"Boom—"
"Ssss."
Endless white mist exploded from the small linen ball on the wooden frame with a cross on it, enveloping Horn and the armored soldier pressing down on him.
The thick mist was like a barrier, obscuring the scene inside from everyone's view.
The villagers immediately exclaimed in disbelief, knowing that Holy Water and wine were the Church's two major sources of commercial profit.
For these impoverished villagers, using such an expensive substance like Holy Water on the Holy Grandson seemed wasteful and sinful.
Yet, some of them indeed harbored doubts in their hearts.
After all, the villagers weren't completely foolish; the binding of the Saintess and the Holy Grandson was seen as suspect by many.
"Everyone, wait a moment; let's see what happens first!"
An Armed Farmer feigned concern as he advised, then eagerly turned his gaze towards the white mist.
With this Armed Farmer's persuasion, the villagers gradually halted their advance.
Faced with the assurance of the official clergy and a bona fide Demon Hunter, the long-amazingly docile villagers of Thousand River Valley hesitated.
They no longer threw rocks or mud at the soldiers and stood there, neither advancing nor retreating.
Stretching their necks, they awaited the verdict after the mist dissipated.
The Iron-tooth Monk straightened his spine, a slight grin curling at his lips, and a compassionate gaze seemed to penetrate the white mist with a golden sheen.
This Holy Water Grenade was not ordinary Holy Water; it was concentrated to the extreme and mixed with other costly spices.
Forget ordinary people; even an armored soldier practicing the two-stage breathing technique would be affected by inhaling too much, let alone mere mortals.
Even if he weren't deeply influenced by the witch, he could at least seize this opportunity to attack and buy time.
"The Holy Water mist is dispersing. Take a good look; if he has nothing to do with the devil, then let me be burned alive..."
"Achoo!" A sneeze echoed from within the mist, revealing the scene gradually emerging from it.
The armored soldier was still mounted on Horn's waist, but his expression seemed elsewhere, while Horn struggled vigorously, even able to shout.
"Look, faithful ones, I'm fine. They are the devil!"
With visible speed, the Iron-tooth Monk's face turned ashen as he even took several steps towards the dangerous "Secret Faction," growling in disbelief, "Impossible! This is impossible!"
"Things have come to this point, what are you still waiting for?" Horn, feeling no reaction, shouted loudly despite the armored soldier being dazed by inhaling too much Holy Water.
"It's clear who the devil is!" Horn struggled and shouted hoarsely, "Don't be bewitched and corrupted by the devil."
From the moment of his arrival until now, this was the greatest loss he'd incurred, standing at the edge of life and death, unable to maintain his usual composure.
The villagers who hesitated before had their faces unanimously marked with terror and determination.
Though only ten brave soldiers dared to advance for rescue, the rest either hurled stones like rain or shouted encouragement, with few daring to flee.
"Rescue me or capture and kill those devils. Remote rule as Village Hall Bishop, a hundred acres of land, to be fulfilled immediately after the flood retreats!"
Pinned by the armored soldier, Horn promised loudly, unconcerned.
Upon hearing Horn's promise, the nearby villagers saw a spark in their eyes and immediately charged at the armored soldier, wielding pitchforks and wooden sticks.
With a leader, the remaining people began scattering and charging at Jilo's group.
Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, Jilo had no time for regret; he grabbed the Iron-tooth Monk's arm, who was still muttering, and yelled at the guards, "Let's kill our way out together."
"They're trying to escape!"
"Kill the devil, don't look back!"
Three to five young men from among the vagrant rabble rushed at Horn, mostly born of thugs, lacking fear but also lacking brains.
Landing on a rotten wooden board, the leading vagrant leaped up, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and delight as he delivered a powerful jump chop towards the armored soldier.
The sound of the blade tearing through fabric and flesh immediately lowered the villagers' footsteps by several decibels.
The crimson sword tip passed through the emaciated body, with shredded tendons and meat hanging from the snow-white bones, green and yellow intestines cascading from the abdominal cavity like a waterfall.
Booting the corpse off his sword, the armored soldier flicked the blood off his blade, showing a bloody grin at the motionless young vagrant.
Initially charging collectively, the villagers immediately hit the brakes.
"Don't get tangled up, hurry and go!" Jilo retreated slowly, pulling the monk.
Seeing the Demon Hunter retreat, the remaining soldiers also retreated, although two injured people couldn't move quickly.
As for the villagers of Red Mill Village, no matter how Horn yelled at them, they only advanced as Jilo retreated step by step, never moving if Jilo stopped, retreating if Jilo moved forward.
Maintaining a not-too-far, not-too-close distance, they just followed along.
With just these few people, aside from the godchildren of the Child Soldiers, the thirty-some men present didn't dare to initiate an attack.
Horn could hardly believe his eyes.
If he had let them confront the Knights, they might have been suppressed by the Knights with a high probability, maybe even ten out of ten times.
What was he thinking getting involved with this group of insects?
However, what Horn didn't know was that for these villagers, this was already a great show of courage and progress.
In the past, at a bellow from the Iron-tooth Monk, they would have surrendered their weapons immediately.
With a muffled groan, the Armored Soldier, who had an arrow in his knee, pulled out the wooden arrow.
After all, it was a crude arrow, simply blackened and hardened at the tip, without metal barbs.
He threw aside the bloodstained arrow, and the wounded soldier pulled a wooden tube from his pocket, took a sip, and tossed it to the Night Guard with an arrow in his arm.
Once the church's hemostatic and pain-relieving potion took effect, the tall Night Guard and the Armored Soldier with an arrow in his knee turned red-faced, breathing heavily, as if those bloody wounds no longer hurt.
At this moment, the short-legged little boys finally rested enough, bandaged their wounds, and charged again at the unarmored tall guard.
Standing beside the corpse of the short Night Guard, the tall guard learned from his companion's lesson, treating these children as worthy opponents in battle.
He shook his hook spear, tapping left and right at the long spears of the Child Soldiers, forcing them to expose their centerline.
And the Armored Soldier took the opportunity to thrust, if not for his injured leg hampering his movements, the Child Soldiers would have died multiple times over.
The Child Soldiers, after all, were too lightly trained and too young; while they could kill the first guard through a sneak attack, they couldn't replicate the same results against the wary adult guards and Armored Soldier.
In front of the two adults, the Child Soldiers struggled, their spear tips showing signs of instability.
Ultimately, the ground was slippery, and the only girl among the Child Soldiers, Fuchev, lost her footing and suddenly fell backward while retreating.
The tall Night Guard stepped forward, bypassed Duvalon standing in the front row, and aimed the hook spear at Fuchev's throat.
No time to think, Duvalon twisted like an eel, pouncing onto Fuchev, exposing his back under the sharp hook spear.
The sharp object sliced through the air, and the scent of blood seemed to rise up to the nose.
Just as the tip of the hook spear was about to pierce Duvalon's frail back, a streak of bright gold quickly dominated everyone's vision.
In the nick of time, the Night Guard's hook spear was firmly blocked by the bright gold.
It was a flag shimmering with golden light, with countless golden threads flowing like mist across the surface.
At the center of the flag, a deep golden Golden Chalice was emitting a dazzling glow.
Such a soft flag, when the hook spear's blade scraped over it, a metallic scraping sound erupted amidst the sparks flying.
In the Guard's brief moment of shock, the flag abruptly rolled up, transforming into a spiral at the tip of the pole.
Balancing the flag spear, Jeanne silently took a bouncing step, stepping on the spear's shaft, using it to propel herself forward, turning the spear tip into a golden line to stab at the Guard's chest.
The Guard had been through life-and-death struggles, sidestepping to deflect the thrust from his chest to his shoulder.
But it was useless.
The Night Guard couldn't utter another word as ten branch-like bloodstains extended from where the flag spear pierced, reaching other parts of his body.
Volcano-like water blisters appeared on the Night Guard's skin, his body paralyzed, unable even to scream.
Blood-colored steam emitted from his eye sockets as the liquid in his eyeballs boiled.
The next second, like an exploding pastry, grayish-white viscous liquid gushed out from the Guard's eye sockets.
Kneeling on the ground, the Guard exhaled a mouthful of light red steam before peacefully lying face down in the mud.
The nearby Armored Soldier quickly leaped aside, sweeping his sword to cut Jeanne's soft waist and abdomen.
But Jeanne didn't even look at him; her empty hand extended, and two flashes of lightning shot into the wide-open mouth of the Armored Soldier.
"Ah——"
Amidst the ear-piercing wail, the soldier was petrified and knelt on the ground.
Blood flowed from his nostrils and ear holes, and his mouth split into four parts, with mucous membranes detaching from inside.
He clutched his throat, coughing violently, solid blood clots and rotten flesh falling from his mouth, as if he might cough up his lungs, let alone pick up his sword.
With leather boots stepping on the soft corpse of the guard, Jeanne held the flag spear horizontally, directing a silent, disdainful gaze at Jilo and the Iron-tooth Monk.
It's over.
Whether it was Jilo or the Iron-tooth Monk, the same thought simultaneously surfaced in their minds.