CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER 141: I’LL THINK ABOUT IT AGAIN

Under the protection of the Holy Gunmen, Horn mounted his steed and once again set foot on the land of Joan of Arc Castle.

The oppressive clouds still loomed over Joan of Arc Castle, yet the fierce quarrels and battles from the previous day seemed to have vanished.

Ladies wearing veiled hats walked along the streets, notaries in puff-sleeved jackets strolled by with scrolls in hand, and master artisans tucked tools wrapped in leather under their arms as they headed to their workshops.

Across the canal, laborers gathered the remnants of their shattered homes, covering the holes in their doors with ragged cloth, and donned their brimless felt hats again, rolled up their sleeves, and lifted buckets full of wastewater.

If not for the increased number of beggars on the streets, the unwashed bloodstains on the ground, and the dismantled fences, Horn might have thought that nothing had happened.

Led by a sergeant in a surcoat, Horn and his entourage crossed the creaking drawbridge.

As they passed through the gatehouse, Horn looked up and could still see the bottom of the spiked iron portcullis.

Several holes had been deliberately created at the top of the gatehouse, allowing defending soldiers to pour hot water or stab the enemy below when intruders entered the gateway.

The drawbridge served as the first line of defense against external enemies, the iron-paneled oak door was the second line of defense, and the iron portcullis was the third.

Further within, the walls on either side were pierced with arrow slits for crossbows, forming the fourth line of defense, and if worse came to worst, the castle’s main tower and terraces provided the fifth line of defense.

It truly gave off a "fortified fortress" kind of vibe.

After handing over his horse to a servant to be led to the stables, Horn finally entered the castle he had fought so hard to gain access to.

However, as his boots stepped onto the fine wool carpet, a chilling breeze sent a shiver down Horn’s spine.

Horn had expected it to be cold outside, but little did he know that the Duke’s castle would be even chillier.

Guided by a servant, Horn ascended to the second floor and arrived at a waiting room. An arched window leaned against a round hardwood table, with two soft armchairs adorned with brocade cushions on either side.

"Please wait here, the Duke is changing and will be with you shortly."

Horn sat down in a chair on his own, looking out the window, just able to see the rolling fields and tiered buildings in the distance.

Tiny figures, like ants, shuffled forward in the gradually chilling autumn wind.

Not long after sitting in the waiting room, Duke Dane, whose reputation preceded him, finally pushed open the door and entered.

Duke Dane, approaching forty years of age, gave off a prematurely aged appearance.

Indeed, just as Qianqian had described, he was bald, with only sparse hair remaining on his temples and the back of his head.

But when Horn saw him, he still found it a bit of an eyesore.

The Duke wore a short coat split in yellow and black, with a codpiece hanging from his waist, a two-finger-wide necklace inlaid with gold, silver, and gems around his neck, and five gold rings on his left hand, each on a different finger.

The engravings on the rings, when combined, should have formed the family name [Kiabs] of Duke Kush, the ancient name of the Kush River.

However, the ring on his ring finger had been replaced with an engagement ring, altering its meaning to Kusabi.

The two approached the round table amicably, making no mention of Buerwelf’s previous conduct.

"Some time ago, I fell into the water and indeed fell ill, neglecting you, hahaha."

"By Miseria’s blessing, your health is restored, and you can meet people again."

"Would you like some red wine?" Allowing Horn, the guest, to sit first, Duke Dane took two hourglass-shaped gold goblets from a servant’s hand and poured wine for himself and Horn.

Staring at the golden cup in his hand, Horn chose not to drink, deciding to get straight to the point.

Looking at the seated Duke, he asked, "Have you ever tasted Blue Blood Wine?"

"I have, why do you ask?"

"Do you know what it’s made from?"

"It’s a church secret recipe, I wish I knew." Duke Dane said, lifting the hourglass-shaped goblet and downing the purplish-red wine.

"It’s made from human blood and flesh."

"Pfft—"

The wine sprayed out of Duke Dane’s mouth instantly.

"Cough cough, you, what, what kind of... cough cough..." He coughed violently, picking up a silk handkerchief from the table to wipe his mouth. "What are you saying? Weren’t we supposed to discuss Buerwelf?"

Without speaking, Horn took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Dane.

On it was an excerpt detailing how priests prepared Blue Blood Wine, revealing that the Green-clothed Flute Player was a church ruse.

Dane hurriedly picked up the paper, ignoring the wine stains on his sleeves and collar, scrutinizing it closely.

His gaze swept back and forth over the paper, and Dane’s expression grew increasingly grim, until by the end, his hands were trembling.

Dane slumped into the chair, tossing the paper away as if it were a plague, "Do you have proof? Where did you get this information? This is, that’s..."

"Of course, I have evidence," Horn stared at Dane, "but I can’t give it to you right now. Duke Dane, I’ve come to negotiate terms with you."

"Terms? What terms?" Dane snapped out of his shock, visibly baffled.

"I know you want to use my name to start an uprising, but I’m not staying in Joan of Arc Castle," Horn said calmly. "What you’re missing is a legitimate reason to rally the farmers to oppose the church. Am I right?"

"Ah yes, yes, I have been considering that lately." Dane nodded quickly, but asked hesitantly, "Isn’t that going too far? Won’t it anger the church?"

"The church isn’t unified, at most you’ll anger the current Pope. That Grandiva Red Cardinal might even thank you," Horn said, swirling the wine in his goblet but not drinking any of it.

"What do you want in return for this evidence?" Dane swallowed hard.

Horn frowned; based on previous impressions and tactics, he had thought the Duke was a person with a strong inner resolve. But until now, he seemed to be all talk.

Could I have misunderstood? Horn continued, nonetheless:

"First, I won’t be staying in the Thousand River Valley. To prevent you from being too enthusiastic and keeping me here, the evidence will be handed to you before I leave. Until then, at most, I’ll provide you with copies of the evidence.

Second, my veteran camp can help you train five thousand of the ten thousand youth into soldiers, and fight for you in my name. Some of the Holy Gunmen will also join the battle.

However, I clarify from the onset, my veteran soldiers will only assist you in battle, not take orders from you. Only those ten thousand new recruits will be under your command.

Third, while I’m away, you must ensure the provision of food and clothing for my veteran camp. Approximately a year or two later, I’ll come to retrieve them."

"If this is true, I can certainly agree to your terms." Dane agreed immediately, then quickly sat back down. "Do you think this evidence can truly incite the farmers?"

"The Leia have a good reputation, the Falan are xenophobic, Norn people love their homeland, and the biggest trait of the Thousand River Valley People is their strong kinship bond.

Almost every Thousand River Valley person has had relatives or friends taken away by the Green-clothed Flute Player.

But in the myths and legends, the Thousand River Valley people blamed themselves for this calamity, unable to hold others accountable, only themselves.

If you tell them it has nothing to do with the Thousand River Valley people, that it’s the church’s doing,

the hundreds of years of resentment, the tyranny of the Lord of Flanlaya, the unjust death of the innocent Dean Juanuo... all these piled up grievances, can they still trust the church?

At the very least, until there’s a significant upheaval within the local church, they certainly won’t trust the Thousand River Valley Church anymore."

"Aiya..." Facing it grimly, Dane instinctively picked up the gold wine cup, brought it to his lips, but then put it down again, "This matter, I need to think about..."

"What exactly are you afraid of?" Horn stood up, waved away the annoying incense scent, "With your reputation, wealth, a powerful secret army, and the remaining extraordinary knights of your family.

With your fame and legitimacy, you could rally all the Thousand River Valley to respond."

"But that’s only in the four counties of the plains," Duke Dane said with a bitter smile, "The people in the five counties of the mountains have long ceased to listen to me, and many of them even believe I’m the church’s lapdog."

"But aren’t you afraid of the church targeting you? When you’re accused of treason by the church, you’d better mean it!"

Hit with Horn’s words, Duke Dane’s face showed no indication of emotion, taking a long time before he decisively raised his head:

"Alright, I indeed need to get my act together, I-I have decided... Or I’ll consider it further."

"Alright." Though Duke Dane had him at a loss for words, Horn still managed to nod, "I hope you’ll make your decision soon. You know, Duke Hemashi might also be quite interested in this."