Chapter 32: Carrie
Since that rainy night, Horne was in a coma in bed for three days, but his condition did not improve.
He spends most of his time asleep and less time awake. Most of his waking time is spent eating, drinking medicine, and strongly rejecting the doctors' treatment plan of bloodletting, enema and castration.
In the past three days, Horne drank a lot of precious medicinal materials and ingredients in the monastery in a daze, and ate a lot of Warcraft meat, before his condition stabilized.
But it only stabilized, and Horn continued to have periodic high fevers.
Most of the time in his sleep, he spent the nightmare of being surrounded and suppressed by the church and the imperial army, and then having his head cut off again, followed by an endless cycle of nightmares.
Every time Horn wakes up, he can't stop sighing.
He killed a priest in full public view. This was not a country knight like Barnett, but a genuine priest.
The alias of priests and priests is village bishops. Although the church does not have bishops at this level, their power and status are equal.
What’s even more frightening is that countless people saw his face, whether when he was killing people or when he was receiving treatment.
He couldn't even be sure how many people knew who he was, and who had seen his face. He couldn't even think of how to cover it up.
At the same time, according to the information he heard vaguely while sleeping, the villagers in the Gulag Monastery have united with the Secret Party to launch a riot.
For some unknown reason, they actually thought of themselves as the legendary "Chosen One".
Horn sometimes really can't understand these people from other worlds with strange ideas. How can a person who has never been seen before, a person who appears suddenly, become the "Chosen One"? Woolen cloth?
There was at least some foreshadowing and intention behind Horn's becoming the Holy Grandson, and he could still understand it.
But he really doesn't understand the Chosen One incident. Is this reasonable?
Because he killed that priest?
In any case, these villagers regarded him as the Chosen One as the Savior. Coupled with the previous riots...
If the army of the empire or the church took charge of this, I am afraid it would be a disaster. Consider yourself a part of the riot gang.
A big black pot was placed directly on his forehead. Horn didn't want to die with these lunatics.
It's hard, but for now, let's think about how to survive this damn disease.
Lying on the bed, like the previous two days, the high fever gradually turned into a low fever. Thirst and chest tightness woke up Horn from his sleep. He closed his eyes and shouted:
"Jean, I want a drink of water."
Unlike usual, no one answered Horn's request today.
Horn reluctantly opened his eyes. There was no one in the huge room, only the dusty wooden ceiling.
Moving his body, Horn felt something warm pressing against his body.
Turning around to look, the first thing that caught his eye was a head of white hair, long white hair that looked like white porcelain, hanging messily.
"You're holding my hair down..." Perhaps because of the movement of Horn's body, a mature female voice that sounded like a coquettish voice came from the white hair.
Nestled next to Horn, she was wearing a white linen nightgown with a waist, and her two slender and strong thighs tightly clamped Horn's waist.
The woman held Horn in her arms like a pillow.
Through the soft white cloth, Horn could even feel the furry touch on his waist and abdomen.
Seeing that Horn was awake, she sat up obediently, rubbed her agate-like eyes with her white fists, and murmured:
"Dad..."
< br>At this moment, Horn could see her face clearly. It was an extremely inconsistent face.
On this body with nine heads and a neck as elegant as a swan, there is a small face that looks like it is only fifteen or sixteen years old.
There is even some baby fat on the oval-shaped face, coupled with the shy and cute expression, people with poor eyesight would think she is just a cute little loli.
But Horn would not look down upon her. The round thing on her chest stood out so high that Jeanne was like a small mound in front of her.
If Horn guessed correctly, this should be the witch Carrie, the witch imprisoned by Duldaver.
She must have been the one who played the bone flute on the rainy night. Looking at her state, and considering the rumors that she had been fed too much holy water, Horn reasonably suspected that she had lost her memory.
“Why are you in my bed? Where is Jeanne?”
Horn asked his question bluntly.
"Well..." Carrie put her index finger against her lips, "Sister Jeanne, ask me to take care of you, and then, I'm sleepy."
As she said that, she Yawned. "Have we known each other before? Why did you call me Sister Jeanne?"
"Pangpang bullied me, Pangpang is bad, you beat Pangpang to death, hello."
"Then why do you sleep in my bed?"
"Because you are hot, very warm."
What do you call me hot? I have a fever, okay?
Horn didn't know what to say for a moment. He sat up, picked up his coat and put it on himself.
He just wanted to get out of bed, but he felt severe pain in his sinuses, and his whole body was extremely sore. The familiar dizziness from before came again.
There was no other way, so Horn had no choice but to lean on the bedside and pant slightly. He looked helplessly at Carrie, who was curled up like a little animal and about to fall asleep, and asked in a low voice: "How long has Jeanne been out?"
< br>"I don't know."
"When will she come back?"
"I don't know..."
"Where is the servant? Call the servant."
"..."
Looking at Carrie who fell asleep with her head on his lap mid-sentence, Horn was completely helpless.
He was finally sober this time, and wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to save himself.
The treatment plan proposed by the doctors before, such as enema and bloodletting, was simply a joke.
If you want to save your life, you have to play on your own.
In his opinion, a disease like his was probably caused by some kind of germ infection.
The best way to deal with bacterial infections is antibiotics. Penicillin is 100% impossible to produce, but there is allicin.
In the Middle Ages, when technology was backward, allicin was relatively simple to make.
It should be enough to puree twenty kilograms of garlic and then distill the golden oil.
Most monasteries will have special brass stills for some celebrations and festivals. They all know the process, and Horn does not even need to operate it himself.
The only problem is that he doesn't know whether allicin can be distilled from the garlic here.
In the final analysis, the dead horse had been treated as a living horse by Horn for countless times, so it was not a problem at all.
But at this critical moment, Jeanne is not there, and Carrie is a child in an adult body. What should we do?
The sound of pushing the door woke Horn up from his thoughts. He looked up and saw several villagers wearing wrinkled dresses walking in.
"You..."
Horn was overjoyed. Although he was dissatisfied with the circumstances of his being chosen as the Chosen One, he was still satisfied with using his status as the Chosen One for his benefit.
Someone happens to be here, so you might as well ask them to help you get allicin.
But before Horn could say anything, the villagers rushed forward and grabbed Horn's arms from left to right.
"I'm sorry, Lord Saint Sunson."
The two men lifted Horn up from the bed, sandwiched him between them, and trotted towards the door.
"What are you going to do?" Horn tried to struggle, but the severe pain in his sinuses and body made it almost impossible for him to move.
I had no choice but to be pinched and dragged outside.
There is a chapter later in ps. I have had a slight cold in the past two days, so it is a bit fast to save the manuscript
(End of this chapter)