Chapter 156 Blood Covering Clouds
After returning from the Duke's castle, Madeleine and Jeanne did not go to bed separately in the night, but discussed in a low voice.

"Do you also feel that the Duke's reaction is wrong?"

"Yes." Madeleine frowned. "Isn't he angry at all? Why does he look so overjoyed and even ask us if we have any?"

What Madeleine and the others handed over to the Duke was naturally the copied copy. The relics preserved by the unknown monk and the evidence found in the Blue Blood Monastery were still in Jeanne's box.

"This appointment is wrong." Jeanne was riding on her horse, her beautiful eyebrows knitted together, "Why did he appoint Bourvillef as his agent in the camp? Doesn't the Duke know that we have imprisoned and punished him?"

"Perhaps you think he has been in our camp for a long time, so he knows the situation?"

With doubts, Jeanna walked back to the former Pope's Palace from the camp gate. As soon as she arrived nearby, she saw someone pulling and tugging in front of the door.

Even a few beastman Varangian guards were pushing and shoving with a few refugees.

The most conspicuous among them was Bishop Bulwerf, who was dressed in white and was pulling at the apron of little girl Giles, with an unstoppable smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" Jeanne shouted angrily.

Seeing Jeanne and the others rushing forward, Burvelf let go of Giles and stepped back behind the two guards.

Jeanne recognized the two guards. Weren't they the refugees she had expelled from the camp earlier?

Jeanna's heart suddenly felt heavy.

"Bishop Bourville, what are you doing?" Madeleine stepped forward and asked.

"What am I doing? I want to ask you what you are doing?" Bourvilf stared at Jeanne and the others fiercely. "Why are you hiding the real evidence?"

"This is just a necessary measure to protect the evidence."

"I see, you want to sell the Duke and Chateau Jeanne d'Arc to the Empire?"

Burvelf had been badly tortured before, and now that he had become the Duke's contact person in the refugee camp, he naturally wanted revenge.

"We didn't mean that. I have to say that our willingness to cooperate with the Duke is very sincere, but that doesn't mean you can frame us at will."

Jeanne looked Bourvilf straight in the eyes.

She had thought about this day a long time ago, but she didn't expect it to come so soon.

After staring at Jeanne for nearly half a minute, Burvilf finally let go.

"Okay, I'll take a step back then."

Bulwerf glanced reluctantly at Gilles beside Jeanne, "But I am a bishop, but I don't even have anyone to serve me. Why don't you give me the maid beside you?"

"No." Jeanne saw through Burvillef's intention and stood in front of Gilles. "Everything must be done according to the rules of His Holiness the Pope. If you want a maid, I can arrange one for you, but it doesn't have to be Gilles."

"What a joke! I'm not from your camp, so why should I follow your camp rules?" Burvelf cursed. "You guys are hiding evidence and not letting me contact your people. I really doubt whether you have any intention of cooperating."

At this time, some refugees who had come to watch the fun had gradually come out and were discussing what was happening before their eyes.

Ever since Horn left with a large number of senior officials, there has been a sense of power vacuum in the refugee camp.

Even some of the "elders" began to recontact their former subordinates. The centurions were unable to maintain order, and public security became much more chaotic than before.

"Lady Saint, how about..."

"Mr. Jeanne, the Bishop is the Duke's agent after all."

"Your Majesty is not here, the Duke is not easy to mess with."

Among the crowd surrounding Jeanne, there were voices of hesitation from the refugees, but when Jeanne's angry eyes swept over them, those voices immediately disappeared.

"Sister Jeanne." Giles tugged at Jeanne's skirt and forced a smile. "Or I'll go to his place. I can just bear with it for a while."

"No, if you're there, there will be more people." Jeanna stood up and slammed down on the ground, "We can't open this hole."

"Oh, then there is nothing to discuss?" Burwerf turned and was about to leave. "I will write a letter to His Excellency the Duke right now. You will see if His Excellency the Duke will still provide you with food and fodder."

After these words were spoken, many of the ten-household heads and hundred-household heads of the new camp were shaken. After all, they had not gone through the long road of blood and sweat with Horn, and they did not have much willpower.

Moreover, the person in front of them was the bishop of a diocese. If the Pope was here, they would certainly not be afraid, but when the Pope left, they would be the most honorable person in the world.

"Bishop Bulwerf, please wait a moment."

"Oh, Monsieur Jeanne, isn't she just a maid?"

Many of these refugees who shouted had been punished by Horn. They did not dare to resist Horn, but they dared to resist Jeanne.

Jeanne did not have any high status in the eyes of the refugees, she was just a relative of the Holy Grandson.

In the eyes of many people, Jeanna’s transformation from a witch to a saint was purely due to connections.

Although Horn made the decisions on the security and punishment in the camp, Jeanne was the executor, and those hooligans and refugees had long been unhappy with her. Under such circumstances, some refugees who did not know why began to follow those hooligans who originally held a grudge against them and walked towards the bishop.

The people in the old camp moved to the middle to let Na sit, while the rest stood there at a loss.

Just three hours after Horn left, the camp showed signs of splitting into three factions.

Taking a deep breath, Jeanne winked at Coleman and raised two fingers, which was the gesture she had agreed on.

Two fingers means small move, which means declaring a state of emergency in the camp.

This is not a question of a maid, but of the camp, and of who is in control of these twelve thousand people.

She had not intended to start the game so early, but Bourvillef became arrogant after his success and even wanted to suppress her and Madeleine's authority.

The method he used was to win over those former gangsters and bandits who were originally on the margins, these destabilizing factors.

It turns out that only violence and death can bring the rogue villains to their knees.

Although this would put the refugees at risk of being accidentally injured and might lead to complaints, she was not the Saint's granddaughter after all, and this was the only way she could maintain her authority.

Jeanne was no longer the ignorant country girl she used to be. She had learned a lot about such things from "The Knight of Cefar", Danji's annotations and Horn's stories.

If necessary, she will not show mercy.

Just as Jeanne was about to shout, "Bishop Bourville is sleepy. Send him to the ice cellar in the west where he will suddenly fall ill and die," a voice pierced the sky.

"Do you still consider yourselves the chosen ones of Myrcella?"

The refugees in the camp looked up in surprise.

Burvilf shuddered so much that his legs became weak and he could hardly stand straight.

Under the moonlight, the crowd looked towards the source of the sound. Jeanne turned around in disbelief, her eyes widening.

Horn, who should have gone to the Holy See City, appeared in front of everyone again.

The crowd made way for him, and a young man in a simple padded jacket appeared at the end of the road, with a blood-covered cloud hanging around his waist and an indescribable light flashing in his eyes.

Every step he took seemed to be stepping on the chests of the rogues and vagrants surrounding Burlville.

"Your Majesty, you are back?"

"Good evening, Your Majesty."

"Oh, how did I get lost and end up here with the bishop?"

Facing the greetings from the refugees present, Horn did not respond. Instead, he walked towards the middle of the crowd step by step with an expressionless face.

He faced all the believers, with his hands behind his back, and said nothing.

No matter what the believers said or how they greeted him, he responded with silence, constantly looking back and forth at the crowd in front of him.

The believers stood there at a loss, gradually becoming uneasy. They whispered to each other and even began to whisper accusations to each other in fear.

But Horn remained silent, as if his silence would never end.

Then the entire camp was gradually swallowed up by the waves of silence, and everyone fell silent.

They closed their mouths and stared at Horn.

In an instant, the area in front of the Pope's Palace became so quiet that only the whistling sound of the wind remained.

Bulwerf opened his mouth to say something, but the sound seemed to be stuck in his throat and he couldn't utter a word.

It was only a minute at most, but to the refugees present it felt like a year had passed.

Turning around, Horn took two steps forward until he was in a position where everyone could hear his voice clearly.

Facing the refugees present, he did not need any so-called small office, but just opened his arms.

"Fellow believers, I'm back." He said in a low voice.

"Your Majesty the Holy Grandson, we like you!"

"Holy Trinity, the Holy Grandson is back."

“Guys, prayer really works!”

The voices supporting Burrwijn were immediately drowned out by those welcoming Horn's return.

(End of this chapter)