Walking silently among the houses charred by raging fire, Horn accidentally stepped on and crushed a carbonized bone.

He crouched down, gently touching the ground, where a faint warmth still lingered. A few dark red embers fell from the only remaining wooden framework of the house.

In the spring breeze, the bodies of those Defensive Army members hung on the charred-black trees, swaying with the wind.

These five people had their clothes stripped off, and a "⺧" character was carved with a knife on their foreheads. Their eyes were gouged out, leaving only bloody hollows.

On their chests and bellies, blood-red Falan letters were carved with a knife, reading "Be Grateful, Farmers" and "The Betrayer's End."

Three crows perched on their shoulders, tearing strips of flesh from their faces with their gray beaks.

Deprived of Moliat's protection and becoming accomplices of the short-haired devils, these so-called knight demons once again revealed their true faces.

"This is the third village, right?" Stroking the remnants of the ruins, Horn's voice revealed no emotion.

"Yes." Madlan forced this word through clenched teeth.

"Did you find any survivors?"

"We found fifteen survivors in the vegetable cellar, all of them children and youths."

Amidst the lingering thick smoke, a dozen young boys and girls formed a neat line, numbly and stumblingly heading towards the carriage.

Since the 26th, these despicable extraordinary knights had begun their raids and massacres against the subjects under their control.

They were very careful, preparing a large number of rangers, and only taking the main roads.

Horn had been prepared multiple times but had never managed to ambush them, only injuring a few rangers.

Survivors from the three villages had all been gathered to Gray Furnace Town, but this time, Horn insisted on coming to see for himself.

"Your Eminence, we must leave quickly, otherwise if those Rangers from Joan of Arc Castle catch us, it will cause more trouble."

"Let's go." Horn's dull voice sounded again.

Grabbing the saddle and climbing onto the horse, he could sense the somber expressions on the faces of those around him.

Horn knew his own face looked somber too, yet he had no way to feel happy.

In the descending sunset, the last remaining house in the flame-engulfed village collapsed.

Horn lowered his head, walking silently on the country path, until a burst of noisy shouting reached him.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"Griz, come down quickly!"

Looking in the direction from which the voices came, Horn saw a boy barely standing on the roadside hill.

His left arm was severed at the elbow and had just been bandaged, still seeping blood.

Bright red blood dripped on the lush green grass.

His face was pale, with sunken cheeks and eye sockets, yet his eyes were spirited as if about to pop out in the next second.

He held his right hand high with a slender twig, which had a wide tunic tied to it.

The tunic, coming from his father, was blackened by smoke, and at its top was stained with a large patch of blood.

His mouth turned downwards, the upper teeth biting the lower lip to the point of purpling, his whole body trembling.

He seemed both to be crying and to be hoarsely roaring, a sound seeping out from the Fire Prison.

"Salvation Army, Victory!"

No one accompanied him, no one echoed him, crazily, the boy named Griz kept waving his flag under the sunset, repeatedly shouting through his broken voice.

"Salvation Army, Victory!"

"Salvation Army, Victory!"

"Salvation Army, Victory!"

The howls of the sobbing reverberated behind Horn like spikes digging into his back.

"Salvation Army, Victory!"

The shouts persisted from the village until Horn returned to Gray Furnace Town.

Even as he sat in front of the assembled high-ranking members of the Salvation Army, he could still hear such cries echoing in his ears.

"Based on the intelligence we've gathered, the Extraordinary Knights have formed a Glory Cavalry Squad to raid villages where the Defensive Army is located.

According to the situation at Joan of Arc Castle, there are currently three factions within the city: the Empire's Royal Constitution Knights, the Church, and the Decree Company.

The Royal Constitution Knights number 500 men, but 150 of them have gone to Kasha County, leaving only 350 here.

They previously attempted to communicate with us, stating that as long as we don't target Falan merchants passing by, they would refrain from attacking us and might even sell us weapons and provisions."

"Is it believable?" Jeska asked with a furrowed brow.

"It's uncertain, we should stay vigilant," Armand shook his head. "Your Grace, what do you think? Your Grace?"

"Do you think we're ready?" Horn surveyed everyone present, his first words.

At this moment, all the top brass of the Pope Country and the Salvation Army were present, totaling nearly twenty people, yet they all exchanged glances without responding.

This was a habit they had long cultivated, whether it was the bloody long road or Autumn Dusk Island, everything was decided by Horn.

Through countless crises, they had relied on this Holy Grandson before them to get through.

Many among them, many "smart people," had seen through Horn's tricks from the beginning; they just needed him to unite hearts and carry responsibilities.

After repeatedly taking on responsibilities, making decisions, and overcoming crises, Horn had transformed in their hearts into the true "Holy Grandson" and "Eye of God."

In Horn's hometown language, it meant being the "bearer of the state's woes, thus the state's master."

"Weapons are repaired, armor isn't ready yet?" Armand asked tentatively, "And the phosphorus and concentrated alcohol you asked us to prepare haven't been gathered."

Horn remained silent as he looked around the room; everyone was still watching him.

He suddenly started laughing.

Look at these bishops, Madlan is a fugitive baker, Armand is a monk who delayed graduation, Grampwen is a jester, Chervis is a bootlegger.

As for the legion commanders, Jeska and Hakuto are both wanted criminals, Kolman is a dock-dwelling refugee carrying bags, Victor is a shepherd, Mengse is a muckraker, Rudilo is a rogue.

As for Horn himself, he is a farmer pretending to be crazy with his village sister, Jeanne.

Horn couldn't help thinking that without him, Madlan might have been executed by the Church, Frick and Danji probably wouldn't have died.

Armand would have starved in Red Mill Village, Grampwen and Chervis would still be part of the refugee army, while Tommy would be doing fine.

As for these legion commanders, they might not have been as well off as they are now, but not as dangerous either.

If back when they first met, in this kind of situation, Madlan would be longing to flee to Kasha County, Armand would be aimlessly following Kosse, Grampwen might have joined Rapids City's uprising, Chervis would likely have fled.

At that time, the Pope Country, including Horn himself, was comprised of vermin, a "country" of cowards, scheming rogues, and timid farmers.

Their tiny Pope Country, each battle was a ruinous one, requiring the full force of the nation, as if proceeding blindly.

This flawed, leaky little boat somehow transformed into a warship with six thousand citizens and five thousand troops.

Ah, the encounters of life, truly the joint progression of personal struggle and historical process.

"From the beginning to now, when have we ever been ready?" Horn stood up, smiling at everyone present, "We've often fought ruinous battles before, was any battle prepared for? Were we not just forced into action?

Conversely, if we feel there's nothing left to prepare, that's the sign of failure, because perfection is unattainable.

Our enemies are 300 of the most elite Imperial Knights, 100 village Extraordinary Knights, 120 temple knights, over 300 Armored Soldiers, and over 3000 Night Guards.

There might even be an additional 350 Falan's Royal Constitution Knights.

But as I foretold, if we don't go forth, the only thing awaiting us is Joan of Arc Castle turned into a Fire Prison.

This is a battle we can't retreat from; we have no retreat, no assistance, there's no bridge to drown so many knights!

We might deploy every strategy, pick the right battlefield, choose the right date, but in the end, we must confront them directly."

Gently stroking the walnut table, Horn's piercing gaze held everyone's attention.

"Everyone sitting here today, including me, might die, because before us are over 500 Extraordinary Knights and nearly 3500 infantry.

Yet I don't ask if the weapons are ready, if the phosphorus and alcohol are prepared?

Right now, I ask only one question: Are you ready?"

After a brief yet prolonged silence, the stools and small benches creaked as everyone present stood one by one.

Unbeknownst to them, the leaky boat's planks had already become a sturdy oak, while the long sails were woven from canvas rather than burlap.

"We are ready!"

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