Early the next morning, the townspeople tidied up and headed towards the temple in the town center.
According to the notifications from the Hundred Households Captains, the Pope had asked them to gather at the old temple in the town center early that morning.
After over a month of simple repairs, this ancient temple, passed down from a thousand years ago, was finally reopening.
At the bottom of the temple’s high steps, the residents of Autumn Dusk Island stood packed together, looking up at the Saint Grandson Pope giving a speech.
"I have reported to the Holy Father, requesting the sanctification of the war monks who died in battle. Last night Amu replied to in a dream..." Horn took a deep breath and announced loudly with all his might, "The request has been granted!"
The low-ranking monks present imdiately awoke from their drowsiness.
Sanctification? To sanctify all the warriors who died in battle at once? But there are over a thousand of them!
So far, the number of people sanctified by the Church has been less than a thousand, and Horn intends to sanctify a thousand at once?
For Horn, so what if he sanctifies over a thousand people at once?
The Holy Relic created by the Church, Miseria’s Chain, every church has a piece, and combined, they could traverse the Empire twice.
What’s the harm if Horn sanctifies a few thousand people?
"This is because the Holy Father sees us acting more correctly in the mortal world and therefore agreed to my request!"
Horn’s powerful voice rang out before the cathedral.
At His Holiness the Pope’s fervent words, the entire town’s residents boiled over, and people began to ask, "What does sanctification an?"
Under the explanation of knowledgeable people, they gradually understood that it ant Horn could turn the deceased into saints to act as guarantors.
So that’s how saints co to be?
So families with deceased war monks were stunned; their children, those snot-nosed brats who went to the battlefield, are going to beco saints?
"To commorate our fallen war monks and honor their contributions to exorcism and salvation, I have decided to rena the temple... the Cathedral of Sanctified Heroes!"
As soon as Horn finished speaking, the curtain covering the temple was pulled away, revealing the stone wall inside to everyone.
On the stone wall, the nas of the fallen were densely engraved.
In front of the stone wall stood a statue of a war monk, wearing military uniform, faceless, and genderless.
"To commorate the achievents of the fallen, March 10th of each year will be morial Day.
Wherever there is a sanctified church, a morial service must be held again to praise their accomplishnts!"
Under Dass’s leadership, a dozen or so disabled Salvation Army war monks slowly walked out.
They carried wreaths, worn armor, and crutches, climbing the temple steps step by step.
Beside them, several tall Imperial Guards stood with rifles at their sides, like rows of trees lining the path, standing on either side of these war monks.
Amidst the sound of horns and solemn organ music, they seed to be advancing toward the enemy on the battlefield.
Yet before them was the temple’s quadrangular stone wall, engraved with the nas of forr comrades, every na a vivid life.
"From now on, the children of the fallen will attend school for free, and their wives will receive monthly subsidies." Horn solemnly surveyed the crowd, "If any of you are bullied, co to the church, the church will report directly to ! I will definitely give you justice!"
After a long silence, low sobbing began to spread through the crowd.
The sobbing grew more frequent and louder.
In the end, most people present had red eyes.
His Holiness truly had not forgotten them, and neither had the Pope Country or the Salvation Army forgotten the fallen monks.
Their nas were carved on a millennia-old stone tablet to continue for another thousand years.
Though they had died, as long as the Pope Country endured, these brave war monks would never be forgotten.
As long as the Pope Country endured...
Many family mbers of fallen monks in the crowd clenched their fists.
Even for the sake of these lost loved ones, the Pope Country must never be overthrown.
They had already shed so much blood and made so many sacrifices to win these achievents for those present.
This is not the King’s country; this is not the Church’s country; this is their country, their own country, a country they built with blood and sweat.
"This is our country..."
Bernardo suddenly turned his head but did not catch who had said the words.
Standing in the crowd, he continued to look up, watching as Horn, the Pope, clad in a black and red Holy Robe, stepped towards the statue.
Horn stood before the statue, kissed its forehead solemnly, and placed a wreath upon it.
Throughout the entire ritual, except for the solemn and reverent music, no one made a single sound.
It was only at this mont that Bernardo seed to understand why those war monks dared to face the charging Extraordinary Knights head-on.
No wonder people say that citizens who lost property in the King’s war might beco even more loyal...
"Rather than calling it a peasant rebellion, it’s more like a Devotee Sect." Bernardo murmured softly.
"Bernardo, what are you muttering about?" Lefi waved a hand in front of Bernardo, "The Pope is giving a speech. Listen closely; when the Military Chaplain asks about it, I won’t rember."
With a helpless sigh, Bernardo looked at this boy younger than himself standing at the focus of everyone’s attention.
"At the sa ti, to comnd those in Daze Village who provided us with fish and swords in the previous war."
Horn raised his scepter high: "In the na of the Holy Father, I bestow upon everyone the status of monk. From now on, you are all monks."
As Horn’s speech concluded, guided by the Night Watcher’s directions, the present townspeople flowed in for a visit.
The parents, wives, and children of the fallen compared their family mber’s na against the plaques one by one.
Upon finding them, they shouted in pride or wept bitterly.
After concluding the political ceremony, Horn didn’t pause but returned straight to the Prayer Hall.
As he pushed open the door, he saw an agitated Martin pacing around the room.
"Oh, it’s Martin; have a seat first." Horn invited Martin to sit down while he rummaged through the bookshelf.
Martin pulled a chair, sitting opposite the desk, yet remained sowhat restless.
Perhaps to distract himself, he reached out to the table, picking up an unusual little gadget.
This was an abacus, a series of flat beads strung together in a fra, divided into two rows.
"Your Holiness, what’s this?"
"This is an abacus, a new type of calculating tool passed down from Paradise Mountain." After placing a stack of docunts on the desk, Horn took the abacus from Martin and shook it with a twist of his wrist.
The abacus imdiately rattled.
Horn smiled, setting it down on the table: "This is for calculating complex numbers; those low-ranking monks are too slow at accounting.
I plan to implent double-entry bookkeeping; their arithtic skills really need improvent."
"I see." Martin nodded eagerly, "What did you call for, Your Holiness? If there’s nothing major, I’d like to head back to the library soon."
"Don’t rush." Horn settled in at the desk, adjusting his seat before speaking leisurely, "How’s your Kasha County handling the flood disaster? Do they have surplus grain? I’m looking to purchase so."
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