The rainwater flowed from the eaves to the ground, making a pitter-patter sound.
Previously, when standing in the rain, it grew heavier and heavier, but when Horn took shelter in the Hunter's Hut, this late summer rain gradually lightened.
He took off the soaked linen robe, dried himself, and put on the comfortable blue and black brocade short robe of the Master Knight, along with black broadcloth trousers, then stepped out from behind the curtain.
This Hunter's Hut was about fifty square meters, with four-poster wooden beds and thick carpets on both sides, and a fire pit in the middle filled with charcoal ash and coal, emitting a dim red glow.
Two axes, a skinning knife, and two bows hung on the wall, the wooden beds were covered with two layers of warm wolf pelts, and by the fire pit was a thick wool carpet with patterns of green feather leaves.
From these patterns, it must be goods from the Western World across the sea, from the great Blood and Flesh Royal Court.
Three white wax candles twisted as they emitted light, making Jeanne's pale face appear indistinct in the dim light.
One had to admit, the healing abilities of the witch combined with the knight's breathing techniques were truly against the norm. In less than three hours, the injuries on Jeanne's face had healed more than half, with the only cost being extra rice cakes and dried meat consumed.
Currently, in the Hunter's Hut where the Master Knight resided, only Horn and Jeanne were living.
The villagers still stayed in the shanties outside or slept under the eaves of the wooden house.
The villagers had no objections to Horn occupying the Hunter's Hut; they even thought it was right and proper, as the Master Saint Grandson Pope should naturally reside in the wooden house.
Who would dare oppose?
Sitting cross-legged on the Western wool carpet opposite Jeanne, Horn curiously touched the embroidered floral red velvet blanket with gold thread beside him.
The decoration and comfort here didn't seem like something a hunter could afford; it felt indulgent.
Jeanne had just used a handkerchief to dry her hair, but it was still somewhat damp, so she simply tied it casually, letting it fall over her left shoulder, draping across her chest.
Without looking up at Jeanne, Horn reached out to take two books from the knight's oak chest.
Among the gold coins revealed by the knight, besides those gold and silver accessories, the most valuable items were these two books.
One was called "The Legend of the Rum Rose," and the other "Falan Anthology," the former being a courtly love poetry collection and the latter akin to a dictionary, primarily explaining words, verses, rhymes, and common idioms.
These two books combined were basically an introductory guide to knightly court poetry.
It wasn't like a hundred years ago, when knights could rise to power through battles alone; now they needed background, culture, and the ability to mingle with elegant and refined Count Lords by composing poetry.
For knights, composing poetry was an essential social skill.
Knights needed to rely on writing love poems to win over noble ladies and even gentlemen, facilitating their way to rise through sexuality.
Originally, Horn had thought to rely on the knight's collection of books to understand this world better. Unfortunately, the Master Knight had only two books in total, which was better than nothing.
Bowing his head, Horn struggled to flip through the poetry collection, completely unaware that Jeanne had been watching him for a long while.
While her brain was about to smoke, Jeanne still gaped, unsure of what to say. After pondering for a long time, she finally opened her mouth slowly:
"Thank you for today. If you encounter similar situations in the future, don't bother with me anymore."
Uh uh...
I saved you, and you're still displeased. Besides, was it my intention to save you? Once was the original host saving you, and the other time was out of necessity.
Horn didn't voice these thoughts out loud; instead, he turned his head toward Jeanne.
At this moment, Jeanne's face was flushed, the tips of her hair shimmering faintly gold. She wasn't looking at Horn but rather turned her face toward the window, yet occasionally glanced at Horn from the corner of her eye, quickly looking away.
"You're a Saintess; I can't ignore you."
"How could I be worthy of the title 'Saintess'? Oh, anyway, don't worry too much about me anymore..." As she spoke, Jeanne's voice grew smaller, until it was no louder than a mosquito's buzz, "Moreover, I've done so many wrong things, I deserve punishment..."
Why? Using some kind of moral retreat on me?
"Are you apologizing to me?" Horn pierced through Jeanne's thoughts directly.
"No, no, no, no." Jeanne sprang up from the bed immediately, her pale face turning as red as an apple. "Who, who, who apologized to you? I'm just... angry. I'm upset with those... those believers. They deceived me, it's not, it's not..."
Towards the end, Jeanne deflated, and her voice became as thin as a mosquito's.
Horn didn't respond immediately. On one hand, he really didn't want too much emotional entanglement with Jeanne; on the other hand, he still needed to draw her in. The two of them couldn't really fall out.
He had to grasp this balance, neither getting truly involved nor letting her stray from his influence. In short, he had to keep her in limbo, neither too close nor too distant.
Hey, why does it feel like something's not right? This scenario seems familiar somehow?
As Horn pondered where this déjà vu feeling came from, his neck felt a sudden chilly sensation.
That was Jeanne's hand.
Somehow, Jeanne had come over from the other side of the fire pit, circling to Horn's back, her fingers gently stroking Horn's neck.
"Does your neck still hurt?" The firelight illuminated Jeanne's face, her flushed cheeks flickering in the light and shadow.
"It didn't at first, but your hand is too rough, it scratched a bit." Horn quickly added upon noticing the veins bulging on Jeanne's arm, "The new flesh is tender, it actually stopped hurting a while ago."
Jeanne's mouth had the scent of chamomile; she loved collecting those little white flowers, putting them in water for brushing teeth, bathing, and washing hair until they were well-steeped.
"Don't misunderstand, this is just a hug between siblings, I've always regarded you as a brother." The chamomile fragrance wafted from behind the ear to the front of the nose.
With her ears burning, Jeanne felt her face as if it were aflame, she drew her arms out from over Horn's shoulders, pressing her face against Horn's back.
"I now have the Divine Art gifted by Miseria, you've always protected me before, but from now on, let me be the knight to protect you."
This, this is not right, is it?
Only now did Horn start to realize, I see you as a sister, yet you're thinking of having me?
Feeling the softness pressed against his back, Horn's brain began to work again.
In his plans for the future, there wasn't a place for Jeanne.
The risk of her being a witch was too high, once exposed, not only would Demon Hunters hunt her down, even the Church might send Winged Angels to pursue.
According to Horn's original plan, with Jeanne as the "Saintess," a career in military service was hopeless. Once the flood receded, with his crime of impersonating the Holy Father, Thousand River Valley was no longer viable.
He planned to gather a few trustworthy people from among the refugees, then take off with the knight's wealth to seek development further east among the Norn people.
The Church's control in the Norn region wasn't strong, with his knowledge level, becoming a wealthy man in a free city would surely be easy.
He could strive to become a City Councilor, or fall back to be a stable Manor Lord, wouldn't that be splendid?
As for Jeanne, Horn initially intended to hand her over to a Secret Faction; witches and Secret Factions were natural allies.
Especially the recently active Ruo'an Faction, which was said to be led by a powerful witch whose purpose always emphasized mutual aid among witches, and they would surely be willing to protect Jeanne.
This was why Horn didn't want to get too entangled with Jeanne; if emotions developed, and she insisted on staying with him, that would pose a big problem.
This can't do!
Horn was just about to refuse when the words wouldn't come out; a direct refusal might trigger another outburst from her.
After thinking for a while, Horn suddenly stood up and picked up the half-sword with its scabbard from the ground beside him.
Seeing Jeanne's bewildered look, he turned around and placed the half-sword on her shoulder.
"Alright." Horn said sternly, "I've witnessed your devotion and valor; since you wish to be a knight, then, Jeanne D'Arc, in the name of the Holy Father, I hereby appoint you as a knight, and from now on, within the region of Thousand River Valley, you will ensure my safety."
If Jeanne confessed, the fragile balance that existed would be broken, so let the knightly ceremony gloss over it.
Jeanne was caught off guard, numbly completing the simplest of knightly rites with Horn under the candlelight. She thus became a Temple Knight appointed by the Holy Father.
It wasn't until the ceremony ended that Jeanne came to her senses.
Watching Horn hum and make the bed, an inexplicable anger rose within her for no apparent reason. She snorted in defiance and lay down heavily on the woolen carpet with her back to Horn.
Noticing she had disrupted the atmosphere herself, Jeanne calmed down while Horn slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, extinguished the candle, and lay on the fur-covered wooden bed.
"Horn, are you asleep?"
"Not yet, what's up?" Horn immediately regretted speaking, he should have pretended to be asleep.
"You still have the wedding contract our dad arranged, right? I actually don't care about the contract itself; I just miss dad."
"Speaking of which." Horn stared straight at the ceiling, "I nearly forgot, when our dad had someone write up that wedding contract, he used hemp paper, which was such poor quality, so flimsy, it got misplaced when we were decapitated back then."
In fact, who knows what's wrong with this world's papermaking technology; the paper produced has such a great disparity in quality, great paper is fantastic, bad paper is terrible, and there's almost no middle ground.
According to the "Falan Literature Collection," paper is associated with knowledge, and papermaking is very technically demanding, so Falan texts often use "papermaking" to describe the level of knowledge and technology.
After mentally reviewing the contents of the "Falan Literature Collection" for a while, Horn continued, "I think, since the wedding contract is lost and you became a knight, shall we just cancel our engagement?"
Jeanne didn't respond, turning her head; by the faint light from outside the window, Horn could see the rise and fall of the girl's body and her steady breathing.
"Fell asleep? You were just talking..." Yawning, after a heart-pounding day, Horn was indeed exhausted. Once he closed his eyes, he immediately lost consciousness.
Except for almost being woken twice by some cold wind blowing from who knows where, Horn slept soundly until dawn.