Chapter 76: The Pope of the Holy See City is a poor leader. Why don’t you replace him?
"Isn't this Pope too shameless? He's actually using the best-of-three strategy?"

The villagers complained as they bent over to pick up potato roots from the stream.

The villagers nearby joined in and began their daily abuse of the Pope.

After all, ever since Armand became the golden chanter, his daily activity has been to compile false news and jokes about the Holy See and the Pope.

The happiest thing in the Holy See is when the Inquisition knocks on the door and says, "You're wrong, Tom is next door."

The most common thing in the Holy See City is temporary difficulties.

When it comes to promoting Horn himself, it becomes like cutting down a cherry tree and bravely admitting a mistake, and then washing the dishes seven times to be strictly hygienic.

The Pope was given a little gulag shock at every turn. Food was free in the gulag, and oil paper bags were hidden in the gulag's sewers.

It has to be said that the speed and quality with which Horn produced these little jokes far exceeded the expectations of Armand and others.

These jokes have gone viral across the entire territory of the Papal States, and everyone is familiar with them.

In such little jokes, the fear of the church gradually disintegrated in jokes and wars.

"Since the Pope can't beat us this time, is he going to start a race walking?"

"It's so funny. Can the masters of the church walk faster than us? I might be a little more afraid of the knight competition. I'm their ancestor if they run away."

In the distance, under the towering monastery wall, milky white smoke was rising from the thatched hut.

The villagers, carrying baskets full of potato roots on their backs, were talking as they walked.

Ever since Horn announced to them that he would hold a second special race walk, this event has become the biggest topic of discussion among the people of the Gulag Papal State in the past two days.

"What is the church? The Holy See City has had so many popes. Has it ever changed? It's just a different soup but the substance remains the same."

"What was the old pope's name? Johnny the Eighth, right? Does he have the ability? He didn't even lay a solid foundation for a fight like this, and he's still playing dirty. He has no shame at all."

"What if he doesn't admit it in the end?"

"Hmph! You don't admit it? First ask the flail in my hand if it agrees." A black-hatted soldier waved the flail in his hand.

Another black hat soldier who had just joined the army said with admiration: "My great Papal State is invincible in the world."

"It has to be our own pope of Qianhe Valley."

Strolling along the path between the woods, the villagers were chatting and laughing, and frogs were jumping back and forth on the path.

They could see the smoke from the cooking fires there, which meant that dinner was about to begin.

For many refugees and public farmers, cooking smoke is a rather unfamiliar term.

Because firewood is also an additional expense for them.

Many times, they would take grain to the mill to exchange for bread, so that they wouldn't have to spend extra money on firewood.

On the lord's land, even a newly grown branch of a bush belongs to the owner.

In their Papal States, they can eat hot meals every day, and they can eat their fill every day, and their labor will be rewarded every day.

Lazy people will be punished, hardworking people will be rewarded, and when encountering unfair things, Master Danji will handle them fairly and will never show favoritism.

When they returned to their own shed, they could sing hymns together, drink hot soup, talk happily and tell jokes.

Generals, marshals, elders, bishops, those distant nouns were so close that they could see them just by looking up.

If someone had told them a month ago, they would never have believed that there would be such a life.

That is why they believed those jokes about the Holy See and stories about the Holy Grandson without a doubt, because the Holy Grandson really provided them with enough food to eat and good clothes to wear.

"Eighty acres of good farmland, and a gentle and kind in-law..."

"Children can grow up smoothly and build houses when they grow up..." "You grow your own food, the more you work, the more you harvest..."

Sitting on the hillside, Frick hummed along.

"Are you slacking off here? Frick!" Frick's hand holding the wine glass trembled and he almost spilled the wine.

Madeleine sat down next to Frick helplessly: "You can't be so lazy all the time, even if you are my uncle."

"You little brat, how did you see me being lazy? I just finished my work and am taking a rest here. Don't look down on me." Frick straightened his back and cursed angrily.

Madeleine glanced at him sideways: "Humor."

Frick did not respond to Madeleine's ridicule. He just sat on the muddy grass and looked into the distance.

The setting sun loomed, shining on Frick's shoulders, and the evening breeze blew gently, shaking the grass on the ground.

Frick hunched over like a statue carved from black stone.

"Boy, have you thought about what to do next?"

"Just be a good cardinal first, Master Frick. You are not afraid of the church, are you?"

Frick didn't say anything, he still held the glass of wine.

"Do you think Myrcella is truly merciful?"

"Why are you suddenly talking about this topic? Don't you want to die?"

Frick turned his head and chuckled: "If Myrcella is really merciful, why would you become a fugitive? Only I know how good your bread is."

"When this is over and Dean Juanno clears my name, I will open a bakery. Frick, I am so kind as to allow you to be my apprentice."

"Get lost," Frick cursed angrily.

He looked up again and saw some migratory bird flying by in the sky, chirping. He closed his eyes, but could only hear the croaking of frogs and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

"Master Frick, what's wrong with you?"

"At first, we just wanted to survive." Frick swung the wine glass in his hand. "That dog Durdafer refused to give us food, so we stormed his monastery. What crime have we committed?"

The muddy smell of grass and trees filled his nostrils.

"Later, Durdafu died, but he deserved to die. He starved so many people to death, and we didn't kill them. What crime have we committed?"

Frick's neck was already red before he even drank.

"They sent troops to suppress us without thinking twice. We just resisted for a while, but they wanted to kill me. So I just tried to stop them?"

"Master Frick, what are you talking about? This is just a special walking race..." Madeleine hurried forward and supported Frick's back.

But Frick still didn't care and continued to yell at the empty valley in front of him:

"We are in such a state now. Even if you say to put me in prison, or exile me, I have no objection. I have surrendered. But they still want my head. But they keep coming, keep coming...

I just want to survive, why is it so difficult? What crime have we committed? What crime have we committed? "

Frick's voice echoed and drifted away in the valley.

"What crime have we committed?" There was turbid foam floating on the dark beer in the cedar cup. Frick took a sip of the beer and lowered his head.

The echo in the valley gave him the answer.

"What crime?"

　p.s. There is another chapter to be written later. I have written half of it and will go have dinner first.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)