Chapter 158: Unfair People, Come Forward and Listen [5k -in- Chapter]

The boots or straw sandals made a crackling sound on the mud, splashing up a lot of dust.

Countless torches, like fireflies in the night, gathered around the wooden platform and bonfire in the middle.

There was a tall torch at each of the four corners of the wooden platform, and three makeshift trumpets made of rolled iron sheets were inserted on each of the four sides.

More than 10,000 young and strong men gathered in front of the camp. They were not just 10,000 elderly, weak, sick and disabled refugees, but more than 10,000 solid young and strong men.

Under the torches, their faces flickered.

Among tens of thousands of refugees, there were more than a dozen bonfires, burning fiercely and making violent crackling sounds.

Around each bonfire there were men arranged by Horn, who were constantly displaying evidence and telling the story of the Duke's conspiracy.

Pieces of evidence were displayed in front of everyone, and names were passed among the crowd.

In fact, when they heard the news about blue blood wine from Jeanne and other refugees, they had already believed it about 80%.

I came here just for that last chance in my heart.

But when they arrived at the scene, the rest of the victims, the physical evidence and account books brought from the monastery, the anomalies in the accounts given by Horn around 1425, and the memories of some local elders, all that could have been dispelled.

They are not just one person, and when countless witnesses come together, it becomes irrefutable evidence.

"Quiet!"

"Everyone be quiet!"

"The Holy Grandson is here, be quiet!"

As the ten-household heads, centurions and black-clad soldiers continued to shout, the crowd gradually quieted down.

Standing in front of the altar, Horn finally turned around, holding a tin trumpet in his hand.

"I think you all came here today to seek the truth. Now, do you all know the truth?" Horn's voice without any emotion spread all around.

The refugees looked at each other, not knowing what Horn meant.

"You already know the truth, so what are you going to do?"

As if a bucket of cold water had been poured over their heads, the angry crowd suddenly quieted down a bit.

Yes, what should we do? Do we really have to play against those terrible extraordinary knights?
What would happen if they knew the truth about Blue Blood Wine and Green Pied Piper? Would they have to fight against the Super Knights?

On one side are the lives of their relatives and friends, on the other side are their own lives. The balance in the hearts of the refugees is constantly shaking.

Before they could figure out the problem, a sharp-eyed refugee suddenly pointed at the wooden platform and shouted:

"Look."

"Is that Bishop Bulwerf?"

Amid the exclamations of the refugees in the front row, a prominent figure was escorted onto the wooden platform by the Guards.

Bourvillef, the bishop of the Jeanne d'Arc diocese, was an upper-class religious nobleman whom the refugees dared not look up at.

Horn's emotionless voice sounded again:
"Now, Bishop Burvilf is in front of you. He knows everything about Blue Blood Wine. Here is his signature and testimony. What do you want to do?"

There were faint whispers among the people, but they did not even dare to raise a single question.

After so many years and so many brutal massacres, how dare they rebel?
The refugees' fear of the knights and the empire was deeply engraved in their bones, and this was something Horn had long understood.

That is the knight in their hearts, and that knight is much harder to kill than the knight in reality.

What Horn had to do was to add some fuel to the fire so that they would temporarily forget the knight in their hearts, at least until dawn.

Seeing no one responded, he looked around the crowd for a while, then pointed in one direction: "Believers, come up to the stage!"

"Me?" Colton pointed at himself.

A captain of the Guards company stepped forward, grabbed Colton's arm, dragged him out of the crowd, and pushed him onto the wooden platform.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Colton."

"I can't hear you! Take this and speak louder!"

Horn handed him the tin horn in his hand.

"My name is Colton!"

"Who are you here for? Tell me, louder."

"For, for..." Colton's stuttering voice suddenly became smooth, "For my child - little Colton."

"He died at the Blueblood Monastery, didn't he?"

"Yes!" Colton said through gritted teeth.

"Want revenge?"

"miss you!"

"Okay, I'll give you a chance." Horn took out a short dagger from his arms and stuffed it into Colton's hand, "Stab him."

Following Horn's direction, Colton saw Bishop Burwilf lying on the ground. He immediately took two or three steps back until his back was against the chest of the black guard.

"You, stop joking..."

Horn didn't force him, but just smiled and said, "Are you here alone? Is there no one with you?"

"No."

"Do you have a wife?"

After a full ten seconds of silence, Colton said dryly:
"Dead. After little Colton died, she went crazy and jumped off the roof and died."

Horn asked softly, "Where's your father?"

"He's dead. When I was a kid, he let us eat rice porridge, but he refused and starved himself to death."

"Where's your mother?"

"I haven't seen it. She died of complications during childbirth."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"My brother died of illness, and my sister was sold by my father."

After saying this, even the heavy breathing sounds disappeared from the scene.

"Then are you willing?"

"Hey, this kind of thing..." Colton raised his head and was about to say something, but when he looked into Horn's eyes, he couldn't say it.

"Are you willing?"

Colton looked down at the bishop on the ground. Horn didn't say anything, but the words "Are you willing?" kept echoing in his ears.

Are you willing?
When he woke up a little from his anger, he didn't understand why he had to come here tonight.
He found a way, took out his savings of many years, and changed his household registration to a local armed peasant.

In this way, he would have the opportunity to lease the farm from the Duke, run it himself, and maybe even marry a new wife. If he continued, he might become a new country squire.

So why on earth did he choose to come here today?

The cries of the refugees gradually faded away, and the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the night wind all disappeared.

He seemed to have returned to fifteen years ago, driving a rented skinny cow and secretly taking it to eat grass from the neighbor's house.

Sarisa recently dug up a valuable crescent-shaped grass from the bushes and sold it for a lot of dinars.

Little Colton still loves to cry and makes a fuss. He needs someone to watch him, otherwise he will cry until he is hoarse.

When did he become like this? What did he do wrong?

Did the lord suddenly change to collecting rent in kind? Was it because he was too tired that day and forgot to lock the door and it happened to be foggy?

Was it that day when he followed the footprints and brought the crying Salisa to the edge of the forest, but the forest ranger and the priest refused to let them go in to look for her?

Colton lowered his head and looked at Burrwijk's face. The bishop's face was full of tears and he looked at him as if begging.

Just like that year, he knelt on the ground and begged the ranger.

How similar they are. Colton was a little dazed. Would his little Colton have the same expression when facing the flesh-and-blood grinding wheel?
Colton's body began to tremble gradually, and under the gaze of everyone, he walked towards Burlwilf who was lying on the ground step by step, as if unconsciously.

"I didn't do anything wrong..." His murmur turned into a hoarse roar, "I didn't do anything wrong! It's you, it's you!"

The knife pierced into Burvelf's throat fiercely, and bright blood gushed out like a fountain.

"Give me back my little Colton!"

"Give me back my Sarissa!"

"Give me back my house!"

"Give me back my home!"

"I'll stab you to death!"

"I'll stab you to death!"

With every shout, Colton would stab down with the knife, blood splattered everywhere, and the rosy blood dyed the cross on the chest red.

His face twisted, Colton's eyes widened.

The corners of his eyes had been torn from exerting too much force, and blood was slowly flowing down the wings of his nose, like two bloody tears. I don't know if the blood flowed into the pupils, but the whites of Colton's eyes were full of red.

His arms kept shaking, but his fingers holding the knife handle held on tightly, and he kept stabbing the knife downwards frantically.

"You bunch of dog priests! You all deserve to die! You all deserve to die!"

"Little Colton, Salisa, I will avenge you! I will avenge you!"

With each stab, Bulwerf soon lost his voice, but Colton continued to stab him until he ran out of strength.

He sat back in a daze, looked at the corpse in front of him, and cried with his head tilted back.

The crying seemed to turn on a switch. The refugees below first sobbed quietly, and then the whole camp burst into loud crying like a flood.

Under the moonlight, with flames rising, on this plain, cries washed over everyone like a torrent.

"Cry, how many times have we cried?"

Standing in front of the wooden platform, Horn raised the tin horn and shouted at the refugees below.

"Look at us, look at us, what the hell are we in now?!
Who among us didn’t have a good life before? Even if our family was a little poor and we couldn’t eat enough, at least we had family and friends around us, and there was always a way to survive.”

Horn's voice became louder and louder, and then he asked like a roar: "Tell me, where are they now?"

After a full second of pause, Horn spoke again, but this time his words were calm and somewhat sad: "Where are they?"

Yes, where are they? The refugees were a little confused. Where did they go?
I don’t know when, they left one after another, disappeared, and never came back. Where did they go?

"You already know what the Duke wants to do."

"We were asked to endure hunger and cold, and we endured it."

"We were asked to work like slaves, and we did it."

"But now, are we still going to be like pigs and sheep, sending our offspring to their mouths?"

"Are we going to sit on the ground and watch the butcher's knife fall on our necks?"

"I am standing here tonight. My mother Myrcella asked me to give you these evidences. Why?"

At this point, Horn laughed at himself: "Why? I don't know... I don't know whether I am facing ten thousand living people or ten thousand cowardly pigs and sheep!"

"Five hundred years, what have we experienced in the past five hundred years?
Endless oppression, endless injustice, endless slaughter! But what did we do? We did nothing! "

"I didn't do anything!"

Horn ran back and forth on the wooden platform, waving his fists, while victims were pushed up one by one around the dozen or so bonfires to tell their stories.

"We exchanged beer for bitter wine, we exchanged wheat bread for black bread, the fields were shrinking day by day, and our loved ones were falling one by one.

This is the land of us, the people of Qianhe Valley, but we are wandering in our own home!"

Horn stood at the edge of the wooden platform, held out his hand to them, and roared sadly:
"Fellow believers, we have nothing left... nothing left!
We have lost our dignity, our future, our freedom, and even our next generation. We have nothing left.

All we have left is the head on our shoulders! Are you willing to just let it go? Forget everything and continue living?"

Amid Horn's incessant shouts, the sadness in the refugees' eyes gradually turned into anger. They gasped and stared at Burwilf's body on the stage.

First, someone threw a stone at Burvelf's body, and then countless refugees rushed towards the stage.

At this time, the guards could no longer control the situation. The refugees pushed away the guards in the front row and rushed onto the wooden platform.

They punched and kicked the corpse on the ground which was not yet cold, while some people in the audience were crying, some were screaming as if to vent their anger, and some were hiding aside and watching coldly.

"Brother will avenge you! Avenge you!"

"Die! Die! Die!"

Amid the chaos, Horn continued to chant in the crowd.

"Tell me, why are you here?" Horn's eyes were red. He stood on one side of the wooden stage and shouted to the refugees below, "Isn't it just for your grievances and relatives and friends?
Living, of course it is good to be alive, but we will die one day! When you die, when your soul is waiting in the world to go to hell or heaven.

Your flesh and blood, our loved ones, their souls will come forward and ask you, why did you die?
How should you answer? Died of illness? Died of old age? Died of starvation? Died of being whipped by the lord? "

Horn raised his tin horn and roared:

"No, no--tell them:

I die for fairness, I die for freedom, I die for justice, I die for the hatred of you who are dead, I die for the well-being of them who are alive.

I fell, and more people from the Thousand Valleys raised my flag!
Believers, hold high the banner of salvation. We will declare war on the devil and the demons! We will take revenge on the devil and the demons!

We will fight them in the fields, we will fight them in the rivers, we will fight them on the mountains, even to the death, and we will fight them in the Fire.

We must keep fighting, and keep fighting, until they disappear from our world. Only at that moment will the real Millennium Kingdom of Heaven come!"

At this point, Horn's chest rose and fell violently, and his originally high-pitched voice became low.

"You may ask, what about the devil? What about the demons? Who are they? Where are they? Instead of asking me this question, you should ask yourselves.

Where have our simple, warm homes gone? Where have our gray-haired parents gone? Where have our hungry children gone?

Tell me, where did you go?"

Pushed by the guards, the crowd gradually retreated from the wooden platform, but they could still hear Horn's shouts.

Horn gasped for breath and walked slowly to the front of the wooden platform.

He looked around at the crowd. Obviously, one corpse was not enough to vent all their anger. They were all waiting for Horn.

Waiting for Horn to say the last sentence, but Horn wants them to say it themselves!
"There are countless bodies and countless grievances!"

"Devil... demon... can't you see it?"

"There they are!"

"It's in that castle, on that throne!"

"In that church, under the icon!"

"Tell me, who are they?"

Horn turned his head and made a gesture to listen attentively to them: "Who are they?!"

"knight!"

"The Duke and the Empire!"

"The Church! And the King!"

Mixed with angry curses, at first they were sporadic, but later the roars grew louder and louder, and the refugees shouted in unison in anger and fanaticism.

"I can't hear you clearly!" Horn's face was grim, and he shouted at the refugees below with all his might, "Tell me, who owes the blood debt!"

"Bishops and nobles!"

"Bishop! Noble!"

"The bishop—the noble—"

Amid the chaos, the refugees' wave-like shouts gradually became more uniform, turning into two words that had been repeated countless times.

"While Eve and Adam were ploughing, did the nobles sit in the castle church and watch?"

Horn walked to the left side of the wooden platform and yelled at the refugees.

"When the houses, money and food were taken away, did the bishops and monks work harder?"

Horn turned and walked to the right side of the wooden platform and yelled at the refugees.

"Those who grow wheat can only eat chaff, and those who weave cloth can only wear rags. This is our life!"

Returning to the center from both sides, Horn shouted at the crowd with a ferocious face, "Enough! Enough! Enough! I say enough!"

Horn's voice came through the tin horn, but then stopped abruptly.

A gust of night wind blew, dispersing the echoes in the night sky and shaking the light of the torch. Horn closed his eyes and opened his arms.

The world became quiet, with only the sound of wind and the crackling of burning flames.

There were more than ten thousand young men, and no one spoke. Their red eyes were all fixed on Horn.

The moonlight fell on his shoulders, and Horn slowly opened his eyes, with magical light in his eyes.

There was no dancing, no strange cries, no mumbling of "I am the Holy Father".

But when Horn opened his mouth, everyone could hear that his voice overlapped with the gods, and countless sacred and solemn voices were speaking with him:
"Blood covers the clouds, weapons are sharpened, and the Holy Grandson is sent by Heaven to kill the unjust."

"Those who are not fair, come forward and listen, kill them all and bring peace!"

Drawing the Blood Cloud from his waist, Horn pointed it towards Chateau Jeanne d'Arc.

"The old gods are dead, a new king is in place, the stars are back in place, good luck to Middle-earth!"

"All believers, hold your swords and follow me..."

The red light from the blood-covered clouds almost dyed the sky red, and Horn's eyes were bloodshot:
"swing!"

“All!!”

"Monster!!!"

"magic!!!!"

(End of this chapter)