After a simple cleanup of the battlefield, Horn did not lead the Salvation Army to Joan of Arc Castle immediately, but instead temporarily stayed at a nearby noble manor.

After bandaging the wounds and arranging for the injured and deceased war monks, Horn was finally able to rest.

He hastily ate some bread and hot soup, unable to resist the deep fatigue any longer, collapsing onto the bed and slept until almost noon the next day.

However, upon waking up, Horn was surprised to find that due to the muscle soreness all over his body and a fractured thigh, he could not get out of bed.

Left with no choice, he called Jeanne, who carried him princess-style into a wheelchair and pushed him outside.

"Jeanne, you are so quiet today."

Jeanne murmured something in a voice as small as a mosquito, but Horn didn't catch it, though he could generally guess what she said.

He didn't respond, but instead suddenly asked, "Jeanne, who do you think would be faster if I raced Hilov in a wheelchair sprint right now?"

"Huh?" Jeanne was initially stunned, then playfully knocked Horn lightly on the shoulder, "Why do you always ask such disrespectful questions?"

"You laughed yourself, and yet you criticize me."

"I did not!"

"You're clearly laughing right now."

After teasing each other for a bit, Horn shifted the topic: "I know what you're thinking, but the soldiers who died in battle, it's not your fault. The fault is that we are too weak and the world is simply unreasonable."

"..."

"Deaths always occur in war, and we both must face and remember them."

"Hmph, I will remember." Jeanne huffed, "Someday, I will expel all those nobles, and the Thousand River Valley People will never have to go to war again."

"That day will come." Turning around to face forward, Horn leaned back on his wheelchair and shouted, "Armand!"

Just as Horn spoke, he felt a phantom pain in the wound on his eyebrow, pulled by muscle.

"Your Eminence, I am here."

"What were our losses in this battle?"

Moist sunlight swirled in the dim corridor as Horn's wheelchair rolled over the dust-covered floor.

"About 895 dead, over 400 severely injured, and more than 1100 lightly injured, nearly everyone is wounded."

"That many?" Although he expected it, Horn still felt a pang of heartache upon hearing the numbers.

After eating and living together for three months, Horn had grown quite familiar with these young men and felt the sudden loss of several comrades keenly.

Sensing Horn's slight depression, Armand quickly added, "But we've seized 788 warhorses, 320 full sets of knight armor, 277 ordinary breastplates, 489 chainmail and leather armor, and weapons like armed swords, spears, maul spears, and other supplies, still being tallied."

Hearing Armand's words, Horn felt slightly uplifted. He knew that as the Pope, he was the one person who could not be discouraged.

With these weapons, the territory and resources of Joan of Arc Castle, at least next time not as many will die.

These war monks died at the prime of their lives.

The average age of the war monks was under thirty. It was this group of young people who defeated Leia's most powerful force – the Imperial Unit.

It's rare enough for farmers to defeat the Imperial Unit, let alone defeat an Extraordinary Knight.

But the Salvation Army did it. This was the first time in the history of Thousand River Valley, and it won't be the last.

Releasing the gloom in his heart, Horn calmed down and continued to ask, "How are the Legion Commanders doing?"

"Victor, the Legion Commander of the Black Hat First Army, had his neck broken. He has a three-segment breathing technique, was salvaged with potions and forced monk blessings, not paralyzed, but needs rest.

Kolman, the Legion Commander of the Black Hat Second Army, had his right foot amputated below the ankle.

Rudilo, the Legion Commander of the Black Hat Fourth Army, was shot in the skull with a crossbow arrow. He survived, but the arrowhead remains in his brain.

Mengse, the Legion Commander of the Second Imperial Guard, screamed from wound cleaning all night, just woke up.

The Black Hat Third Army's Legion Commander Wuli was found with only his head, and the Black Hat Fifth Army's Legion Commander Chuck died after his chest was shattered by a horse's hoof. Colton, the Legion Commander of the Black Hat Sixth Army, was killed when his heart was pierced by an Imperial Knight."

Of the eight Legion Commanders of the Salvation Army, three died, four were severely injured, and only Dass, who commanded the lifting gun squad, sustained minor injuries.

Even Horn had to sit in a wheelchair due to a fractured right leg.

Passing through the admiring and fervent gazes of the war monks, Horn, sitting in a wheelchair, was pushed to the dining table.

Four oddly shaped wounded Legion Commanders sat at the dining table, looking at Horn seated in his wheelchair, they exchanged rueful smiles.

Now that they've taken Joan of Arc Castle, those who know understand they won, but those who don't might think they lost.

"Military Judge, write a report as soon as possible, record the battle history, and prepare for recruitment and compensation affairs." Horn instructed Armand while gnawing on the bread on the table.

Turning his head, he looked at the mud-smudged faces of the legion commander and the war monks before him, and couldn't help but laugh: "When we enter the city this afternoon, make sure everyone washes their faces. We must hold our heads high when we march in."

......

On the sticky wet grassland after the rain, a knight's sword gleaming with silver light was stuck in the mud.

Bernardo bent down, tightened his muscles, and pulled out the knight's sword, only to find in disappointment that it was only half of its original length.

Examining the luxurious longsword adorned with gold, jade, and gemstones in his hand, Bernardo recognized it as Bo Ao Lie's.

Staring blankly for a few seconds, he shook his head and tossed the extravagant sword into the basket on his back.

Carrying the basket with difficulty over the muddy ground, Bernardo was surrounded by the Defensive Army wielding shovels and digging.

They were ordered to bury the corpses on the spot to prevent any outbreak of plague.

Fresh sunlight pierced the leaves, turning the brown ground into a reddish-brown hue.

Shrubs, grasses, rocks... Bloodstains were everywhere.

The scent of mud mixed with the smell of blood, melded together in the steaming vapor, giving Bernardo a headache.

Broken armed swords stuck into the ground formed a fence, and dismembered arms and legs hung on tattered red-and-white round shields, supported by a few human bones, swaying precariously in the damp spring breeze.

Passing through these bloody scenes, Bernardo joined the other companions of the Defensive Army, dumping these slightly flawed broken weapons into the cart.

Bundles of long spears, armor fragments, and arrow shafts lay quietly in the cart, slowly leaving under the coachman's direction.

"Bernardo, lucky you're here. We've got discrepancies in the accounts again, missing 3 dinars, and we can't find them anywhere."

Before Bernardo could say anything, a sturdy man grabbed him by the neck and dragged him toward the tent.

"Didn't we assign a new accountant? Why is there another mistake?" Wiping the mud from his hands onto his clothes, Bernardo asked helplessly.

The robust man strode forward nonchalantly: "The new accountant made the mistake, what can we do? Speaking of which, aren't you a coachman? How come you're so good at arithmetic?"

"I originally wanted to be an accountant," Bernardo replied without changing his expression, "but I only learned from an old accountant for two days before my father fell ill and passed away. I had to become a coachman."

"Tsk tsk tsk, it's fine, I heard that over there, Your Eminence is in great need of accounting talents, and has specially opened a fast-track arithmetic course. You should attend, it's surely better than being a coachman."

"What about you?"

"I'm planning to enlist. The priest from the Saint Father's Association said that new recruits will be drawn from the former Defensive Army." The strong man tapped his chest, "I, Lefi, am bound to become a Marshal someday."

Listening to Lefi's boastful talk laced with the scent of sweat, Bernardo couldn't help but let his gaze drift into the distance.

Since morning, villagers from nearby had been arriving continuously.

They wore short garments, standing at the edge of the battlefield, not daring to get close, merely gazing from the hillside.

But as time passed, they got closer to the battlefield. The Defensive Army didn't stop them since anything of value had basically been picked clean.

Noticing Bernardo's attention shifting, Lefi looked in the same direction and laughed loudly: "Do you believe the first reaction is definitely to vomit?"

Before Lefi finished speaking, several villagers who approached the battlefield leaned against nearby trees and began to retch uncontrollably.

"There you go."

Wiping their mouths, the villagers did not leave but walked step by step toward the piled-up knight corpses.

They continuously identified among the bodies, and upon recognizing a familiar knight's corpse, they immediately burst into loud wails, as if trying to cry out all the grievances they had previously suffered.

Limpy, the priests of the Saint Father's Association went up to console them, but barely said a few words before the villagers jumped up, eyes red, and started pummeling the knight in a frenzy.

Only after the face was beaten unrecognizably, and their fists were pierced by bone shards, would the villagers stop.

The priests gently approached, guiding them aside, under the tents already set up. Batch after batch of villagers inquired about the battle and its outcome.

The monks of the Saint Father Order tirelessly repeated the account over and over, yet they couldn't hear enough, until someone shouted:

"It's the Saint's Grandson! The Pope, the Pope is here!"

At the end of the road, the Salvation Army and the sun banners appeared in everyone's view.

The villagers present immediately abandoned the monks of the Saint Father's Association and rushed toward the advancing Salvation Army.

Bernardo could swear he had never seen a Pope so warmly welcomed by the populace in his entire life.

With fervor bordering on madness, they raised their hands, persistently shouting Horn's name, bouncing and jumping by the roadside, throwing flowers and cheers at the Salvation Army with abandon.

Upon seeing the knight's corpses, remembering Horn's promises, and recalling the past pains, all the villagers knew exactly who the young man seated was.

He was the Pope who had slain the Duke, the Pope who had unveiled the blue blood, the Pope who had defeated the knights, the Pope who stood by the common people, the Pope of the Thousand River Valley People.

The Heaven-sent Pope!

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