CHAPTER 135: CHAPTER 133: THIS IS THE 1,000 VALLEY, SHOULDN’T IT BE YOU WHO SHOULD LEAVE?

Looking at the distant Casti, Horn couldn’t help but find it amusing.

"Mr. Horn, are you going to have dinner next?" asked the guard beside him.

"Let’s head to the nearest tavern...right here, avoid the wealthy district."

Horn and his men crossed the houses near the river, entering the narrow alleys leading everywhere.

The previously bustling atmosphere was much reduced.

In the dark corners of the walls and under the roadside straw mats, beggars and vagrants lay or stood.

Seeing people dressed lavishly, they rushed over to beg for a few coins or ask for a job.

This was the better situation; in just a few steps from the main road to the tavern, Horn had already witnessed two thefts and a robbery.

Vagrants and beggars surged forward like leeches, grabbing the stolen or robbed individuals’ money bags.

Fortunately, Horn was accompanied by servants and four Iron Armor Guards, clearly not someone to mess with.

Vagrants aren’t brainless; they wouldn’t dare take on a losing bet.

"Were there always so many vagrants here?" Horn asked a new guard.

"Not really, there were some before, but not many, and most came to work as laborers, somewhat disciplined."

Horn quickly understood.

To utilize water resources, most workshops were built near the river.

Summer floods had destroyed a lot of infrastructure and workshops, causing workshop owners to either go bankrupt or choose cost-cutting measures.

The labor positions dwindled sharply, coupled with merchants and nobles hoarding goods, preventing cheap coastal grains from entering the Thousand River Valley market, leading to skyrocketing grain prices.

A large number of vagrants gathered here but couldn’t find work, and low-income areas barely had enough welfare food, while latecomers found no jobs and couldn’t leave.

To survive, one could only resort to petty theft.

Pushing open the tavern door, inside sat scattered laborers and low-ranking artisans.

Seven or eight tables were mostly occupied, and there wasn’t a seat by the counter, with some individuals hurriedly standing to drink.

Though they still drank merrily, their chilled beer and creamy soup had turned into bitter alcohol and pea soup.

On the tavern’s menu, besides cheese and bread, there were only baked meat rolls, vegetable stew, creamy soup, pea soup, and fried eggs.

"Two plates of baked meat rolls, one pot of pea soup, four pounds of wheat bread, one cabbage stew, one plate of cheese, and six cups of chilled beer."

While waiting for the dishes, Horn pretended to sleep leaning back in his chair, yet the guests’ chatter couldn’t help but reach his ears.

"Have you heard the news?" one artisan said mysteriously.

"What news?"

"The Empire has decided, according to ancient laws, to take the whole Thousand River Valley under its domain and then send all the Thousand River Valley People back home."

Despite discussing secrets, the artisan’s voice was loud enough for the entire tavern to hear.

"Send back home? You mean, you mean..." the civilian lowered his voice, "you mean the Blood and Flesh Royal Court?"

"In the eyes of the Empire, is there anywhere else that could be called home for us?"

This seems absurd, but there’s precedence for it.

Years ago, dozens of Thousand River Valley Knights were dissatisfied with the Imperial Court’s judgment and stormed the Metropolitan Cathedral with over a hundred soldiers seeking justice.

The result was the Knights being strangled by the Church, and the hundred soldiers following were exiled to the Blood and Flesh Royal Court.

Over hundreds of years, the living space for Thousand River Valley People grew smaller, increasingly close to Mountain County, forcing them to fear.

Adding insult to injury, with more uprisings occurring, some Falan or Leia leaders spoke out to intimidate their native subjects, saying things like—

"Cause more trouble, and we’ll send you all to the Blood and Flesh Royal Court!"

"If you dare escape, the Imperial Knights will kill you all!"

"This is the Thousand River Valley, maybe you guys should leave!"

With reduced grain production after the floods, the number of vagrants and refugees grew.

These rumors, tinged with resentment and dissatisfaction, began to ferment and spread along with their movement.

Most of the residents here are laborers, essentially technical workers without identity or household registration, naturally making the tavern a breeding ground for these rumors.

"This is too absurd..." a citizen hesitated by the counter, "Can the Church allow such things to happen?"

"Don’t you know? Everyone alive in Xiaochi City was killed, even dogs and pigs, they saw earthworms and cut them vertically."

A laborer from afar asserted confidently: "I was in Xiaochi City at the time, saw it with my own eyes, the Church did nothing, just the same with a different name, the Pope is a fool."

"Saying that, aren’t you afraid Flying Bao Bishop will catch you?"

"Why?"

"For leaking Church secrets."

"Hahahahaha—"

The tavern suddenly filled with a lively atmosphere.

Horn never imagined that he would hear the church joke he wrote here.

But what Horn didn’t anticipate was the significant role his church joke played in fueling these rumors.

This precious spiritual sustenance was often repeated as conversation topics by the laborers after meals and drinks.

Horn thoughtfully sipped his pea soup.

It seems that even a place as tranquil as Joan of Arc Castle is not as peaceful as it appears on the surface.

As noon approached, more laborers poured into the tavern, bringing more noise with them, and more tavern politicians began their speeches.

"In Kasha County, a loaf of bread costs fifty thousand Dinars!"

"This must be a Leia conspiracy!"

"You don’t think, why deploy nine Imperial Knights if not to drive us all out?"

"The Holy Grandson was sent by the Holy Father to help us because he saw our plight; the Pope chosen by the heavens."

"Recently, the church has been everywhere catching the Holy Grandson. If the Holy Grandson weren’t real, why would the church go to such lengths?"

"The Holy Grandson is also not so good. Look at the group claiming to be led by the Saint’s Great-Grandson, always sneaky."

"Let’s not mention that, what should we do?"

"Isn’t there Mr. Juanuo speaking for us? Previously, when they wanted to tax dye, wasn’t it Mr. Juanuo who got rid of it? Don’t worry, it’ll be fine."

In silence, Horn and the others finished their meal and called to the tavern owner: "Check, please!"

"4 Dinars, 10 copper coins..." A bruised person walked up to Horn’s table, "Lord Horn?"

Horn raised his head in confusion, only to see Harbin, full of surprise.

After helping Harbin pay the dine-and-dash bill, Horn walked out of the tavern with him.

Looking at Harbin in ragged clothes, Horn sighed deeply: "You fool, how did you end up like this again?"

"The pawnshops here in Joan of Arc Castle don’t recognize the goods." Harbin indignantly raised a ring, "This is a ring from the Count of Jibashan, how could it be fake?"

"Count of Jibashan?"

"Yes, he’s a prominent figure at Falan Royal Capital, said to have inherited a large fortune, particularly active there in the last two years. This ring was from when I guided him..."

"Alright, alright, I’m not interested in that." Horn patted his shoulder, "I bailed you out for a reason."

"What is it?"

"You’re familiar with Joan of Arc Castle, aren’t you? See if you can find any engineer familiar with mechanical gears and such."

"Where would I find an engineer?" Harbin was startled by Horn’s words, "If it’s an artisan familiar with mechanical gears, like locksmiths, I do know a few."

"That’ll do."

It’s better than nothing. After giving Harbin 4 Dinars for travel expenses, Horn took a carriage back to the camp.

After all, it was almost noon.

He didn’t let the carriage go directly back but told the coachman to take a detour through the so-called Citizen District.

The carriage crossed the bridge over the canal, arriving at the other side in the wealthy district.

Avoiding City Hall, below the clock tower were rows of neat and tidy houses, just like Casti said, with plane trees and white-painted houses.

Citizens walked along the street, chatting and laughing, exchanging polite greetings.

Indeed, poor people are poor in every imaginable way, while rich people are rich in exactly the same way.

Passing Citizen Road, they reached the outskirts with satellite towns.

Horn lifted the curtain of the carriage to look outside.

Grass houses, wooden houses, and farmland orchards merged, some even indistinguishable as town or countryside.

Almost five to six thousand of Joan of Arc Castle’s citizens or city’s permanent residents, with over ten thousand people mainly residing in outer satellite towns and ruin areas.

Beyond that are the nearby villages.

Getting off the carriage and arriving at the camp, Armand came up directly from the gate: "Your Excellency, all thirty-four new camp legion commanders have registered."

"And who’s the last one?" Horn took off his hooded cloak and put on a fresh outer coat.

"There’s another one, on the wall..."

From the camp gate to the log cabin, the thirty-four legion commanders were slumped under the eaves, sweating profusely.

They had been waiting for almost an hour, not daring to leave.

"Is everyone here?" Horn knowingly asked.

"The living are all here." Thomas quickly stepped forward to say.

Horn clapped twice: "Elders, you have made the right choice! Now, I need you to restate, who are you? Whom do you belong to?"

The legion commanders exchanged glances and, under the watchful eyes of the Black Hat Army, spoke the same sentence together.

"We are the elders of the Pope Country, belonging to the Saint Grandson Pope Horn’s rule."

"Good." Horn laughed, "Then, for the new camp, I am issuing the first order — the clean-up operation!"