When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

#619 - Moonlight on the Cross

Henderson called it welcoming Bryson, but in reality, it was just a few villagers placing Bryson under house arrest.

Shouldered by armed farmers, he wasn't even allowed to change his clothes before being forcibly taken to the thatched hut at the village entrance, used as a lookout for bandits, and made to sit with the door wide open.

Passersby could see the uneasy Brother Bryson through the doorway, and the desolate, empty road at the crossroads.

Whenever this happened, someone would inquire, and after some hushed conversations, some would show doubt, others disbelief, and many more fear and anger.

News of the Mason Diocese's riot and martial law spread rapidly throughout the manor.

Fear, doubt, anger, panic... countless emotions swirled above the manor, mixing with the purple rain clouds, gradually spreading darkness across the entire sky.

Until dusk, when smoke rose from the chimneys, connecting to the bottom of the black clouds, all the people's emotions were like shattered clouds, and rain poured down along the lightning from the torn clouds.

The rain, illuminated by lightning, twisted like silver between heaven and earth, as if the thunder god Anton Wan from ancient Norn mythology was wielding a long whip, lashing the thatched roof of the hut into chaotic swaying.

Inside the thatched hut at the village entrance, an armed farmer who was also a carpenter struggled to install wooden shutters on the hut.

He turned his head, looking at Bryson huddled in front of the brazier and the three or five villagers who stubbornly refused to believe Ansel would summon an army.

"Don't wait, Brother Bryson," the carpenter-farmer said with a strange smile. "Your 'saintly brother' isn't coming back. You're not like him; you're one of us, a mountain dweller.

Sir Adrian has prepared ginger soup and hot towels for you in the main house. Just say the word, and we'll take you there."

Bryson wrapped his clothes tighter: "No, thank you."

"Brother Bryson, we're old friends. My son even gave you a calendar when he was learning to write," the carpenter said sincerely, earnestly stoking the brazier. "The wind and rain are getting worse and worse; at this rate, even this hut might be blown down.

That Brother Ansel clearly got the news and is using the excuse of getting medicine to call for reinforcements. What monk would care about a mountain dweller's ugly daughter with impure blood? Stop deceiving yourself; let's go."

"No, thank you."

The moment he said "No, thank you," Bryson regretted it. He had originally wanted to say "Okay, then," but for some reason, another sentence came out instead.

In the wind and rain, Bryson could no longer hear the sound of spinning wheels from every household. Perhaps it was drowned out by the rain, or perhaps it would never be heard again.

What a pity.

Looking at the dark red brazier, he didn't even know what he was holding on to.

Bryson had initially disliked Ansel, after all, did his little bit of fake conscience have to be so ostentatious?

However, from some point on, Ansel had become Bryson's pillar. He was the older one, yet he had to rely on Ansel for everything.

Could it be that he had become accustomed to relying on others and had even learned to flaunt that fake conscience himself? He should have agreed.

"Brother Bryson," the carpenter's ears twitched, pointing to the rumbling sound outside. "Do you hear that sound? It's a landslide or flash flood erupting somewhere in the mountains.

That Brother Ansel probably won't be back. Why don't you come with me to the knight's residence and have some ginger soup?"

Bryson, wrapped in a blanket, swayed back and forth, muttering something, but the carpenter didn't hear him clearly, so he asked again, "What did you say? Do you want to come with us?"

"No, thank you." Screaming "Okay, then" in his heart, Bryson still looked down at the brazier and repeated, "I said, no, thank you!"

"Tch." The carpenter spat in frustration and turned to leave the thatched hut with the other disappointed villagers.

Watching their backs in the rain, and the creaking of the hut's wooden frame, Bryson smiled bitterly, truly having learned a bad habit.

Harboring the last bit of hope, he stood at the doorway again, the rain instantly soaking his face, but he still tried his best to peer into the wind and rain.

Wait...

Bryson blinked, what did he see?

In the apocalyptic wind and rain, in the black fog that obscured his vision, there was actually a dark, blurry thing constantly wriggling.

"Ansel, Ansel!" Bryson almost screamed, he pointed incoherently at the person in the raincoat slowly moving forward and shouted, "It's Ansel, look, Ansel is back!"

Everyone who had left the village entrance hut rushed back, even the mocking carpenter.

They stood in the rain, stunned, staring straight at the person swaying back and forth in the raging storm, yet still moving forward firmly.

Bryson didn't know why, but his throat suddenly choked up, and he couldn't say a word, two warm streams flowed from his eyes.

Ansel's donkey had been blown away by the wind, he was covered in mud, soaked to the bone by the rain, and had even lost a shoe, with several splinters stuck in the soles of his feet.

There was only Ansel in the rainy night, without any sign of an army.

Bryson didn't even bother with his hat, rushing over and supporting the faltering Ansel: "Why did you come back at this time?"

"If I didn't come back, what would I do? I have to come back sometime, cough cough cough." Ansel coughed, choked by the rain.

Supporting Ansel, Bryson walked towards the village entrance hut where a fire was lit: "Don't you know what happened in the Mason Diocese?"

"I know, seven or eight knights including several earls sent letters, demanding a response from the Mason Diocese's prior." Ansel staggered, stepping on the slippery mud, "Bishop Madland has already dismissed that prior and taken over our side, I've reported the situation."

"Then why did you come back?" Because he was supporting Ansel, Bryson was also soaked by the rain, he said with difficulty, "Even Sir Adrian has jointly announced martial law."

"This is my diocese, where else would I go? Besides, I have important things to do." Thinking of this, the previously drowsy Ansel suddenly raised his head, he barely pointed to the village, "Go to the Laroel's house first."

"Go to the Laroel's house? Rest for a bit."

"Go to the Laroel's house first, I'll save that little bit of time, I can't wait even a second."

Bryson had no choice but to support Ansel towards Laroel's house.

The villagers and armed farmers no longer restrained Bryson's movements, they didn't speak, but surrounded Ansel and Bryson like stars surrounding the moon.

When Laroel opened the door, he almost couldn't recognize who this mud-covered person was.

It wasn't until he barely made out his face by the light inside the house that Laroel was shocked: "Brother Ansel, what happened to you, you... you look like this now..."

Before Laroel could finish his incoherent words, Ansel took out a cloth bag from his arms, a clean cloth bag.

Ansel carefully placed the cloth bag on the table and unfolded it, revealing three small porcelain bottles sealed with wooden stoppers.

Unlike his dirty body, the small porcelain bottles were clean and still carried some of Ansel's body heat.

Sitting down on the floor of Laroel's house, Ansel finally gasped for breath: "Allicin, I made it with the distillery in the church, feed it to your daughter, one bottle a day, and her illness will improve."

"You... I..." Laroel looked at the porcelain bottle in his hand, not knowing what to say for a moment.

Ansel couldn't help but curse: "What are you standing there for? Hurry up and feed her!"

He stared blankly at Ansel for a few moments, but didn't cry, he just bowed deeply to Ansel with his mouth shut before turning to pour the golden liquid into his daughter's mouth.

It must be said that the germs in this world may not have been ravaged by various random antibiotics.

Even allicin, which is relatively average in effect and far inferior to penicillin, has surprisingly good medicinal effects, especially in dealing with gastrointestinal bacteria.

After only half a bottle, in less than a minute, the waxy yellow color on Laroel's daughter's face gradually faded, and her breathing became steady.

It wasn't until the little girl's complexion gradually turned rosy that Ansel breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

However, as soon as he stood up, his legs weakened, and he almost fell to the ground.

On this trip, he had rushed to the church to collect garlic and start distilling, wrote a report and impeachment letter, and then took the allicin back in the storm and flood, barely closing his eyes during the whole process.

Fortunately, Bryson supported him in advance, preventing Ansel from falling.

After saying hello to Laroel, Ansel walked out the door with Bryson's support.

But for some reason, the yard was surrounded by people, including old Rafer next door and two armed farmers.

Ansel originally asked what they were looking at, but he was too tired, and only opened his mouth intermittently: "The village council has announced martial law, the wool may be delayed this month, everyone be patient, I'll try my best to mediate."

After saying this, he had no other strength, and was only supported by Bryson towards the village church.

The villagers in the heavy rain formed three layers inside and out, but they still didn't disperse, just staring at Ansel's departing back.

Whether it was an illusion or something else, the rain still stung his face, but the wind and rain seemed to have quieted down, and even the cross of the village church in the rainy night seemed to reflect the moonlight on the clouds.