The gates of the army camp outside High Castle City slowly opened, and the dew on the grass was shaken by the horse hooves.

At four in the morning, the environment was naturally extremely dark.

This clear sound of horse hooves still startled many monks of the Iron Fist Battle Group, who looked out from the barrack windows.

And what they saw was the thundering white-armored cavalry, solemnly galloping past the camp road.

The target was directly André's main tent—a villa of an old knight, where a hundred officers and guards were also stationed.

Before they could cause any uproar, they saw the newly appointed Senior Pastor Valent Taylor raising a torch, chasing after the group of white-armored cavalry.

Then, they heard someone shout, "Quick, quickly stop them, those are cavalry sent by the Pope to capture Lord André."

"What?!"

Hearing this, the soldiers of the Iron Fist Battle Group quickly took action.

They all donned their uniforms, mounted their military sabers and holy guns, and headed for the main tent.

But the white-armored cavalry stopped outside the courtyard and did not enter.

Although no warning bells rang, groups of soldiers gathered nervously.

As one torch after another was lit, everyone saw the person surrounded by the white-armored cavalry in the center.

In terms of stature, amidst the surrounding circle of the burly Holy Armor Forbidden Army, he was far from tall and strong.

But just a single silhouette held countless soldiers' breaths.

"What?" With a pull of the reins, the war horse turned, Horn faced this group of soldiers holding holy guns and military sabers, "Do you intend to draw your swords at me?!"

Many soldiers of the Iron Fist Battle Group couldn't help but blink hard, even unable to believe what they were seeing.

The horse hooves slowed down, the Pope moving through the walkways formed by knives, swords, guns, and cannons as if leisurely strolling in his own garden.

Yet it was the soldiers of the Iron Fist Battle Group who tightly gripped their gun stocks and sword hilts, some even trembling.

"My faithful people, my war monks, do you recognize who I am?"

The torchlight illuminated Horn's face, allowing everyone to see clearly.

This face, imprinted on countless coin illustrations in newspapers and books, not to mention the busts of Horn in churches.

The saint on the altar, the hero of the Thousand River Valley in the newspapers, now stood alive before them, causing the weapons in many soldiers' hands to slowly lower.

Yet many officers from mountain knight backgrounds were shouting, "What are you doing, raise your military sabers, raise them all."

Valent Taylor shouted nervously, "Put down the holy guns, don't accidentally hurt His Majesty!"

But following this, a thick Falan accent in Leia language shouted, "Do not put them down, do not put them down, not without Lord André's orders!"

Amidst the shouting back and forth, swords, spears, guns, and cannons sometimes rose, sometimes fell, turning into an absurd comedy.

More soldiers or officers were loudly asking, "Your Majesty, what are you doing?"

Horn's face bore a contemptuous smile, visible to all: "You ask what I'm doing? I can tell you.

The Iron Fist Battle Group troops disguised as border knights attempted to attack me.

Heh heh... I'm weary of being the Pope, yet your Lord André doesn't seem to care.

Anyone can be Pope, I do not desire the Holy Seat, I have no interest in the post of Pope.

But I am angry, angry that he insists on using our war monks' lives to test this.

Good soldiers who could have killed the enemy gloriously on the battlefield are now to die shamefully because of this.

Are soldiers merely tools for you to play politics with?"

Drawing his sword and turning, Horn gritted his teeth, the firelight illuminating his enraged face, like that of a furious lion: "André, I have to ask, what do you intend to do?"

The gaze of soldiers and officers focused on André, who had somehow walked out of the courtyard, standing on the steps.

Faced with Horn's questioning, André pressed his lips tightly but did not speak.

The war horse slowly approached, the horse's head barely a meter from André's brow.

He slightly raised his head, able to see Horn's uplifted chin and condescending gaze.

André bent over and spoke, "Reporting to Your Majesty, these noble remnants causing chaos is not my intention..."

"Not your intention, not your intention!" Beside him, Lauren shouted angrily at André, "Without your approval, would they dare to do this?!"

Horn extended his hand across Lauren's chest, pushing him back down.

"Lord André! Do you wish to be Pope? Or to become King of the Thousand River Valley?!" Though clearly speaking to André, Horn's gaze swept across the entire courtyard.

"What about you? Do you all have the same intention?"

Only the chirping of crickets and the restless scraping of soles against the ground echoed in the night.

Undoing the buttons on his collar, Horn revealed his chest: "Want to kill me and crown a new Pope? Then do it now!"

The courtyard fell into silence instantly, with no one daring to speak, only the sounds of swallowing and hearts pounding fiercely.

Who else besides the Pope could offer them such high pay?

Who besides the Pope would arrange housing, teach them literacy, and provide post-retirement jobs?

Who but the Pope could consistently provide pensions and favor disabled soldiers and their families?

Only under the banner of the Thousand River Valley Holy Alliance could they break through the civilian military rank ceiling, becoming Corps Commanders or even Battle Commanders.

With André, where would their future lead?

However, everything came from André; without him, they might have been dragged off to work as miners.

As for the officers, it was even more complicated; on the one hand, they had known André since the Saint Sun's Army days.

They had known their old superior for four or five years, and indeed, he had treated them very well.

On the other hand, they were devout believers in the Pope, as Thousand River Valley People, their feelings for Horn couldn't simply be overshadowed by personal emotions.

Horn was their hero, avenging the Blue Blood Orphans and granting Thousand River Valley People freedom and dignity.

The only ones absolutely siding with André were those Falan officers.

However, their numbers were far fewer than the former group, and most were military colony officers, not active-duty officers.

In terms of numbers, they couldn't sway the situation.

If Horn were in charge, could they retain everything they had now?

If it were André, could they still enjoy what they had now?

Every soldier could hear these voices, their hearts racing faster and faster.

Horn's Holy Armor Forbidden Army was even more nervous, ready at any moment to leap forward and protect His Majesty's escape.

Not to mention Solan in the shadows, she was hiding in the shadow of the horse's belly, ready to lead Horn to safety at a sign of trouble.

"Answer me!"

Horn's roar echoed through the courtyard, lingering indefinitely.

Suddenly, a crisp "clang" was heard, drawing the crowd's gaze, and a soldier fainted on the ground, his military saber thrown far.

Time stalled for a moment, and Valent Taylor's voice pierced the night sky: "His Holiness the Pope, Wanpiao!"

"Wanpiao!"

"Wanpiao!!!"

Despite the Falan officers' angry curses and shouts, the soldiers and officers continued to lay down their weapons one by one.

What followed was the embrace between Valent Taylor leading the Holy Armor Forbidden Army and the Iron Fist Battle Group monks.

Only then did the Holy Armor Forbidden Army realize that the Holy Gunmen, fearing an accidental harm to His Majesty, had not only left their guns unloaded but hadn't even wound the springs.

Horn's face broke into a smile.

He dismounted, patting heads and chests, even helping the fainted soldier to a shady spot.

Only as the tense atmosphere largely relaxed did he notice André still standing in place.

Dressed in a shirt, its collar and underarms were soaked with sweat, and he placed his hands on his thighs, middle finger pressing over the index finger.

This was a gesture of seeking luck for Falan people.

Yet on his face, André still wore a complex expression of calm yet mingled with helplessness and grievance.

"Majesty..."

The crowd fell silent, with several officers, including Valent Taylor, pleadingly looking at Horn.

Amidst the soldiers' throng, Horn approached André, removed the Blood Covering Cloud, grasped the sword sheath, and extended the hilt to André: "Do you know what to do?"

Valent Taylor nodded toward the rear, and several White Armored Soldiers then brought up the Mountain Knights disguised as Border Knights.

After a brief pause, André drew the Blood Covering Cloud.

Quickly stepping forward, he reached the soldiers and swung down with the sword.

A moment later, amid the Iron Fist Battle Group soldiers' gaze, André raised the soldier's head high.

"My Pope is only His Majesty Horn!" he yelled through gritted teeth, "In the name of the Lord, how dare this vile creature taint my devotion!"

He slammed the head to the ground, then kneeled before Horn, raising the Blood Covering Cloud above his head: "Holy Father bears witness, my heart holds only one sun, His Majesty!"

"Very good."

Horn took the Blood Covering Cloud lightly and placed it back into its sheath.