When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Chapter 1172 - 1105: Fish Porridge of Holy Grail Mountain

René held a parcel wrapped in oil paper, leaping off the horse into the cold night.Unless injured or sick, he almost never rode in a carriage, preferring to ride a horse.

From afar, he saw Raphael pulling with Duvalon.

Raphael was gripping his arm, while Duvalon stood with his neck stiff, with both their shoulders tense against each other.

It seemed that Duvalon wanted to go inside to warm up, but Raphael was pulling him back, not letting him go.

René halted before them: "Did His Eminence summon you both?"

Raphael released his grip, and Duvalon stumbled to steady himself, his nose turning red from the cold.

Raphael stepped forward: "Did you also receive the notice? Is it about the construction site?"

René remained silent, looking at him coldly.

Duvalon adjusted his collar: "What's the point of asking here? Just go upstairs."

The oak door of the Holy Seat Mansion closed slowly behind them, blocking out the wind and snow from outside.

The guard in the vestibule, seeing René, was about to salute but was stopped by his gaze.

The radiator pipes hummed, casting a warm glow on the Holy Image on the wall.

Duvalon walked in the front, René at the back, carrying the oil paper package, heading quickly into the depths of the corridor upstairs.

The door to the Pope's Office was slightly ajar, with voices emanating from within.

Seeing the three approach, Edwin, seated as the Secret Monk, immediately stood up to greet them: "The three of you can go in directly, His Eminence has instructed so."

The three, already familiar with Edwin, nodded in acknowledgment before knocking on the door.

"Come in."

Reversing their earlier order, the three entered the office.

Yet before Duvalon entered, he turned abruptly to glance at Edwin, scratching his forehead in confusion, before being pulled in by Raphael.

In front of Horn's office desk, a small tea table and two sets of sofas were specially set up for tea gatherings and to allow Horn to rest during overtime.

As the three entered, Horn was arranging the table.

A clay pot simmered with gray-white fish soup on a red clay stove, exuding a fishy aroma.

Having placed the bowls and plates, Horn lifted his head and saw the three, momentarily lost in thought.

Years ago, they were just little kids, but now they've grown into mature youths.

René stood at the door, having grown to one meter seventy-five, still with short black hair, a smooth chin, with no stubble visible, his face icy.

Duvalon smiled broadly, hanging his scarf and coat on the hooks, arranging them meticulously.

Raphael, quite politely, bowed to Horn, with his coat already arranged downstairs.

Of course, though called youth, these three had experienced half a lifetime of ups and downs, returning when they were only college graduation age, already the second batch of senior monks in the Holy Alliance.

Sitting at one end of the sofa, Horn stirred the clay pot with a ladle: "You haven't had dinner yet, right? Join me for some fish rice porridge, it's been a while."

"No objections from me." Duvalon was the first to take a seat, then he puzzled over scratching his nose, "Why is there a bit of a fishy smell?"

Horn didn't explain, merely motioned for the other two to sit down.

The four sat before the small tea table, like the days of sharing thin gruel on the flooded Holy Grail Mountain.

Horn served fish rice porridge to each of the three before serving himself a bowl.

The fish rice porridge was poorly prepared, retaining an earthy fishy taste, with scales and innards not properly cleaned.

Yet all drank silently, finishing the entire pot.

The fish porridge was boiling hot, causing those who drank to sweat profusely.

Horn gently put down the bowl: "After having lots of the chef's river fish stew, do you still get used to this?"

Duvalon immediately grinned: "Couldn't get used to the first bite, almost wanted to vomit, but the more you eat, the more familiar it gets, eventually even tasting somewhat sweet and nostalgic."

Raphael politely began to speak: "This is like the porridge we had back in the day at the Holy Grail Mountain, in Gulag Monastery.

Back then, it was considered the best porridge, I recall someone said, if they could have this porridge all their life, their life would be worth it, who was it?"

René picked up: "It was Zelson."

Horn tapped his forehead: "I recall, he's still working in the City Hall at ry Court Barracks, right?"

René remained silent, but proceeded to unwrap the oil paper package, revealing not smoked meats or roast duck, but hefty stacks of documents.

"What is this?" Duvalon craned his neck.

René pushed the oil paper package towards Horn, remaining silent.

"Is this about the happenings and disputes at the construction site during the day? You have a lead?"

René shook his head, then nodded: "I don't know how to explain, see for yourself."

Horn picked up the first document, immediately noting the bolded name, Zelson.

Zelson, he's involved in this too?

Zelson was among the second batch of loyal successors back then, once smacked by Horn on the palm at Gulag, calling him Principal when he met Hilov.

About the same age as René and the others, just over twenty.

But unlike others who went to battle, he pursued further studies.

Later, he even attended university, studying architecture and stonemasonry, contributing to projects like the current sewer and road renovations at ry Court Barracks.

But opening the document cover, Horn's pupils contracted sharply.

He pulled the fluoride lamp closer, delving into a detailed reading.

Yet, his page-turning speed grew faster, faster, until finally, he could no longer hide his anger.

"With such blatant evidence, why hasn't it been reported?" Horn slammed the document shut with a bang.

"Because he's a loyal successor." René added with deep meaning, "A fellow comrade."

Horn's anger felt like it had just been doused with a bucket of icy water; he fell silent for a long moment before speaking again: "Why would he do this?"

"There's no reason." René sorted the documents back neatly, "After becoming the director of the planning department, his weight surged by 70 pounds.

He loved expensive restaurants, extravagant delicacies, cherished fine wine.

Even spent a month's salary on a single serving of costly bird's nest soup, which wasn't particularly tasty, he just craved it.

He couldn't afford such luxurious meals, but the funds passing through his hands daily could procure hundreds of servings of bird's nest soup, hundreds of bottles of premium wine.

It's just that simple, no one coerced or tempted him to exploit these.

At this moment, even with Horn's wealth of experiences, a sense of helplessness involuntarily arose.

Previously, one could argue there's an outsider/rogue among the people, now even such excuses are gone.

For this Zelson is indeed the rogue, indulging not only himself but dragging others along.

The "others" referred to are also loyal successors!

As if this was a special privilege Horn granted the successors!

Despite having anticipated corruption, Horn found it hard to suppress helplessness and anger when faced with its arrival.

Especially upon learning that Zelson's one meal cost him a month's worth of Horn's meal allowance.

"Your Eminence, what do you plan to do?" René inquired, fixating intently on Horn.