Chapter 411: Chapter 393: Are We Going to Lose the City Right Away? (2-in-1 Chapter)
"Just let them leave like that?"
Martin looked at the merchants with large and small bags, puzzled, and questioned Armand.
After all, keeping the guards of these merchants would at least add more than a hundred troops, and they are all elite sword and shield soldiers.
Armand stood on the wall, coldly watching the merchants walking below: "Since we can’t keep them, it’s better to drive them out than to let them be a hindrance inside the city."
If time wasn’t so pressing, Armand would have wanted to eliminate them entirely.
For a small group of stubborn individuals, only violence and physical eradication can completely eliminate their crimes.
From Gulag to Joan of Arc Castle, Armand had understood this truth more than once.
These wealthy merchants and city councilors, dressed in silk and brocade, sitting daily on velvet cushions in City Hall, should have been the representatives of Xiaochi City.
But they preferred to escape, abandoning all their property, shops, and workshops in the city, rather than pay to hire nearby Armed Farmers and Knights or stay to defend.
This wasn’t the only time; last time during the cellar incident, those merchants turned city councilors firmly chose to stand by the bishop.
The magnificent cellar event was surprisingly spearheaded by small clerks and masons.
These merchants only fled before the decrees arrived and returned once they had left, once again becoming city councilors through reconciliation with the Church.
Now, those who firmly stay to defend their homeland and never admit defeat are still the tenacious ordinary workers and small citizens of Xiaochi Town.
They took out what little money they had left to order leather armor, helmets, and daysticks, sewing leather robes and short boots for other comrades for free.
Martin remembered trying to persuade these city councilors to stay, only to get responses like—
"With all due respect, sir Martin, with Xiaochi City’s current state, I can’t see any possibility of holding on."
"Really think you’re the bishop? You’re nothing but a dog from Blago Monastery!"
A hot, humid wind brushed against Martin’s face, leaving a sticky sweat plastered on his clothes.
"How ironic," Martin couldn’t help but sigh, "Will His Excellency Richelieu and His Majesty Horn really arrive on time?"
"I am certain, I have no doubt," Armand looked at the Lona River under the dark clouds, countless islets like rocks broke the silk-like river, revealing silvery white waves.
Under the dark clouds, the gray plains were broken among the undulating hills, and the drifting direction of the scattered clouds was east.
That was in the direction of Joan of Arc Castle; he seemed to already hear the sound of hooves and footsteps hitting the ground.
"You should return to Joan of Arc Castle, before the Noble Alliance Army arrives." Martin thought for a long time before struggling to open his sticky mouth, "This is not your enemy, nor is it your homeland. Staying here is the mission of our Juanist Faction."
Without immediately replying to Martin, Armand just lowered his head, touching the thin black and red monk’s robe he wore.
The first time he wore this cleric’s robe, it was so loose and mismatched.
After all, compared to Kosse’s burly physique, Armand was still too thin and weak.
Old Kosse used to put a piece of fatty meat in Armand’s bowl every day, trying to fatten him up, but Kosse remained thin and small.
But after Old Kosse died, perhaps hatred really can make flesh grow; this garment gradually started to fit him.
Just like how people addressed him, compared to the former Armand, the people of Kasha County were more accustomed to calling him by his clerical name—Richelieu.
This was the name his godfather, a crude old butcher, left him at his baptism, the most elegant name he could give.
"No, I won’t leave." Armand’s palm brushed over the robe’s surface, "That is my enemy, and this is my mission."
Upon hearing Armand’s words, Martin, for some reason, felt relieved.
After all, organizing the City Guard, coordinating army attacks, and concentrating the city’s strength for this series of actions were mostly Armand’s doing.
Martin at most provided a spiritual boost.
"Prepare, when darkness falls, close the city gates..." Before Martin finished, his gaze drifted to the horizon.
Amidst the water network on the plains and streams, he saw Andruk running madly alone.
All his guards were gone, and there was no trace of the money-laden carriage.
Like a savage or beggar, he was running with all his might, as if escaping the jaws of a terrifying beast.
Just as Martin squinted, Andruk’s desperate running suddenly froze, and his whole body collapsed to the ground with a crash.
Blood drew a glaring red line on the ground, and behind him, the shaft of an arrow continued to quiver.
"Toot toot toot—"
"Dang dang dang—"
The sound of horns and the striking of the bell tower simultaneously rang out, the tremors nearly turning the faces of the merchants at the city gate pale.
They all instinctively looked northwest, at the merchants and their servants fleeing frantically in that direction.
They were naturally not being chased by bandits, leaving only one possibility.
"Count Musaq’s army!" a merchant screamed.
Perhaps they had good personal relations with Count Musaq, but that didn’t mean the Count could completely control all his troops.