"Many thanks to Saint Son Horn, for providing the food to nourish my body, the kindness is endless, blessings to the Saint Master and Saint Son."
The villagers' discordant singing, along with the aroma of thick porridge, floated around, bothering Horn's ears and nose.
This song was actually the villagers' most commonly sung song of thanks for food.
Every year during the Winter Festival, everyone would gather in the village's main hall and sing this song around a long wooden table, under the guidance of the itinerant priest.
Horn had sped up the original tune and changed some of the lyrics. It didn't matter if it sounded good; what mattered was singing it properly and loudly.
This was also a part of shaping order and discipline.
Wiping the sweat from his back with a handkerchief, Horn could still feel his heart pounding rapidly. He had been practicing the knight breathing technique under Jeanne's guidance all afternoon.
Horn had had enough of feeling powerless. This breathing technique might not seem like much, but at least it provided him with some means of self-protection.
But to be honest, Horn wasn't skilled at the breathing technique. In his previous life, he was a small-town academic with no understanding of sports. This breathing technique required intense exercise and strength training, followed by sudden yoga-like practices.
Anyway, Horn had practiced all afternoon and still didn't feel the "hot and cold" breaths that Jeanne mentioned.
Horn raised his head and looked outside the shed. In the afternoon, the rain finally stopped, but unexpectedly, it returned with a drizzle in the evening.
At this moment, in Horn's line of sight, a young boy was carrying a bowl of rice porridge over, likely prepared in advance by Busak and sent over.
Receiving the wooden bowl, Horn lowered his head and stirred it with a spoon, finding a chicken drumstick at the bottom as expected.
This would be tonight's dinner.
This porridge was made by boiling fifty pounds of rice fruit, twenty pounds of berries, ten pounds of wild vegetables and mushrooms, three fish, two wild chickens, and seven or eight pounds of acorn flour into a hundred and fifty pounds of porridge.
The hunting team could eat meat, the gathering team could have a bowl, while the rest could only have half a bowl.
In an afternoon, the twenty-member hunting team managed to catch two wild chickens, a performance not considered great. Horn roughly understood this, as given the tight schedule and heavy tasks, it was normal for them not to be well-coordinated yet.
In time, the hunting team should be able to yield significant results.
But soon, Jeska brought him some bad news.
"What do you mean by there's little game?" Horn frowned, putting down the wooden bowl in his hand. "Is someone causing trouble?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Jeska's expression was equally grave. "Master Saint Grandson Pope, as you know, late summer and early autumn should be the time when there's the most game.
Yet, there are hardly any animal footprints or trails in this forest, not even rabbits or field mice, only birds, which is too strange."
"Only birds..." Horn rubbed his chin, now covered with a layer of short, hard stubble.
The Thousand River Valley is famous for its hills and intersecting river bays. Some main roads must be accessed via bridges. Typically, regardless of church relief, royal relief, or other active social organization relief, they are usually concentrated in urban areas.
Horn wanted to move quietly; the first step was definitely to get near the town. Whether buying grain or renting a horse-drawn wagon and guards, it had to be in town.
These days, the rain is gradually decreasing.
Generally, after the rain stops, it takes about one to two weeks for the floodwater to recede.
But to wait for the roads to be passable, they had to wait another one or two weeks to repair the bridges, especially since the flood disaster was so severe this time.
Horn and the others would have to last a minimum of two weeks and a maximum of four weeks.
With only birds, based on the current food storage and the gathering team's output, they could not possibly last until then.
It shouldn't be like this; the Woodland High Castle Archbishop only sends hunters here every two or three years, and there should be plenty of animals in the forest.
These game animals could provide valuable meat, protein, and fat. Combined with wild vegetables and acorn flour, an animal the size of a deer would be enough for over two hundred villagers to eat in one day.
Although the Black Pine Forest isn't large, there should be at least thirty or forty medium-sized animals, right?
"You guys go further tomorrow; Jeanne and I will go with you." After thinking for a moment, Horn tapped the empty bowl with his spoon. "I want to see what's going on."
"Yes, Master Saint Grandson Pope."
As soon as Jeska left, Busak approached, followed by six children, five boys, and one girl.
Their faces were sallow, lips cracked and pale, like sprouts, with big heads and skinny bodies, clad in ragged cloth-like clothing.
These appeared to be the orphans from each of the ten households.
"Master Saint Grandson Pope, here are the orphans from the ten households, four from refugee backgrounds, two from public register farmer backgrounds. I've chosen them; they have no disabilities and have good teeth."
Busak was a rare armed farmer who had attended church day school and nearly entered the Salin Association Academy. He worked systematically, managed logistics meticulously, and handled the task of selecting orphans diligently.
"How old are you all?"
The lips of the orphans trembled, and they huddled tightly together, too nervous to speak.
"The oldest is thirteen, and the youngest is nine." Busak answered for them.
Horn nodded; not too old, not too young. But this was normal. Any younger, without parents, they would have starved a while ago, and any older they would be considered adult labor.
"Don't be nervous. Under the Holy Mother, all beings are equal. I am the son of Miseria, but like you, I was once an orphan too." With a gentle smile on his face, Horn reached out and patted the youngest child's head. "Your parents were devout believers, my fellow townsmen, beloved friends, and companions. They have passed away, and I am equally saddened.
Without parental protection, surely you've suffered much injustice and grievance like I did when I was young. I gritted my teeth and got through it. But seeing you, I saw myself. I thought, maybe there's something I can do, and that's why I brought you here.
Though we aren't related by blood, none of us have a home. So, how about you become my godchildren? I'll baptize you, be your godfather, and then we'll all have a family again, what do you say?"
Horn's fatherly gaze swept over them. However, the orphans still looked at the ground, with little reaction.
Alright, it seemed his words had touched their souls. Embarrassed, Horn waved his hand and decided not to say any more, quickly letting the orphans leave.
"Jeanne, take them for a wash and change of clothes... Why are you crying?"
"I'm not; you saw it wrong."
After sending off Jeanne, Horn picked up the book on the box, wanting to continue reading while there was still light outside, but was once again interrupted by messy footsteps.
The young monk Armand, from before, dragged Priest Kosse's sleeve as they entered Horn's Hunter's Hut.
One thing after another, truly, isn't it? Is there no peace to study? At this age, if you don't study, how will you pass university exams in the future... oh, they're not here, never mind then.
Sighing lightly, Horn put down the poetry book in his hand and sat up: "Priest Kosse, is there something you need?"
"Master Saint Grandson Pope, as the son of Miseria, you are the closest to the Saint Master. My nephew is not well-learned and has some doctrinal questions. May he ask you?"
"Ask, you can ask anything, why shouldn't you?" Indeed, Horn had long anticipated that such a day would come sooner or later.
Young monk Armand, being the only one with scholastic education, would definitely doubt the existence of the "Saint's Grandson" and "Saintess," and feel confused about parts conflicting with doctrine.
Kosse was a pig butcher, scarcely literate, so the true itinerant priest of Red Mill Village was this very clever young monk.
Horn needed him for many things. If he was disobedient, the damage could be greater, and by then, Horn would only be left with the option to tearfully release Jeanne.
"Your Excellency Master Saint Grandson Pope, the Holy Father, Holy Tree, and Saint Master form a Trinity. Why then is there you, an adopted son?"
"But I was taken in by Miseria as an adopted son." Horn shrugged, adjusting his posture. "Facts speak louder than words; the Trinity you believe in must be wrong."
"What, then, is this Trinity?"
"There are four of us in the family. Why call it a Trinity? It's simple. The three actually refer to father, mother, and child. The Holy Father is the father, the Holy Tree is the mother, and the Holy Mother is the child. Now with me, the Holy Father is still the supreme prime father, Miseria becomes the mother, and I become the child.
So firstly, the Trinity refers to the unity of a family of parents and children, requiring all of us to live in harmony in the family. Children should respect their parents, and parents should care for their children, passing down love through generations.
Secondly, the Holy Father represents the past, the Holy Tree represents the present, and the Saint Master represents the future. But the future will eventually become the present, and I will in turn become the future.
Like the rotation of a wheel, the ant beneath the wheel sees different patterns, thinking they are different objects. But it's the same moving wheel, and no matter how it moves, it is essentially that wheel. We are all different facets of the Holy Spirit."
"But doctrine says, the Trinity is the unity of the Holy Spirit while having different persons..."
"False scripture. The Church has misunderstood the intended message from above."
Armand's face showed some surprise: "Could the 'Gospel' be wrong?"
With an expression of a serene smile, Horn replied, "The Gospels are from centuries ago. How could there be no errors in copying and reciting?
Moreover, must one be close to the Holy Tree and Miseria through scriptures? Believing entirely in books is worse than having none. Why can't people directly communicate with Miseria beyond the 'Gospels'?
If there is light in everyone's heart, then everyone can become a saint. Miseria has sent me to spread the Gospel to correct this mistake."
Seeing the mix of confusion and contemplation on Armand's face, Horn could hardly suppress laughter in secret.
This was Horn's 'patch' for his "Saint's Grandson" identity. Its essence is similar to Zen Buddhism and the philosophy of the Yangming School of Mind. In his homeland's European history, Münzer proposed a similar idea.
Horn could see that Armand was an intelligent person educated in scholasticism, and such smart people are often more prone to get tangled in this kind of paradox.
Rather than letting Armand's confusion ferment into doubt, it was better to make him even more confused.
As for the subsequent explanations, they were entirely disregarded, just like Horn's remote command.
Anyway, once the floodwaters recede, he planned to gather his faithful guards and escape, taking them and the wealth with him.