When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist Chapter 29: Life-and-Death Battle on a Rainy Night (Part 3)

The electric light made everything in the world pale, illuminating Durdafer’s fat face where joy and hatred danced together.

Despite Horn’s vision gradually blurring, he saw sothing else.

Behind Durdafer, about five steps away, there was a bush.

Beneath the bush, sat a tall woman.

Horn couldn’t see her face, only a pair of red eyes.

Despite her tall stature, her movents seed childlike. Hugging her knees, she shivered in the bushes, looking this way with curiosity and pity.

In her hand, Horn saw sothing familiar, it was the equipnt he had just dropped– the bone flute.

This was the last hope.

So, amidst a series of electric lights, Durdafer saw Horn make a strange move.

He tilted his head, struggled to pick up a branch, and placed it against his puckered lips, silently making a "tut-tut" sound.

What’s this?

Before Durdafer could figure out what was happening, a lodious flute sound entered his ears.

The flute sound was soft and warm, as if returning to his mother’s embrace, soaking in the amniotic fluid enveloping his body.

So comfortable.

Durdafer didn’t even realize when he loosened his grip.

The person pressed down under him stumbled out.

Grabbing a stick or sothing, Horn swung it heavily against Durdafer’s temple.

The sound reminiscent of a waterlon cracking mingled with the thunder, shocking the red-eyed woman into trembling all over, causing the bone flute to fall to the ground, and the flute sound abruptly ceased.

"Thunk!"

Durdafer’s body tilted, his head heavily hit the ground.

His eyeballs were stained red with blood, his complexion was blue and red, and he still wore a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Only then did Horn have the leisure to look down, bewildered at the weapon in his hand. What he thought was a wooden stick turned out to be the black bread from earlier, held by the fat priest.

It had to be said, the quality of bread was really sturdy. Even after hitting it with his ard sword several tis, there was nothing but a half-finger deep notch.

Propelling himself up with the black bread, Horn bent over, panting hard.

After about two seconds, he stepped forward, single-footed on the fat priest’s back, swung the black bread stick and hit the back of the priest’s head madly for about ten tis, then sat down heavily in the water.

Slumping on the ground, Horn breathed heavily, feeling his forehead burning at the mont.

He initially wanted to track the Iron-tooth Monk, but after the deadly fight just now, he was completely out of strength.

Not only was the fat priest difficult to deal with, but he also had so many companions; it was truly fatal that he accidentally let him go earlier.

A fierce flash behind him lit up, screams were almost overshadowing the thunder.

Horn turned his head to see Jeanne streaking through the crowd like a Valkyrie, presumably because the Holy Water had worn off.

The Holy Banner in her hand waved like the Death God’s scythe, each movent took a life, soon only one or two Night Guards were left standing.

Seeing Jeanne charging at them, they even panickedly jumped into the water to escape, directly washed away by the flow, leaving no trace.

Having dealt with these secondary witnesses, what about the fleeing priest?

From here to Gulag Monastery, the straight-line distance is short, but requires going around the hillside from the side and climbing the steps up. If you really want to walk, it’ll take no less than ten minutes.

Is there still ti?

No, he has to chase up there. Just he and Jeanne pursuing, the monk was injured earlier, surely won’t run fast.

Definitely cannot let him reach Durdafer alive!

Otherwise, Horn can only turn to the Secret Faction, which he wants least.

Just as Horn gritted his teeth and stood up, a light shone in front of him, startling him into jumping.

The source of the light was a hexagonal whale oil lamp, held by a pale and withered hand.

The lamp flickered and swayed in the dark, casting patterned shadows on the ground.

The arrival’s footsteps were squeaky against the damp ground.

The leather-clad leader raised the whale oil lamp and illuminated Horn’s face.

They stared blankly at Horn, seemingly confused about what had happened.

On the other side, after defeating all the soldiers present, Jeanne quickly turned around, catching sight of Horn being surrounded.

Though unaware of who these people were, she anxiously took big strides toward him, the remaining ones picked up soldiers’ weapons and closed in on Horn.

"You are..."

The leader, Madlan, widened his eyes, just before he finished speaking, a lightning bolt flashed across, striking a pit in the mud in front of him.

"Witch?" The red beard behind Madlan growled incredulously.

Before the words were finished, Jeanne, wielding the Holy Banner wrapped in lightning, descended from the sky, blocking everyone’s path.

These people were about forty or fifty, all young and strong. Judging from their attire, mainly burlap and animal skins, so were even bare-chested with bony fras.

The electric and lamp lights interplayed, peering past Jeanne’s shoulder, Horn could see the bruised bald monk behind the leader.

Though the view was blurry, the reflection of his broken teeth still showed that he was the previous Iron-tooth Monk.

This group should be refugees, but why would they assault a clergy mber?

Horn’s doubts weren’t resolved before he suddenly heard an excited shout that changed voice.

Turning around, a stocky, short old man was retreating several steps facing the corpse of the fat priest.

"Priest Durdafer!"

Upon hearing this, everyone’s face changed, including Horn’s.

Damn, could Durdafer have arrived?

Despite his consciousness being blurred, Horn’s body instantly tensed, he grabbed Jeanne’s shoulder, hinting her to be ready to escape at any ti.

"It’s Priest Durdafer!"

"It really is Priest Durdafer!"

Before Horn could devise a counterasure, several monks in black robes squeezed out of the crowd, wailing as they rushed this way.

But Horn tried waiting, yet nobody ca.

He looked around, but the rain-night was dim, couldn’t see anything.

Recollecting his observations, Horn was puzzled to find why nobody was looking toward the monastery. Weren’t they saying Priest Durdafer had arrived?

Why were everyone’s eyes focused on him?

Hold on! The refugees weren’t focusing on him but on what’s behind him.

Thinking of sothing, Horn’s body was sowhat stiff.

As he turned, Horn could even hear the creaking sound of his own spine.

Taking a deep breath, Horn gazed at the fat priest’s corpse. With Jeanne’s illumination, the fat priest’s corpse and the scattered gold and silver were all in Horn’s view.

This, could it be, Durdafer himself?