Chapter 513 Holy Oil and Divine Magic
After solving the trivial matters in the Holy Advent Hall, Horn rested for ten minutes before setting off again to the Lubyanka Monastery.
After more than half a year of research, the Chekas finally successfully developed the first batch of holy oil.
Sitting in the carriage, Horn watched the walls of the Lubyanka Monastery on the mound getting closer and closer. Several Holy Gun Cavalrymen next to him were so nervous that they could not speak.
Horn couldn't help but laugh. Lubyanka was obviously demonized in the eyes of most people in Fort Joan.
"Your Majesty." René meticulously saluted Horn who got off the car, "Please follow me."
"What is the quality of the holy oil produced?"
"It's strange. You'll know after I show you." When it came to the legality of the Salvation Army, Rene didn't say much.
I don’t know whether he betrayed the situation intentionally or unintentionally, Rene led Horn and his group to walk in the courtyard garden of the monastery.
Following René into the attic, there are several large pots and tables with copper alchemy vessels.
There were two large boxes on the ground, filled with jars of holy oil.
The process of making these holy oils is very simple, which is to pour a lump of holy oil into holy water and then chant over it every day.
After a month or two, the holy water will gradually gelatinize, and then a layer of solidified white grease will condense on the water surface.
Mixing these white oils and herbs, you can create holy oil, a key tool for all magical spells and blessings.
Horn once suspected that holy oil was the source of magical energy, but there was no evidence to prove it.
Regarding the source of magical energy, not only Horn, but also the monks have no clue.
They know it but don't know why. As long as they read it in the book, apply holy oil, and start the ritual, they can use it to get the blessing.
The special thing about this extraordinary power is that it has almost no physical sensation.
For example, witches can intuitively feel the existence of mana and use it to form spells.
For example, knights can clearly feel the rhythm of muscles and breathing, which allows them to perform countless extraordinary martial arts.
But the monks can't do that. Most of their magical blessings are obtained by exhaustive methods.
They rely on scripted rituals and recitations. They never have intuitive feelings and are naturally unable to invent and innovate.
The holy light and echo in the scriptures can only be imagined by yourself.
What makes Horn feel the most absurd is that these monks and monks transform from mortal to extraordinary with little or no training.
Wizards need to meditate, knights need to exercise, and monks don’t even need to drink potions.
After entering a monastery, reciting the chants daily for seven or eight years, and practicing the familiar rituals, they can use the blessing.
With increasing proficiency in the ritual and age, power will naturally increase.
The breathing method needs to be practiced after all. The monastery can only rely on reading.
When it comes to reciting the Gospels, many priests also recite the Gospels every day. The church is not much different from the monastery, but the priests just can't use the magic of blessing.
Many devout nobles and fanatics are much more active in reciting and copying the "Gospel" every day than the monks, and they have not seen the power of blessing.
It was as if there was some kind of identification system that could screen out weird things like Horn.
Horn initially thought that the criterion for this "identification system" was faith and piety, but thinking about what the monks did, he felt it was not the case.
After many tests without results, he still suspended this waste of material and manpower.
Anyway, the current few monasteries can stably produce monks, so long as they can be used.
Having given up on the study of divine arts for about half a year, it wasn't until Ludvik mentioned a secret in a casual chat that he regained his interest in blessing.
The secret is simple to say.
If a monk leaves the monastery, even if he maintains the same pious life as before, the power of blessing will not disappear, but it will not increase.
So the monks always move around the monastery and never leave the monastery too far, especially those monks who have mastered extraordinary power. After getting new clues, Horn planned to send people to investigate, secretly conduct characteristic surveys and statistics on the monasteries in the territory, and even build a monastery of his own in an attempt to cultivate a group of them himself.
However, he wanted to try first to see if the monastery occupied by their group of "holy heretics" could still be used?
"It works, but it can't be used."
"You might as well speak more clearly."
Rene waved over a submissive monk, who was once Lubyan The priest of the Ka Monastery is very familiar with the production of holy oil.
“We followed the original method every step of the way, as these Cheka gentlemen can testify.” The old monk rubbed his messy hair, “But the holy oil produced is getting worse and worse. Two batches are still usable, but the third and fourth batches are almost unusable."
"Take me to see it." Horn walked towards the big pot.
When we came to the pot, a Zhizi frame was immersed in the water. Several monks were sitting around the pot, chanting incessantly.
Even though there is no fire source or heat underneath, there are still small bubbles popping up in the pot.
Looking at the bubbling cauldron, Horn frowned tightly.
Is it possible that this monastery can really identify who lives in it?
After looking in front of the cauldron for a long time, Horn checked around again, but still had no clue. This process was too cumbersome, and he was not sure whether it was really as magical as the monks said.
"Go back and build four small monasteries, use the control variable method I mentioned before, and check carefully to see where the problem is."
…………
After visiting the holy oil production in the Gulag Monastery, Horn returned to Castle Joan, just in time to catch Catherine's departure by boat.
Workers carrying goods came and went in front of the dock, and night watchmen formed a human wall in front of the plank road.
Standing at the pier, Catherine, carrying the special suitcase made by Joan of Arc, turned around: "Just send it here. Thank you for taking the time to see me off."
"It's so formal for you, it feels like an old man saying goodbye to a child." Horn responded with a smile.
Katherine's smile stopped and she immediately retorted viciously: "After all, I have to look down at you every time. It's hard not to regard you as a junior."
"...You said that. It's boring." Horn denied angrily.
In this era, his height of 1.7 meters is not considered short, and he is considered tall among ordinary men.
It’s just that except for Shilov, all of the witches in this group are tall and tall, which makes him look shorter.
"Okay." Catherine turned her head and glanced at the raised sail, "I should go."
"Everything in Rapids City depends on you." Fading his smile, Horn looked at the man standing on the plank road. Catherine at the end waved goodbye.
"Don't worry, I won't let you down." Catherine waved the same signal, turned and walked towards the ship.
But just before Catherine's boots landed on the boat, a harsh sound came from far and near.
“Dududu——”
This sharp whistle made both Horn and Catherine startled at the same time. They looked towards the river and saw a fusiform boat shuttling back and forth between the barges.
The waves caused by the waves threatened to overturn the boat several times, but the boat still managed to reach the shore.
After a while, several pale-faced Salvation Army war monks climbed onto the shore without having time to rest.
They ran towards the stable, and after running seven or eight steps, someone pointed to Horn and shouted in surprise: "Your Majesty is over there, there is no need to run."
What's going on? Horn frowned. Could it be that Prince Condai launched an attack?
"What's going on?" Horn rushed towards those people, and Catherine followed closely.
The black-robed monk in black hat adjusted the hat on his head: "Your Majesty, urgent news came from Rapid City. Three days ago, Ludwik, the abbot of Brago Monastery, was assassinated by an unknown person. "
"What?"
Horn's surprised voice sounded at the same time as Catherine's suitcase fell to the ground.
(End of this chapter)