René's mother has died.
It happened just ten days ago, but René felt nothing because the maternal love meant for him had long disappeared.
His body was covered in whip scars, and his ear was missing a corner — clear evidence.
He splashed cold morning water on his face and picked the sleep from the corners of his eyes, wiping his face clean with a handkerchief.
Carrying the wooden bucket, he lifted his head and looked toward the sky filled with gray clouds.
A few whistling thrushes were flying low between the grayish-blue mountains, making shrill whistle-like calls.
Since the invention of the potato root purification method, about five days had passed.
The once pouring rain was shrinking day by day, and even yesterday, it didn't rain at all throughout the entire day.
However, René heard from the old farmers in the village that this is just temporary. In one or two days, or maybe in three to five days, there will be a heavy rainstorm.
This storm would come and go quickly. Only after it finishes would the long rainy season end, and autumn's clear skies would arrive.
By then, there would still be time to replant the fields with fast-growing barley and accumulate some winter grain by the end of November.
René poured out the water from the bucket, stood up straight, and looked down the mountain.
As the floodwaters receded, the shadow of Red Mill Village finally emerged.
Similar to most villages in Thousand River Valley, Red Mill Village also relied on a river and grew in the valley.
But the river for Red Mill Village wasn't the Nao'an River that runs through Thousand River Valley, but one of its tributaries, the Honey River.
In a long, narrow basin, along the Honey River, Red Mill Village was also long and narrow.
The waterwheels in the stream leaned askew, wrapped in swarming mosquitoes and flies.
In a slightly higher terrain near Holy Grail Mountain, behind high square stone walls, lay Barnett's country villa.
The indigo glazed tile roof's cross-shape frame was blown off by the wind, hanging upside down by the eaves, swaying with the murky wind, as water dripped drop by drop from the frame.
Below the villa, crooked and askew, were seven or eight self-contained small courtyards.
The fences, built with scraps of square white stone and black thorns, were knocked down, pressing against the stone mill.
Next to these small courtyards were barns, cart houses, and stables.
On the roadside, there were wooden stakes and saw pits to be seen everywhere; the original haystacks were carried off by the flood, leaving only a differently-colored mark.
Looking further west, there were long, narrow plots along the Honey River, fenced by vines and hemp ropes.
In the field roads, there were a few old oaks and ruinous huts, where the Public Register Farmers lived.
The soil-yellow rice stalks floated lifelessly in the water, tangled with mud, stones, and branches.
René squinted, and among the objects tangled with rice stalks, there were even two corpses.
One was human, and the other was unclear, seemingly a cow or horse, or perhaps another human.
The winding Honey River meandered westward, behind the tall mountain peak lay Tree Hedge Church.
There, the church convened a service school every seven days, teaching all believers literacy and arithmetic for free.
Of course, learning to write and do arithmetic definitely requires paper and pen, and outside the church, there was a designated paper and pen shop.
Priest Durdafer said it was because the shop was near the church, thus imbued with a holy aura, qualifying it to carry sacred knowledge.
It had nothing to do with the owner being his lover's nephew.
That place used to be René's most longed-for destination.
He didn't long for the bright church; he longed for the pride he saw in children writing their names in the company of their parents.
But now, he received the same treatment — writing his name by his own hand and having a godfather just seven years older than him.
"René!" He stood dazed on the hillside, forgetting time until Jeanne tugged at his ear, waking him from his trance to turn rigidly.
"Three whistles and you haven't returned to camp, have you caught Duvalon's illness?"
"Sister Jeanne..." René attempted to evoke his sibling bond with Jeanne.
"Call me Instructor. Go, accept five strokes with the ruler yourself." Jeanne's eyes widened, and she growled, "Do I need to invite you?"
René shivered, hurriedly carrying the empty bucket and running back to camp.
Pushing open the door of the Hunter's Hut, he saw a young man in a blue-black short robe sitting cross-legged in front of the fire kang, with a wooden bowl on his knees, still braiding the hair of the only orphan girl, Miga, among the Adopted Son Group.
The spoon, which was supposed to be brought by René, ended up clumsily in the hands of the little Monk Armand.
Horn didn't wait for René and strictly followed the schedule, dividing their potato root meal.
"I thought only I could be late, but who would have thought, who would have thought, even someone with such thick eyebrows and big eyes like you could be late!" Upon seeing René, the blonde Duvalon immediately laughed gleefully, not even feeling the pain in his red, swollen palm.
Tying Miga's messy hair with a hemp rope, Horn glanced at René with some surprise.
He remembered that among these children, René was the smartest and most punctual. It was rare for him to be late today.
"Why were you late today?"
"The waters receded, I was distracted and confused the call of the thrush with the whistle."
"It's good news that the waters receded," Horn laughed heartily, patting René's forehead, "Remember next time, don't get distracted again."
He drew out the ruler, thought for a moment, and put it aside: "Let's eat first, if I hit now, the food will get cold."
"You always shield them." Jeanne, who just entered, hung her cloak on the hook, pouting in a huff, "Do you want to turn René into another Duvalon?"
"What did I do? I wasn't late yesterday," Duvalon immediately protested.
Giving Duvalon a pat on the back of the head, Jeanne squeezed in beside Horn, snuggling closely against his shoulder.
Sitting by the fire kang, René picked up the wooden bowl, which contained yellowish potato root mush mixed with dark green wild vegetable leaves. The greenish stuff floating on the thick porridge surface was sorrel sauce.
This wasn't René's first time eating potato root meal; he long lost the initial novelty.
He quickly scooped the potato mush into his mouth with the wooden spoon, as Sister Jeanne would soon take them to practice spearmanship and breathing techniques, after which they would have an extra snack of about half an ounce of magic rabbit meat.
From practice to before lunch, they would then lead the villagers in marching prayers and singing hymns.
Marching prayers was Horn's new invention, essentially marching in place rhythmically while praying loudly, aiming to forge a sense of collectiveness and discipline.
The afternoon was the time for Horn to teach words, arithmetic, and hymns, and in the evening, they would practice hymns together with other village children.
From morning till night, apart from after lunch and dinner, there was almost no resting time.
Sometimes, they even had to take on auxiliary tasks of maintaining order, mediating disputes, and patrolling.
"By the way." Wiping the residue from the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, Horn instructed the Orphan Guard, "It hasn't rained much these days, I have spoken with Kosse, and he will come tomorrow to baptize you and make you my real adopted sons."
In the teachings of the Miseria Church, a Godfather is a religious guide for the children.
If the children's parents were to pass away, the Godfather would also have guardianship over the godchildren.
The ceremony concluding this sacred covenant is a baptism conducted by the Godfather himself.
But such ceremonies are mostly prevalent among the freemen.
Public Register Farmers, for instance, do not have this right or ceremony, but now, they are all the chosen of the Saint's Grandson, naturally gaining freedom.
René looked up, surrounded by orphans whose eyes were filled with surprise and anticipation, while his own expression remained unchanged, merely looking down at the potato mush in his bowl.
Beyond the anticipation, there was an indescribable fear within his heart.
Jeanne, who often played the role of a strict mother figure before the orphans, uncharacteristically smiled, gently straightening René's spine: "Sit up straight, from now on, no matter who bullies you, they bully all of us; we'll stand together and fight back."
"...Okay."
After receiving Horn's ruler, René rubbed his swollen red hand, tidying up the wooden bowls and clutter in the small hut with the other orphans.
As for Horn and Jeanne, they went to inspect the camp.
"Hey, everyone," Duvalon chatted loudly while cleaning, "We are about to become the adopted sons and guards of the Lord Saint Grandson, which is on par with the invincible Pope's Guard. We ought to have a name, right?"
"What do you suggest we call ourselves?"
"How about the Orphan Guard?"
"Or the Feather Forest Knight."
"Why not simply the Adopted Son Group."
"Actually..." René's voice rose, quieting everyone, who then looked to him, "Actually, the villagers of Red Mill Village have already given us a nickname, calling us child soldiers, which means—"
René paused.
"Child Soldiers."