plumnovel #622 - Loud thunder
#622 - Loud thunder
The church lights flickered in the rain, the dim candlelight casting shadows on the statue of the Holy Lord hanging on the pillars. Its pupil-less eyes silently watched Ansel on the bed.
Ansel's face was slightly pale, and he was sleeping peacefully after drinking the medicinal soup.
If it weren't for the occasional kicking off of the lower half of the blanket with his bare feet, Bryson wouldn't have been able to confirm that the person in front of him was a young man under twenty years old.
A child under twenty years old had taught him more in three months than he had learned in twenty years at a seminary school.
Bryson turned his head to look at one side of the room. The cold wind knocked on the window, bringing the shouts of the mountain people and the sound of wood colliding from outside.
Lalor's hoarse shouts were mixed in with the rain: "Quick, pile up these fences! You two, dig the trenches deeper!"
Following his voice was Old Lafer's roar: "Did you pry open the blacksmith's shop? What are you afraid of? Just treat it as credit! Tie the daggers to the long wooden sticks, just like we usually hunt wild boars!"
"Those who are good at archery, come to the back! Just treat those cavalrymen as foxes and wolves."
Without knowing when, Lalor and Old Lafer had become commanders. Their shouts alternated, never stopping for a moment.
Under the gray sky, nearly two hundred mountain men and women were efficiently setting up pointed wooden stakes and fences around the church.
In the small square in front of the church, a semi-circular row of pointed wooden stakes stood upright, while mountain people carrying makeshift spears and flails made from daggers walked back and forth across the square.
It must be said that the martial spirit of the mountain people is more abundant than that of the plains farmers, not to praise the mountain people.
They usually have to deal with monsters, bandits, bears, wolves, pigs, and roaming beastmen from the deep mountains. Doing these things is easy for them. That's why the mountain people can be mercenaries; they don't need much training.
However, can these two hundred people really withstand the infantry led by two knights?
Listening to the shouts outside the window, Bryson slowly sat down, placing his hand on his knee.
Although these mountain people are unusually fierce, probably less than ten have the breathing technique of a knight, and they lack armor and weapons.
Is it really useful to just let them fight against the knights like this?
Moreover, according to Ansel, the Holy See may not allow the Salvation Army to directly participate in the war, and the local security officers have attitudes similar to those of Adrian Knight, belonging to the ambiguous type of fence-sitters.
If the Holy See chooses to compromise, then their monks and priests will probably only die in vain.
Even if those knights just want to take Ansel away, with Ansel's current condition, once he gets caught in the rain, a small cold will probably turn into a serious illness.
At that time, it will be a test of the knights' conscience, but the knights' conscience is what Bryson trusts the least.
Looking down at Ansel, Bryson didn't know if he was asking him or himself: "Is it worth it? Why bother?"
In the past, when Bryson was confused or encountered a crisis, Ansel could always say a lot of great truths or come up with good ideas, but now Ansel is lying in bed, not saying a word.
"What should I do?"
Bryson looked at his hands placed on his knees. Compared to the hands that only held a quill in the past, they had many more calluses and wounds.
He remembered where some of the wounds came from, but he had forgotten some of the calluses.
"Someone's coming!" A mountain man in charge of lookout on the wooden tower of the small church shouted down in the rain.
Bryson's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly walked to the window.
The mountain people around the church stopped what they were doing and looked into the depths of the rain.
The faint sound of horses' hooves grew closer, splashing mud and water as they approached.
Gradually, a cavalryman led two mule-riding followers, breaking through the rain.
Their figures were as blurred as ghosts, and rain flowed like small streams on the armor that reflected the dim light of the sky.
The leader was a tall man, wearing old leather armor and a tarpaulin cloak stained with mud on his shoulders.
The mountain people stood behind the trenches, wearing thin vests, hoods on their heads, and holding scythes, flails, and dagger-spears tightly in their hands. Many were shivering.
"Did you receive the letter?" The warhorse exhaled white steam, and the knight took off his helmet, revealing a shiny bald head. "Our martial law troops have arrived on the avenue. Hand over the two monks. If you don't resist, we won't kill innocent people indiscriminately. How about it?"
Lalor shouted at the knight, "Our monk is sick and can't be in the rain. Come back when it's sunny."
"You say he's sick, and he's sick? Let us go in and see if he's really sick?" The bald knight irritably tugged at the reins, pacing back and forth in front of the pointed wooden stakes.
"No, what if you come in and forcibly take them away?" Lalor continued, "Let one person come in without weapons, and I'll take him to see."
"What are you haggling about? Huh? What are you haggling about?" The bald knight completely lost his patience. "I don't care if he's sick or not. I'm going to take him away now."
"Then we have no choice but to resist."
The knight laughed angrily. He turned his head to his two followers and said, "Listen, he says he wants to resist."
"Hahahaha." The two followers riding mules behind him let out theatrical, exaggerated laughter.
Compared to the knight's and his followers' laughter, the mountain people behind the stakes and trenches gritted their teeth tightly, and the pitchforks and flails in their hands were even trembling slightly.
"For the last time, hand over the monks and the wool, and we won't kill anyone! Otherwise, when the martial law army behind me comes, it won't be so easy to talk to!" After the laughter, the bald knight threatened lightly.
The open space in front of the church was silent. The mountain people stood by the trenches and wooden stakes, exchanging uneasy glances with each other.
After all, hearing it from Lalor's mouth and actually seeing the knights arrive were two completely different concepts.
When the transcendent knight really stood in front of them, this sense of oppression was quite different from a few passionate declarations.
Only the rain dripped from the eaves, hitting the accumulated water and splashing up small ripples.
And some of the mountain people slowly retreated imperceptibly.
Rain hit Bryson's window. The shouts, laughter, and rain outside sounded like drumsticks beating on the window.
He stood by the window. The mountain people in the rain were like a field of wheat bent by the wind and rain, and the cavalryman was like an iron plow ready to crush them at any time.
Taking a few steps back from the window, Bryson looked down at Ansel, a face much younger than his own.
He looked around the simple church, which was more familiar and dear to him than the seminary school he had lived in for twenty years.
He had lived in the parish church for twenty years, but he had only stayed there.
But this place was different. This was his church, this was his place, and he wasn't staying here for a doubled salary.
Walking to the door, he picked up a flail leaning against the wall. When he raised his head, the hesitation on Bryson's face was replaced by a strange calmness.
Walking to the church door, he pushed it open. The rain hit his face, chilling him to the bone.
The mountain people looked at him, stunned one by one. Lalor strode over and asked with a frown, "Friar Bryson, why did you come out?"
Bryson carried the flail on his shoulder and said calmly, "This is my church, the Lord's territory. Without my permission, not even knights are allowed to step in."
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Rainwater flowed down his brow bones and into the corners of his eyes. Wiping his face, Bryson looked up at the cavalry in the distance.
He walked step by step to the front of the team, and the surrounding mountain people made way for him.
Taking a deep breath, Bryson straightened his chest, looked directly into the knight's contemptuous and interested eyes, and waved the flail forcefully: "This is the Lord's land, and it is also the home of His people. Your armor may be able to block spears, but it cannot block faith.
If you want to enter this church, you can, but before your dirty horseshoes step on the steps, please step over my corpse first!"
Bryson's tone was calm but firm, like a shepherd facing a pack of wolves. Although he only held a wooden staff in his hand, he did not retreat in the slightest.
The mountain people were stunned for a moment, and then clenched the weapons in their hands.
The leading knight raised his eyebrows, a trace of coldness flashed across his face. He rode his horse back and forth in front of the wooden stakes a few times. Seeing that the originally gradually disintegrating morale had stabilized, he smiled sinisterly:
"Since you insist on seeking death, then I will fulfill you, but I hope that you can maintain this courage later."
He didn't continue to speak, but turned around and waved to the cavalry behind him.
The hooves stepped on the muddy road again, gradually moving away, and the sound of their hooves faded into the rain again.
The rain was still falling, getting heavier and heavier. The mountain people outside the church stood by the trenches, with no more uneasy eyes.
Their eyes swept back and forth between the church and Bryson, and some people quietly left, but more people returned to their positions.
Lalor looked around and patted Bryson on the shoulder forcefully: "Friar Bryson, thank you."
Bryson just shook his head and did not answer. He leaned against the wall of the church, silently watching the busy figures of the mountain people.
Three months ago, these people clearly regarded them as strangers or even enemies, but now they had taken up weapons and were desperately fighting for the Holy Father Society.
These hands that usually farmed the land could actually hold weapons tightly today.
As the knight left, it seemed that the flames of war followed and disappeared, but Bryson and others did not relax their vigilance at all, but continued to patrol and send out scouts to investigate.
This time they didn't wait long, the lookout on the wooden tower of the church suddenly shouted: "There's movement, those knights are back!"
Everyone looked up, but they couldn't see how many people the knights had brought back, they only heard the approaching sound of dense footsteps in the distance.
"Get ready!"
"Blow the whistle, call the scouts back!"
"Everyone back to their positions!"
Under the shouts of Lalor and Old Lafer, the mountain people returned to the side of the pointed wooden stakes according to the measures to defend against bandits.
However, in the past they defended the knight's manor, but today they defended the church.
One spear after another was drenched in rain, sticking to the palms of the mountain people's hands. Their tattered clothes clung to their bodies, shivering from the cold rain, but they still stood behind the wooden stakes.
The wheat stalks on the thatched roof trembled, and people clenched their mouths tightly. Rainwater flowed down their collars into their backs, but they seemed unable to feel it.
The sound of footsteps and horses' hooves was close, closer and closer.
However, although there were footsteps and horses' hooves, they remained outside the door and did not appear for a long time.
This made their already tense minds even more tense. Why haven't they come yet?
"Can you see clearly, where are they?"
The lookout on the tower leaned most of his body out, trying to open his eyes in the rain, but did not reply for a long time.
Old Lafer was so anxious that he spun around in place: "Speak up, don't force me to go up and slap you!"
"They... no... why is it black and red... eh? Knight's manor, why?" In the blurred rain, the lookout's voice also became blurred.
"You bastard, give me an accurate answer, you pig-fucking beast!" Old Lafer was furious. At this time, the lookout was actually unreliable.
"No, I, I can't describe it, a group of mountain people in front, a group of mountain people in the back, with a dozen cavalrymen following... they're going to the knight's manor!"
"Ah?"