Saintess?
The remaining people gradually came to their senses. According to Master Holy Grandson, Jeanne was not a witch but a saintess with the same powerful abilities as a witch.
At first, most people found it absurd, but after pondering, they had some enlightenment.
Yes, Horn is the Holy Father's chosen Holy Grandson, so Barnett, who wanted to kill Horn, is evil and a devil, while Jeanne, who saved Horn, is good and must be holy.
It couldn't be that Master Holy Grandson is the devil, right?
But this is tantamount to saying that they just helped the devil and misunderstood Saint Jeanne.
This inevitably made people uneasy.
After the crowd calmed down, those who cursed Jeanne or even threw stones were drenched in cold sweat.
They looked evasive, especially Pique, Alina, and Andok, who were pointed out earlier. They wanted to speak but tried hard to hide their bodies behind the crowd.
"Indeed, it was Devil Barnett who confused everyone, leading you to misunderstand our Saint Jeanne." Horn cleared his throat and deliberately made a gesture of understanding, "All of this was the devil's fault; it was he who made you do it. Am I right?"
"Oh yes, yes, it was all the devil who confused us."
"As expected of Master Holy Grandson, you see through everything!"
"Tsk, even though that's the case, you all once helped the devil. I'm afraid there might be some devil worshippers among you." Horn spread his hands, putting on a look of dilemma.
"Impossible, absolutely impossible."
"Master Holy Grandson, I report that the younger son of the Patemon family is Rekado's child! He must be a devil!"
"I'm not a devil, that's my biological sister, how could I…"
"Master, I want to atone. I have a hundred-year old atonement ticket, can it be used?"
In an instant, over a hundred villagers started to bicker noisily as if a pot had exploded.
They cursed and accused each other, shoved and quarreled, turning red in the face, competing to report to Horn which family was connected to the devil and to clear their own suspicions.
The villagers, who had initially been in sync, began to brawl. Shoes were lost, robes loosened. Those accused punched the accusers, accusers punched the mediators, and mediators punched passersby.
This chaotic scene puzzled Horn.
I didn't say anything, so why did they start fighting each other?
Are you all orcs? How hungry are you that you still have the energy to fight?
Believing blindly on their own, following blindly on their own, being fanatical on their own, remembering only for five minutes, and being swayed by a mere word from others.
Horn truly couldn't understand whether it was just farmers in another world like this, or if people in the medieval ages were all like this?
"Alright, alright, I see everyone's intentions. You are all very willing to help me find the devil worshippers." Clapping vigorously, Horn immediately stopped their acts, "Since that's the case, I have a proposal."
Releasing Jeanne's waist, Horn trudged through the mud and water, one step deep, one step shallow, to the side of Barnett's still twitching corpse.
Struggling to pull off Barnett's armor, Horn dragged him to the side.
Casually picking up Jeanne's pitchfork, Horn once again stood before all the villagers: "A devil worshiper surely can't harm a devil. You each come up one by one and stab this devil named Barnett with this pitchfork, and I'll know you're innocent."
After finishing, Horn cast a meaningful glance at the few armed farmers and wealthy farmers hiding behind most of the peasants.
They visibly tensed up.
"Please help me supervise. If someone doesn't stab, or stabs too lightly, that person is a devil worshipper, and you should report them to me. How about that?"
Planting the pitchfork in the green grass, Horn turned back to Jeanne, whispering for a while.
Jeanne nodded heavily, turned around, and left.
Standing before the pitchfork, most of the peasants, dressed in gray and yellow coarse linen clothes, were still hesitant.
Their heads were huddled together in small groups, whispering and encouraging each other.
Although Barnett was a knight, he was at least a noble, and usually very intimidating. How could they dare attack a noble?
A dead noble is still a noble, and a noble's corpse is still a noble corpse.
"The rain is getting heavier, and it's getting late." Horn casually reminded, "Originally, it was the devil's ban against entering the forest, which should be lifted. But I'm afraid that devil worshippers might escape into the forest. What should we do?"
The whispering grew more intense.
After a while, Jeanne finally returned, carrying two heavy, bulging burlap sacks.
It had to be said that Jeanne's strength had grown considerably after her awakening. These sacks, about sixty pounds each, she carried effortlessly.
Placing the two sacks at his feet, Horn opened the mouth of one bag to show the villagers.
Inside the bag was white rice, its tempting aroma filling the air.
"To compensate everyone for the loss of not being able to enter the forest, these one hundred and twenty pounds of rice are given to you for dinner." Horn tied the bag tightly again, "Stab this devil once, and get half a pound of rice."
Half a pound of rice!
What a terrifying term. They hadn't eaten for five days, surviving only on dirt, bark, and the last bits of rice bran.
A full half-pound of rice! For adults and children alike! The sounds of swallowing were non-stop; that damned Devil Barnett had hidden as much as a hundred and twenty pounds of rice?!
Finally, a figure stepped out from the crowd—it was the young monk whom Horn remembered being called Armand.
Horn raised an eyebrow, thinking he was going to stir up trouble again, but to his surprise, this young man lightly drew out the pitchfork that the lightning had melted down to a single tine, and walked to the corpse of Barnett.
He pulled down Barnett's woolen trousers, exposing his pale buttocks, and directly stabbed the pitchfork into his buttock, down to the base of the tine.
Pulling out the pitchfork, the young monk held his nose and stuck the blood-smeared pitchfork back into the ground.
"Where's my rice?"
"Do you have a pocket?"
Seeing the young monk lift his robe hem to make an impromptu pocket, Horn wasted no time, grabbing a large wooden ladle and scooping a spoonful into his pocket.
"Damn it, that's the ladle Master Knight uses to collect grain. That one scoop is way more than half a pound!" someone in the crowd shouted in distress.
Soon, a second person appeared, then a third, fourth, with several new bloody holes added to Master Knight's buttocks.
It was like an avalanche; more and more people surged forward, even starting to fight over the pitchfork or accusing others of not stabbing deeply enough.
Some people, to prevent gossip, stabbed several times in succession, but whether it was to clear suspicion or out of spite was unknown.
Under pressure, those armed farmers and wealthy farmers eventually had to take up the pitchfork and collect their rice.
After the two bags of rice were claimed, everyone ignored the rain—there was no fire to start, so they just clutched it in their hands and ate it raw.
They had been hungry for so many days; they couldn't help it anymore.
Many people swallowed it down in two or three bites, while a few with some rational thought only ate a couple of bites, preserving the rest as a reserve.
Who knows when the flood will stop?
After eating a few mouthfuls of rice, Horn prepared to deal with the aftermath of Barnett.
Pinching his nose, Horn stood before Barnett's corpse.
Riddled with over a hundred bloody holes, in this warm, humid weather, and with mosquitoes crawling around, Barnett's corpse became unbearably stinky within just half an hour.
But regardless, the corpse had to be disposed of. Villagers' testimonies could be dismissed as being starved into delusion; the bishop was always indifferent.
But if there were solid evidence of a corpse, then even if Barnett was just an unknown country knight, a thorough investigation would follow, possibly with a demon hunter dispatched.
Knights were somewhat part of the nobility.
If Horn needed to lighten his load for the escape, he would have to destroy the body.
Originally, Horn had considered having someone light the body on fire in a wooden hut, but the rain was too strong; there was no way they could start a fire, and with this much rain, it wouldn't burn completely.
Even if they managed to start a fire, who knows when the rain would stop? Causing an epidemic would be troublesome.
After much thought, Horn called a few strong young men to strip Barnett of his armor, use the sharp tip of Barnett's falchion to smash his face beyond recognition, and together they tossed him into the floodwaters.
Staring at Barnett's body in the floodwater, Horn thought to himself.
By the time the flood subsides, Barnett will either have rotted beyond recognition or have drifted out to sea.