When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#621 - Kill them all (4k chapter)

Chapter 617: Kill Them All… Perhaps It's for the Best (4k Chapter)

The gloomy sky hung low, and fine rain drizzled onto the courtyard of the knight's manor, making the muddy ground even more slippery.

A group of villagers gathered here, whispering in small groups, their faces showing deep unease and fear.

Adrian Knight stood on the second-floor balcony, coldly looking down at the crowd in the courtyard. He held the black envelope in his hand, a hint of annoyance flashing between his tightly furrowed brows.

"A threatening letter?" He turned to Henderson, who was standing beside him, and questioned him angrily, "Who allowed you to do this? You're just gilding the lily by arbitrarily altering my plan!"

Henderson wiped the cold sweat from his forehead as he whispered in defense, "It's probably to make the mountain people even more afraid, so they understand that relying on you is the only way out."

"Foolish! I wanted a surprise attack!" Adrian snorted coldly, slamming the envelope heavily on the railing. "Since it's already done, we can only make the best of a bad situation, but remember, this is the last time."

"Understood, understood," Henderson nodded repeatedly, sweat mixed with rainwater dripping down his cheeks.

After all, they were all neighbors; every family could claim a few relatives. If it were discovered later that his son had led people over, he would be finished.

After thinking it over, Henderson ultimately left a glimmer of hope.

After reprimanding Henderson, Adrian walked down the stairs, wearing a hooded cloak as he entered the courtyard.

His appearance immediately attracted the attention of the villagers. The noisy discussions gradually subsided, and all eyes focused on him.

"Villagers," Adrian's voice was low and powerful. He raised his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet. "You've all seen the letter. I can tell you that the rebels are indeed approaching here. They are strong, and we can hardly resist them."

Hearing this, the villagers became even more fearful. Some women even began to sob softly.

"However, you don't need to be afraid," Adrian's gaze swept across every face as he continued, "I have arranged for people to reinforce the walls and mobilized armed farmers to defend. As long as everyone stays in the manor, you will be safe!"

Murmurs arose from the crowd. Some nodded in agreement, while others looked doubtful, but most just stood there blankly, obviously not knowing what to do.

At this moment, a voice suddenly rang out: "We can't just keep defending like this, can we?"

Adrian Knight immediately said righteously, "If reinforcements don't arrive, I'm afraid I'll have to negotiate with them. They are just angered by the Holy Father Society, their intentions are good.

As long as we can save our lives and the food for the winter, everything else is secondary. I'll give them whatever they want, and even if they want me to join them, I won't hesitate!"

The armed farmers applauded and cheered continuously, and some tenant farmers followed suit.

However, amidst the applause, a dissenting voice was so jarring: "What about those outside the courtyard? Anselm the Monk is sick and still in the church, what should we do?"

"Yes, our spinning thread and wool are also hidden in the church!"

"If the rebels take the wool and payment, won't we have spun for nothing?"

"What time is it, still thinking about spinning thread? That's enough," a gaunt armed farmer glared. "Everyone should take care of themselves first!"

Seeing that the situation was somewhat shaken, Henderson immediately stood up and raised his voice in a hoarse tone: "Everyone! The Knight has already arranged a defense plan for us. As long as we stay here, we will be absolutely safe."

He pointed to several worried villagers, his tone stern: "The matter of the church has nothing to do with us! If you run out now to your deaths, don't blame me for not warning you."

The originally noisy crowd instantly quieted down, and the sound of rain was clearly audible in the courtyard.

The villagers looked at each other, their eyes filled with hesitation and struggle. Some lowered their heads, looking at the muddy ground; some clenched their clothes, seeming to want to say something, but ultimately didn't open their mouths.

"But…" Finally, an elderly farmer opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and low. "Anselm the Monk has done so much for us. Now that he's sick and alone in the church, are we really going to abandon him?"

These words seemed to strike a chord with everyone.

The villagers who had been hanging their heads all raised their eyes, their gazes carrying an unspeakable emotion.

"You make it sound so easy!" The gaunt armed farmer sneered disdainfully. He pointed at the old farmer. "The rebels want the monk's life! If we run to save him, we'll end up losing our own lives too!"

These words made the villagers lower their heads again. The glimmer of hope that had just been ignited seemed to be extinguished by the cold rain.

"And those wool, spinning thread!" Another middle-aged farmer couldn't help but say. "That's our life-saving money for the winter. If it's all taken away, how will we live?"

Henderson said coldly: "That little bit of wool isn't worth much! What's the use of money if you lose your life? Everyone should think clearly. The Knight has guaranteed to protect our lives, that's enough!"

"But… but Anselm the Monk…" The young farmer muttered, but he no longer had the courage to continue. His voice was quickly drowned out by the silence of the villagers.

The rain hit the cloaks and eaves, dripping and clattering. This sound made the air even more dull, so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Gradually, the villagers' emotions tended to calm down, or rather, a helpless calm.

They no longer argued, no longer retorted, just stood there mechanically, letting the cold wind and rain beat on their faces.

Henderson looked around and said coldly: "It's good that you understand. Staying here is the best protection for yourselves and your families."

Someone started to move, and then the villagers retreated to the eaves and the base of the walls.

They lowered their heads, their steps heavy and stiff, like a flock of birds seeking shelter in the cold winter.

No one mentioned the church anymore, and no one mentioned Anselm the Monk anymore. It seemed that the monk who had risked his life for them had been forced into the depths of their memories.

The rain was getting heavier and heavier.

Standing in the center of the courtyard, Adrian watched all this and breathed a sigh of relief.

He glanced back at Henderson and said in a low voice: "Now that things have reached this point, don't let these people cause any more trouble."

"Understood, understood." With a flattering smile on his face, Henderson nodded repeatedly.

Unfortunately, his words were interrupted by a burst of rapid footsteps.

"Look, look," a mountain boy suddenly pointed to the branches outside the courtyard and shouted.

Outside the wooden fence, in the flying rain, Lalor, wearing a leather vest, was clinging to a tree trunk, climbing with difficulty.

His clothes were already soaked by the rain, and mud had congealed into streaks on his face. Only his eyes were as bright as two burning flames in the rain.

Was he preparing to jump into the courtyard to take shelter? But what about his daughter? Hearing the noise, the villagers raised their heads.

However, as soon as Lalor spoke, the mountain people couldn't help but lower their heads.

"Brother Bryson has sent someone to bypass the main road and request reinforcements from the higher-level monastery. They will arrive by evening at the latest!" Clinging to the branches, Lalor shouted into the courtyard.

"Those rebels have fewer than 100 soldiers. It's raining, their knights can't perform well. We can set up trenches and barricades around the church and definitely hold out until reinforcements arrive.

I would like to ask everyone to come out and defend our homes and the constitution together at the rural church!"

The villagers in the courtyard were silent, no one responded to him. The rain hit the ground, banging, like muffled drumbeats.

Before the villagers could reply, Henderson rushed out first: "You're crazy, staying outside will be implicated by those two monks."

"Is there no one? We don't need too many people, just enough to gather a hundred adult men," Lalor ignored him and continued to shout at the crowd.

"You're possessed by the devil, but everyone else isn't," Henderson shouted at Lalor on the tree. "I'm telling you, not a single person will follow you today."

"Is there no one? Is there really no one?" There was even a hint of despair in Lalor's voice.

In this silence, among the villagers who were hanging their heads, a voice finally came.

"But why? Aren't we doing well staying here?"

"Yes, this is the Holy Father Society's own fault, it has nothing to do with us."

The villagers' voices were hesitant and hoarse, but in this seemingly weak questioning, Lalor seemed to hear something else.

"Brother Anselm has already said that someone is instigating the matters in Mason Parish behind the scenes, and the Holy Father Society guarantees to give everyone a reasonable explanation," he said loudly with effort.

The villagers looked at me, I looked at you, and there was even a bit of wavering in their eyes. Henderson immediately stopped them: "He's with the Holy Father Society, of course he'll say that. Why should we believe him?"

"I have a fifteen-year-old child. If Brother Anselm hadn't risked the storm to get medicine, she would have died," Lalor's almost broken-sounding roar, clinging to the tree in a mess, clearly entered everyone's ears.

"She finally survived, and I hope she lives in a country where monks are willing to brave the wind and rain to get medicine for the mountain people, rather than a country where priests only use sacraments to collect money!"

"Do you believe someone who works so hard for us that he can't even stand up straight, or do you believe someone who forcibly demands grain with a whip?"

"Do you believe someone who is willing to provide wages for labor, or do you believe someone who forces us to work for free?"

"If the mountain people abandon such a good person, then I ask you, who else will help the poor and desperate mountain people?"

The mountain people, who had been hanging their heads, raised their heads one after another. The misty rain wet Lalor's hair, but his face was as red as fire.

The firelight in the courtyard illuminated his face, like the white light reflected from the cross that night.

"If you think that a person who harvests grain for us, finds ways to make money for us, and cares about our lives from the bottom of his heart is a bad person, then stay here."

"Watch the person who has worked hard for you, who has fallen ill in bed for you, and who has sought benefits for you fall into the hands of robbers and bandits, then stay here."

Amidst the scolding of Henderson and other armed farmers, Lalor stepped on the branches and grabbed the tree branch with his right hand, actually standing up on the swaying tree.

He widened his eyes and let out a beast-like roar: "Stay here, stay here, like a coward waiting for the storm to pass."

"Open the door, and the world will still be the same as before!"

"If you can't finish harvesting your wheat, it will be snatched by others. If you can't finish threshing your grain, it will be stolen by others. No one will uphold justice and help you!"

"If you lack money and face famine, and are about to starve to death, no one will hold wool in one hand and silver coins in the other to help you!"

"If your children get sick, everyone will only stand by and watch, and no one will get medicine for you!"

"If your children are made into wine, others will only lament their bad luck, and no one will seek justice for you!"

Unknowingly, between the lead-gray clouds and the yellow manor, only the sound of rain and Lalor's roar remained.

"If you don't want the world to be like this after opening the door, then come with me."

He gasped for breath, even casting a sad and compassionate gaze over the tenant farmers in the courtyard who were looking up, and jumped off the branch without saying a word, disappearing behind the fence.

The cold wind with rain rustled on the farmers' clothes. No one spoke, no one made any movement.

They stared blankly at the swaying branches, as if Lalor was still there.

But beyond those branches, it seemed that the rural church in the distance had already fallen into a sea of fire.

That refined but never arrogant young monk and that cowardly but amiable middle-aged priest were wailing in the flames, turning into charred skeletons.

Those precious wools, those yarns that were finally spun, were licked by the flames and turned into fluff and black ash.

Not only Henderson, but even Adrian Knight felt that the atmosphere was wrong.

Under the pressure of Adrian's eyes, Henderson had to stand up and clear his throat and shout: "Do you really believe what he said? They've only been here for a few months. Not only us, but the people in the neighboring Mason Parish have been here for decades. Don't you believe them?"

No one responded to his words, only the crackling noise of the rain hitting the roof.

Only a middle-aged farmer wearing a straw hat sighed: "It's the first time I've seen a monk willing to apologize to farmers."

The previously densely standing team stirred. Old Laffer shook off his wife's pulling hand and suddenly walked out of the crowd, walking towards the door alone.

Behind him were his silently weeping wife and Little Laffer, protecting his mother.

"Old Laffer!" Henderson rushed up in exasperation, reaching out to stop him, his face full of anger. "Are you out of your mind like your brother?"

"I owe him a favor. He returned my spinning wheel to me."

Pushing away Henderson's hand, Old Laffer stepped out of the courtyard in front of the manor.

Following Old Laffer, several farmers walked out. Henderson questioned them as well, and the answers he received were varied.

"The Sickle Brotherhood threshed grain for my family for free, and I have to return the favor."

"They helped me buy and sell spinning thread for free, I have to go."

Henderson choked, unable to speak. His face flushed red as he turned to the idlers and armed farmers standing at the edge of the main house. "Stop them! What are you waiting for?"

But the idlers and armed farmers just stood there, none of them moving.

They exchanged glances, no one wanting to take the risk. These people were the most shrewd, the best at reading situations.

In this atmosphere, under these circumstances, who would dare to stop them?

Helpless, Henderson could only look at Adrian.

Adrian's eyes shifted from shock and fury to something unreadable. After a long silence, he finally exhaled. "Let them go. They're seeking their own death!"

One person led two, two led three, and soon the tenant farmers were leaving the yard in droves.

Their steps were slow, but resolute, like a surging, silent stream flowing towards an unknown destination.

In the wind and rain, no one spoke, no one looked back.

No matter how Henderson tried to persuade or block them, he couldn't stop their silent, moving steps.

The autumn wind blew across Adrian's tightly furrowed brow and ashen face. He stared at the empty courtyard, not knowing what to say.

At this point, the knight's main house, besides the armed farmers, only had a hundred or so elderly, weak, and disabled people, along with the adult farmers who stayed behind to care for them.

Rainwater soaked Adrian's cloak, and his murmured words sounded particularly cold in the wind and rain: "Kill them all… it's for the best."