers.

In the center of the guard, four beastman Varangian Guards were carrying a litter forward.

A young man wearing a white Holy Robe with golden embroidery, a tall crown on his head, sat coldly on the litter moving forward.

"Are you Thomas?"

Under the watchful eyes of numerous refugees, Horn’s litter came to a stop in front of Thomas.

Thomas immediately bowed and said, "It is I, Papa."

Horn’s cheek muscles twitched slightly.

"You... you, lead the way."

"This way, Papa." Thomas felt a bit relieved, walking ahead of the litter to lead the way.

The Black Hat Army at the forefront began to clear the crowds, pushing away sleeping refugees and removing wooden boards or bricks in the middle of the road.

"Make way! Prepare to greet the Saint’s Grandson!"

"The Eye of God has arrived."

"Quick, clear the path, His Holiness the Pope is here, aren’t you going to pay respects?"

With the Black Hat Army driving them away, the refugees initially blocking the road stepped aside.

They gathered on both sides of the street, curious yet fearful, asking, "Who is sitting on the litter? Is it the Eye of God, the Saint’s Grandson, or the Pope?"

From the doorway all the way to the previous wooden platform, the four Varangian Guards put down the litter, and Horn propped himself up with his staff and walked up the platform.

With Thomas’s notification, the refugees and leaders of varying sizes gathered around from all directions.

In no time, the entire small square in front of the wooden platform was filled with people.

The afternoon sun slanted across the ground, causing the refugees with their heads raised to squint, murmuring amongst themselves.

However, many refugees who had seen Horn before were already starting to shout excitedly.

Seeing that enough people had gathered, Thomas first let out a couple of ghostly calls to quiet the crowd.

With some unease, Thomas glanced at the expressionless Horn. After receiving a nod of approval from his adoptive father, who was ten years younger than him, he loudly proclaimed:

"Dear believers, by the Lord’s mercy, our waiting and prayers have not been in vain, finally, we have invited the true presence of Saint Son Horn!"

Saying this, Thomas stepped aside, respectfully performing an awkward gesture of invitation.

At this moment, Horn stepped forward, walked to the edge of the platform, and from here he could see the surging heads of refugees below.

It felt as if he had returned to more than a month ago when he stood atop the bell tower of Gulag Church, gazing down.

The refugees struggled to stand, looking weary and exhausted, as if a mere breeze could topple them.

The women bowed their heads, unable to produce even a drop of milk, and the men raised their heads, a cracking sound echoing from their necks.

Spreading his arms wide, Horn’s expression was solemn:

"Believers, I am the true grandson of the Holy Father and also the next Pope, the humble sinner, Horn!"

To ensure most could hear, Horn raised his voice: "Everyone, through my persuasion, our esteemed Duke Kush has agreed to provide you work and food rations!"

The refugees were silent for a moment, unsure if they should believe their ears.

Could Duke Kush really provide them with work and food rations? No longer having to survive on just one meal a day?

An enormous chorus of discussions exploded, while Thomas shouted hoarsely:

"Rejoice, believers!"

"With the Saint’s Grandson here, there is food! With the Saint’s Grandson here, our sins are cleansed!"