When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist
Chapter 39: The Imperial Edict Hidden in the Belt

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: The Imperial Edict Hidden in the Belt

After finishing the lively morning court meeting, Horn felt more exhausted than running a thousand meters.

What on earth is this Pope Country of mine? It’s nothing more than a makeshift troupe crawling with vermin.

His judgment was correct, there’s no way this group of people could achieve anything.

As for the "promise" that Horn could take them to seek refuge in Black Snake Bay, he could only say, I promise, but that doesn’t mean I’ll fulfill it.

At this point, Horn had come to terms with it; rather than regretting, it was better to think about how to clean up the mess.

What could he do to clean up the mess?

The thought of turning secret opened up the world before him.

With Horn’s abilities, going to the Secret Faction’s headquarters and given his relationship with Jeanne Jia Li, becoming a middle-class figure for the time being was certainly feasible.

Every time he thought of this, Horn was grateful for not having fallen out with Jeanne.

The Secret Faction often collaborated with nobility and even the Church; after accumulating some savings in four or five years, maybe he could make a clean break and return to Norn — it wouldn’t be too late by then.

It wasn’t that Horn had a penchant for seeking amnesty and redemption at the drop of a hat, but in this world, mixing with the underworld really had no future.

Although called the Secret Faction, isn’t it essentially just a band of organized robbers?

The living standards of those high up in the Secret Faction might not be much better than ordinary lower-middle-class citizens.

If the Secret Faction truly had competence, they would have taken Black Snake Bay long ago; there’s no need to hide and eke out a living every day.

Black Snake Bay, infested with venomous creatures and roaming specters, isn’t a place anyone would wish to live unless they had no choice.

Using the Pope’s staff as a crutch, Horn did not return to his bedroom but instead, under Jeanne’s guidance, headed to the courtyard in front of the warehouse.

As for Grampwen, he still accompanied Horn with two brawny men, tasked with monitoring him.

"His Holiness the Pope."

As soon as he saw Horn, Rekado immediately knelt on the ground, prostrating himself for a while, and kissed Horn’s foot.

The disgusting sensation made Horn immediately withdraw his foot.

Rekado stood up obsequiously, unsure and standing there awkwardly.

He had no choice; it had only been a few days since Master Saint Grandson Pope had been promoted, and now he was the Pope.

If he got promoted again, he dared not imagine what position he would reach.

"Stop flattering, did you prepare all that you were asked to?" Jeanne stepped forward and asked with annoyance.

"It’s ready, it’s ready." Rekado, not knowing why Master Saint Grandson Pope wanted to see him forge iron, nonetheless made meticulous preparations overnight.

Walking to the side of a shed in the Monastery, Horn stood with the Pope’s staff, while Rekado began working in front of the forging table.

He did not ignite the fire but instead threw a basket of iron ore powder into a large stone jar, and poured in two large buckets of well water, filling it to about two-thirds.

Then he began to ladle a few large scoops of a potion that glowed with a strange blue light into it using a wooden ladle.

"Your Holiness, this step is called soaking with fragmented immersion, using a dissolving potion mixed with water to bind the iron elements together and separate the rock fragments. This requires constant low heat and continuous stirring for about four hours."

Rekado had clearly come prepared; while introducing, he picked up a piece of iron beside him: "Your Holiness, please see, this is the honeycomb iron I mixed yesterday."

Horn took the honeycomb iron, barely a sphere, which had countless holes in it.

With a long tong holding the honeycomb iron, Rekado immersed it in another basin of water, heated to boiling underneath with charcoal.

"This is a softening potion. When heated to boiling, immerse the honeycomb iron in it, and after about a minute, the hard iron element will soften."

Taking out the honeycomb iron after a minute of soaking, Rekado quickly picked up a hammer and began cold forging the softened honeycomb iron.

Through continuous soaking and hammering, the honeycomb iron gradually turned into a rectangular iron sheet, upon which Rekado immediately grabbed a handful of charcoal powder and evenly sprinkled it on.

By this time, Rekado was drenched in sweat and too busy to explain, swiftly folding the iron sheet, pounding it forcefully, and then soaking it again.

Repeating this about ten times, the originally arm-long iron sheet was hammered into a palm-sized iron ingot.

Picking up the still warm iron ingot, Horn couldn’t help but reveal a wry smile on his face.

He just knew that the piece of memory concerning wet smelting in his mind was real after all.

"Why don’t you use stone coal or charcoal for smelting iron?"

Rekado blinked, seemingly unsure of what Horn was saying: "With all due respect, Your Holiness, if it’s charcoal, heating a piece of iron ore from room temperature to red heat sufficient for processing would take far longer than four hours, and the charcoal consumed would cost much more than the potion.

Given that, why wouldn’t I choose to use potion? As for stone coal, I am not familiar with it — is it a rock capable of burning?"

Horn did not respond; he circled around the stone jar: "Generally speaking, how many iron ingots can a Metallurgy Workshop produce in a month?"

"This is an earthen medicine jar setup. In large Metallurgy Workshops, they have reflux medicine furnaces which can smelt 600 pounds of iron ore at once, with an iron yield of about thirty percent."

"And how about steelmaking?" Horn asked.

Rekado thought for a moment: "Steel? You mean refined iron, right? Refining refined iron is indeed more troublesome; to transform a piece of iron into refined iron is exceedingly costly."

"Then give me an example."

"Uh, take, for instance, transforming an iron ingot into refined iron, usually requiring five rounds of hammering. I mean the forged iron ingot, not honeycomb iron. Five rounds of hammering would consume about seventy percent of the iron material.

A 10-pound piece of iron, after being refined into refined iron, would only leave 3 pounds or even less, with each hammering round costing around 2 Dinars."

Dinars are equivalent to 36 pounds of wheat.

"The process of refining refined iron demands extremely high craftsmanship and requires multiple potion and tool replacements, the procedures are intricate, usually only formal or master blacksmiths from the Blacksmith Guild would dare undertake it.

But the reward is rich; 1 pound of iron ingot can only sell for 8 and a half copper, while 1 pound of refined iron can fetch 8 Dinars, equivalent to 400 coppers.

I dare say, refined iron is the most brilliant jewel in the crown of the Empire’s metallurgy industry!"

Horn didn’t respond to Rekado; he seemed thoughtful as he paced around Rekado’s iron forging shop twice.

Turning around, he spoke to Grampwen behind him: "Later, I’ll give you a blueprint, and you help me make it, right here, and then bring me some iron ore."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

"Also, go to the warehouse and find me these items: charcoal, sulfur, saltpeter, gall water... I’ll give you a list later."

After instructing Grampwen, Horn looked at Rekado ahead of him with a playful smile on his lips.

"In three days, come find me at this spot again."

.........

"Uncle Madlan, what happened to your face?"

Madlan didn’t answer. He just reached out to tousle the heads of the children greeting him, then looked up at the other refugees present, whose eyes were full of longing: "Everyone, in the evening, come to the gatehouse for a day’s supply of food."

"Praise be to our Lord!"

"Also praise you, Madlan!"

The impoverished refugees cheered immediately, but Madlan smiled and said, "Don’t thank me, if you want to thank someone, thank His Holiness the Pope, for if not for him, why would the bloodsucker Tommy distribute food?"

"Holy Trinity! His Holiness the Pope, we adore you!"

With a smile on his face, greeting and joking with the refugees, Madlan returned to his small straw shelter.

Although he knew that many among these refugees harbored impure intentions, privately colluding with Tommy, merely using him as a scapegoat and mouthpiece.

Madlan was still willing to suffer for those whose intentions were genuinely pure.

He knew that many times, those seemingly "evil and despicable" villagers were merely fearful.

Apart from this mutual-detriment form of rural despicable slyness, they had no other weapon to resist tyranny.

Stepping into his tent, Madlan gripped the belt on his pants.

In the earlier brawl, Tommy had snapped the hemp rope around his waist; now, this wide leather belt was much better than the hemp rope.

Only, when His Holiness the Pope tied it for him earlier, perhaps afraid his pants would fall again, it was tied a bit too tightly, causing him some discomfort.

Upon untying the belt, Madlan was about to retie it when he sensed something foreign falling from his waist.

Frowning, he crouched down and looked at the object, discovering it to be — a folded piece of paper?

Taking a deep breath, Madlan picked up the paper and unfolded it, looking at it for a long time before letting out a long sigh.

"Alas, what does His Holiness mean by this? As if I can read?"