Chapter 1246 - 1171: Conversation and Engagement
"All you ever do is deceive me."
Jeanne had long been immune to Horn’s sweet words, but she noticed Horn withdrawing his thoughts and not actually leaving.
The glass wine cup reflected a greenish-blue wave of light. She tilted her head, and a strand of black hair fell from her temple.
When Horn was looking at Jeanne, Jeanne was looking at Horn.
Compared to before, Horn was different now.
Compared to eighteen-year-old Horn, Horn had now reached the age Catherine was then, and Catherine was already over forty.
But similar to Catherine, once Horn entered his youth—perhaps due to the male Witch bloodline—he never aged again.
Catherine looked like a twenty-seven or twenty-eight-year-old woman, while Horn still looked like an early twenty-something college student.
The flickering candlelight illuminated Horn’s weary yet serene face.
He kept hair just over his ears, exposing his wide forehead, and his once sun-tanned skin had become significantly paler.
He wore a garnet-colored stand-up collar coat, with the cuff revealing a touch of a white shirt sleeve.
This attire easily reminded one of young monks or college students from the Holy Alliance Government or Monastery, even the temperament was somewhat similar.
As if time had not solidified.
"Brother, your birthday is next month, right?"
Jeanne’s first sentence confused Horn a bit, but he nodded, "Yes, just like before, the five of us will gather if we’re free, have a meal, drink some wine..."
Once, someone suggested making Saint’s Grandson’s birthday a holiday for gratitude, but Horn vetoed it.
"After this birthday, you’ll be thirty-one."
"Yes, already thirty-one." Horn felt momentarily bewildered; he hadn’t lived to thirty-one in his past life.
Thirteen years in this world, and many things from his past life had become hazy.
Aside from midnight dreams of family and relatives, he had forgotten most of the rest.
He had been in this world too long, already feeling tired.
He even forgot what he was like when he first arrived in this world.
The features of his face filled with resentment, selfishness, and hatred had faded significantly.
Instead, the faces of those who perished on the long road of blood and sweat, in the Cheese Bay battle, and the Grey Robe Hill war were growing clearer.
Horn could always recall them, always dream about them.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing, just melancholy about the passage of time."
"Melancholy about time, another term you coined, right?" Jeanne sipped apple wine, "Tell me, if the flood hadn’t happened, what would our lives be like now?"
"I don’t know, living obliviously like ordinary farmers? Then continuing to die in some disaster?"
"You’re thirty-one, I’m thirty, in an ordinary farmer’s house, our second child might already be working on the land."
In a few more years, our first child would get married, and a few more years after that, not even forty, we might become grandparents."
In a few more years, you might fall sick from years of toil, I might perish from a cold infection, and our children would inherit our land and thatched cottage..."
"No." Horn laughed slyly, "With your personality, after having the first child, you’d surely become a Ranger Knight mercenary."
Jeanne paused, then continued with a smile, "And with your personality, you wouldn’t even wait for the first child to be born; you’d quickly amass wealth through little schemes and we’d escape to settle in High Castle City or Rapids City."
"Hahaha——"
Thirteen years is a long time, even for farmers living monotonous lives.
For farmers in the empire, thirteen years is already a third of their lifetime.
Most don’t live past forty; this number should be sixty in the Holy Alliance.
But for Jeanne and Horn, they still have a long future ahead.
Their lengthy lifespan gave the Witch upper echelons of the Holy Alliance an advantage far surpassing ordinary people—longevity.
Madlan is almost fifty this year, her temples have long turned white, and Armand, who was only fourteen back then, is now twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
Time is the swiftest thing in this world; it slips right by before your eyes, so fast you can’t see it.
As companions gradually age, even die—especially Patrick’s death—it deeply shocked Horn and the others.
Horn suddenly realized that perhaps one day, even the youngest Child Soldier would die of old age before his eyes.
When all the familiar faces have passed away, it’s as if he inherited his own legacy and faced a whole new nation.
Henceforth, the only ones who could accompany him might be these old Witch friends.
As for Jeanne, she suddenly lowered her head and started cutting the roasted chicken on her plate.
Seeing her lose interest in talking, Horn lowered his head and picked up a pancake.
"What do you think about us having a baby?" Jeanne lowered her head, tracing the silver knife on the white plate again and again, "Like an ordinary farmer couple."
"Sure, my authority as Pope is unlimited, who cares about children born out of wedlock?"
Halfway through his sentence, Horn thought he heard the sound of raindrops falling, presuming it was raining, yet outside the stars were bright.
"I mean, let’s get married."
"What did you say?" Horn raised his head in confusion, looking at Jeanne before him.
Jeanne’s eyes under the light, shimmering tears like gems, slid down her cheeks one by one.
"I mean, let’s get married." Jeanne’s smile was bitter yet liberating, "All of us, together."
Horn naturally understood what she meant by "all of us."
Jeanne, Jia Li, Catherine, Hilov, the wedding of four Saintesses.
In terms of law and tradition, Horn, as Pope, should not marry or have children.
But aside from his Pope sacred duty, Horn was also the highest ruler of the Holy Alliance.
As he said, whether married or out-of-wedlock children, who could object?
Yet Jeanne always disagreed, always considering that once the Holy Alliance became prosperous, they would semi-retire.
Return to Holy Grail Mountain, back to Red Mill, living in seclusion, unless danger befell the Holy Alliance, they would not emerge.
Horn was long tired, and Jeanne as well.
"What’s with you today?" Circling to the other side of the table, Horn hugged Jeanne, cradling her face in his arms.
"I asked if you agreed?" Jeanne suddenly stepped back, knelt on one knee, and revealed a ring, "As your Knight, I’m proposing to you."
"Of course, I hope so, but if it comes at the cost of hurting you, I’d rather not."
"What about offspring?"
"We have a long enough lifespan."
"Isn’t that too lonely?"
Horn lowered his head, just in time to see Jeanne lift her face with streaks of tears sliding down.
He immediately knelt halfway, embracing Jeanne.
"I just suddenly realized." Jeanne reached out and touched Horn’s nape, "Just like Grandma Vivian says, love is an illusion.
I always wanted to escape illusion, move toward my true love, but after the Harbin incident, I understood.
It’s not that complicated; I want to shatter illusions, tear off the masks, yet behind them lies emptiness.
Our masks are our essence; love directly, don’t think too much."
"Is that truly what you feel?" Horn took Jeanne’s hand, gazing into her eyes.
Jeanne smiled, "Yes."
Horn smiled as well, "Alright."
Just before the kingdom’s exposition ended, explosive news spread across the Holy Alliance.
The four Saintesses were engaged at Saint’s Grandson’s birthday party, with the wedding scheduled for next spring.