CHAPTER THREE

Col could only run at full speed until he reached the edge of the forest, and once they exited onto the snowy fields beyond, he began to pant. Soon he could lift his feet no longer. Reality never went the way he imagined. Myuri could only roll her eyes at him, but his legs propelled them forward, fueled by a sense of duty.

Myuri had thought they were going to take a rest at the church, but they passed through it and headed straight to the port.

It was just after noon so the main streets they passed were mostly empty. After searching around the docks, Col quickly found what he was looking for: a boat bound for the monastery.

Considering what Reicher had told them, Col thought such a sudden request to be ferried over would be refused, but when he called out to the men at the port, the tips of all their noses bright red, laughing together merrily, every man clamored to be the one to take them. He ended up deciding with the flip of a coin, then paid the fare, which cost about the same amount as a whole loaf of rye bread in Atiph. It was not an easy proposition to cross the water in springtime, but rather one that would mean the end of his life if he fell in, so he did not consider the cost to be excessive. It also accounted for the fact that the captain himself would be taking a risk.

It was a small vessel, one that would be full after seating four adults, and thanks to the rowing skills of the man who claimed to be a fisherman, they glided across the dark sea.

The harbor soon grew small in the distance, and the captain’s friends waved their hands wildly toward them.

Though it was barely noticeable from the port, they could clearly feel the waves shifting under them as they got farther and farther away from land. The boat was small; even inside, they were close enough to the water that if he reached out, he could touch it.

He thought Myuri might crouch on the bottom of the boat for the duration of the crossing, but she sat silently beside him. She must have been angry at him because when they had crossed through the main street, they went right by a restaurant with good smells wafting from it. But she seemed a much more committed helper to his job this way.

“An apprenticeship, eh?” The captain suddenly spoke to him.

“…I beg your pardon. What?”

“You aiming for an apprenticeship? With the brother.”

The compact captain already had sweat dripping from his forehead. His breath was also pure white, while his smile was strained.

“You were running around the island so frantically with that little friend of yours there.”

Since it was such a small place, they had likely been watched ever since they arrived before noon. Reicher’s warning had certainly not been a joke.

“Or if you’re planning on building a new monastery, I suggest you don’t.”

There was no malice in the man’s words as he continued to smile at Col.

“I’ve heard that many times on the way here. Are there really that many people who come to do that?” Col asked.

The captain responded without so much as a pause in the motion of the oars.

“Even if we’re only counting the most obvious-looking guys, there’s at least one every year or two, without fail. Sometimes merchants even come to take a gander around the islands. Their noble friends tell ’em to come build a monastery, and they’re hoping to make some shiny coin for themselves. Most of them are southerners coming up here to gather herring and cod.”

Construction, ordering daily supplies, transporting visitors, plus other odds and ends. The merchant who had taken Col in when he was a child had told him there was not much money to be made trading with monasteries, but perhaps these businessmen had intended to work themselves to the bone for the monastery in service of God.

The boat had come rather far from the port, and likely due to how small the vessel was, the lake in the sea seemed unusually large.

There was something peculiar about the loneliness at sea. Anyone could find faith here.

“Mr. Reicher at the church hammered that story into us.”

“Ah, Father Reicher the drunkard.”

The captain laughed.

“Though it is true that my lord and employer ordered me to investigate the region, right now I simply wish to meet the monk who oversees the faith in this land.”

“It looks like you visited the shrine up at the foot of the mountain and everything, too.”

“Wha—?”

Col was shocked, wondering how he knew. The boat captain’s face wore a mysterious expression.

“You can clearly see anyone walking over the snowfields from the port, and you have a good view of the sea from the shrine, right? Look to God and he shall watch over you, too—that’s one of his teachings, isn’t it?”

The man was right. Now that he thought about it, Col turned back, and behind the captain, he could see the island and the mountain. The tiny, ant-like white dots must have been the clearing before the shrine in the serpent’s mouth.

How perfect it was that he mentioned the shrine. There was something he wanted to ask before going to the monastery and meeting the monk there.

“Is there a reason why the black Holy Mother is facing away from us?”

There was no doubt that the line dividing plants on the mountain was that distinct because of those cliffs. Besides, the withering river had changed into a spindly sea, and in the middle of its flow sat that cave. That being the case, it certainly gave the impression that she was praying for it to come back to life.

“Ha-ha, a studious priest you are. Not something you see every day.”

Col was not a priest, but it did not seem that the captain really thought he was one, either. The sense he got was that was just how the captain termed anyone who looked like a man of the Church.

“Most of the guys from the south don’t pay any attention to this land. So that makes me happy. I’ll gladly tell you.”

As he worked the oars, he cleared his throat.

“This is a story from back when my gramps was a kid. When a dragon still lived at the bottom of the sea.”

As they got farther out onto the open water, the wind grew stronger and the waves grew higher. Col squinted his eyes as the water sprayed him, and the captain stared off distantly, vigorously pulling the oars.

“We’ve been fishermen for generations, and our boats have always been made from wood. But it’s cold up here, you know. Trees take a long time to grow; people generally cut them down faster. The islands around here lost their woods quickly, and soon there was nothing but grassland. Now, the only trees left standing are in Caeson, and it’s been like that for a long time.”

Even if they considered the entire journey by ship from Atiph, there was no doubt that Caeson was the only island that held any trees.

“We live with the sea, and we need to use wood to cross it. We had no choice but to rely on the trees in Caeson. It’s like the candle of our life, allowing us to hold on as long as the flame is still lit. But…”

Then the boat rocked and nearly tilted over, and Col hurriedly clung to the side. He held out a hand to Myuri, who had collapsed, and when he looked back to the port, he could nearly no longer see it through the haze. He could only see the fuzzy blackness of the mountain.

“We don’t know why, but God had become angry.”

Col held Myuri with one hand, gripping the side of the boat with the other; then he looked at the captain, who took a deep breath, then exhaled deeply.

“The mountain spit out fire.”

The goats, who were typically unfazed by anything, had apparently been agitated all day, and something strange had caused the birds to all take flight as well. The captain said that though it was currently the snowy season, the air was warm as if it were spring.

Then, the ground groaned, the mountain shook, and the snow that fell was not cool and white but instead hot and black. Rather than snowmelt, molten stone traveled down the river toward the town, burning everything in its path.

“There weren’t enough ships. Gramps, who was just a kid at the time, somehow got on a ship, but it was crammed with people and there was no way it could get out to sea. They only went out far enough that they could still see the faces of the people stuck in the port, and there was nothing else they could do but watch the burning mountain and wait as hell itself approached them. The place he lived burned; the bread of their life that was the forest burned; his parents and brothers and sisters still in the port were about to meet the same fate, but at the very least, he was on the water. The frigid waters would be able to cool and harden even molten rock. His heart felt like it would be torn from the feelings of both despair and relief.”

If there was a ship that would save people’s lives, then it was only natural for them to climb aboard. But accepting that would do nothing to lighten the pangs of guilt. Even during the commotion in Atiph, when Hyland put her life on the line and went to the Church, the most logical choice for Col and Myuri was to escape by themselves. Though Hyland had also strongly encouraged them to do so, Col had still almost been crushed by his own powerlessness and guilt.

“But when almost the entire top half of the mountain was covered in fire, my gramps could see someone walking on the snowfields toward the mountain. Silhouetted by the flames was a woman. The guys watching from the port and the water thought it was someone who’d completely given in to despair. Then, the moment that figure stood in the river, that road of the flames, a miracle happened.”

The captain spoke as though he had seen it himself, likely because he had heard the story countless times, and the images had ingrained themselves into his mind like he had seen the event himself.

Even Col could imagine what the people on the ships had seen when he turned around to look.

“The hellfire pouring down the mountainside dammed up in the middle of the river. It was split in two and began to die down. Maybe it was a lucky thing that the snow had been so deep. The molten rock, split in two, rolled slowly down the hill; then, cooled by the snow, it hardened. The cooled rock became an embankment, preventing anything flowing after it.”

That was what those sudden cliffs were. To be able to stop such a flow of molten rock, it must have been huge—something that would leave behind a giant cavern.

“The top half of the mountain had been razed, but the bottom half was fine. While smoke still rose from the stones, people ran to where the miracle happened. Beyond the strange rock face, still smoking and red from the heat in places, was a big cavern. It looked like the entrance to hell itself, smoke billowing from it. Apparently, molten rock dripped from the ceiling, like the stomach acid of a great beast. And then, in the entrance—sitting there was a pitch-black lump of charcoal.”

When Col saw the shrine, he had the unshakable feeling that he had seen it somewhere before.

And that had not just been his imagination. It was almost identical to an old legend from the village he was born in. Once, when a flash flood came crashing down the mountain toward the village, a large frog god appeared and bravely offered itself to save the village—there were such tales in any region.

That being said, it was one thing for a frog to stand against water, but the woman who appeared in Caeson halted the burning flow of molten rocks.

“And so, the Black-Mother…”

The captain glanced at Col when he murmured.

“She was the one who saved us from danger.”

As the man spoke, he lightly tapped his waistcloth. Col thought for a moment that the captain had a dagger stored underneath, but it was most likely where he kept his figure of the Black-Mother.

“Half the trees that supported our livelihood were lost, but after that, our people had terrific fishing season after terrific fishing season. Then, maybe as a reminder of the Black-Mother, we even found veins of coal. Everyone, including my gramps, worked hard and saved money and bought lumber from faraway lands. They wouldn’t touch the trees on the island. Thanks to that, though, now it looks a bit more like a proper forest. And that’s why the colors are different, as you see them.

The stark difference in colors of the forest was not because the plants were different species but because the ages of the trees.

“And that was when the monastery was…?”

“Yeah.”

Col turned to face forward again, and the mass of earth he had seen in the distance had now come into view.

He could see a stone building squatting between two rock formations that extended out like horns.

A small boat was docked at the shabby pier.

Removed from all the impurities of the mortal world, there was no place more perfect than this to concentrate on prayer.

“I’ve heard that my gramps’ gramps, the ones who built the monastery, had a political reason for building it at the time. Because unlike now, the war against the pagans was truly raging during his time.”

For generations, the Church had been obsessed with subduing the pagans in the northlands. Even in the current day, there were many who regarded the region with suspicious eyes, but it must have been truly terrible years back.

“They realized that if they built a church, then people would come here from the mainland, asking for tax and jurisdiction and whatnot. So they only erected a building in a place that was completely uninhabitable. And so, it implied that even though our people may have converted to the teachings of God, we wouldn’t accept a ruler.”

Of course, without a supervisor, it was difficult to put them under the Church’s jurisdiction. Hyland had also said that the Church tried countless times to put this region into its sphere of influence but had given up due to the endless problems.

These people lived their lives constantly balanced on the edge, and there was no way they could afford to pay tithes and other Church taxes.

Even so, they were a hardy people.

“As for the teachings of the Church themselves, well, we were taught by the priests that the merchants brought along to pray for safe passage. The monastery stood empty for a long time, but…then, the brother who’s there now, appeared. That was almost twenty years ago.”

His words were unexpected.

“This was back during those good fishing seasons, when you could stab a sword haphazardly into the water from a boat and pull out a whole skewer of fish, which was around the time the coal mining started to empty out. The old men argued and argued if they should cut down the trees to build more houses, create more families, and continue mining for coal or build more boats to go fishing or else fall into bankruptcy before long. One day, the fisherman found a battered boat on those rocks and a person sitting inside it.”

They were now close enough that they could see inside the windows of the monastery.

“Everyone was surprised. Of course they were! How reckless would you have to be to come alone in a tiny boat to these waters? Then, he spoke. He had been sold into slavery somewhere to the south, and when he touched the jet his master held, images of this land spread in his mind. He said the jet was a fragment of the Holy Mother. Then he climbed aboard a tiny boat as he was told and drifted all the way here. He said he was sent to carry the heavy burden of this land upon his shoulders.”

The captain stopped rowing the boat and began preparing rope in order to dock at the pier.

“He wore a lone set of rags. He didn’t have food but instead had a mountain of black figures of the Holy Mother. The old men believed that he was sent by the Holy Mother and left him to solve their argument.”

Their boat approached the pier, blown by the wind, and the captain tossed the rope around a stake, then pulled them in.

“Surely, what led him to this land was the fragment of the Holy Mother’s body.”

“A relic,” Col murmured subconsciously.

Relics—items that were associated with miracles, like cloth that a saint would have worn or the body of a saint itself. They were believed to work miracles, bringing prosperity and able to fight off demons or sickness. There were many people who prayed for miracles, and there were merchants who specialized in them.

Col had only ever heard about them in stories, and most were shams.

Of course, he would not say that about the Black-Mother, but the captain gave him a troubled smile.

“What Gramps and the elders had were pieces of the Holy Mother. But what I and the other young fishermen have is jet found on other islands besides Caeson. We can claim that if it came from the mines of Caeson, then it’s a piece of her body, but the mines are practically all dried up now. There’s no doubt it’s the brother’s hand carving, but it’s not a piece of the Holy Mother. But, well, it’s good enough. My kids and their kids might have to order jet from other countries. It’s the Holy Mother, so I don’t think we’ll lose profit, but…it makes me a bit sad.”

Yosef had also sighed over the decline of the mines.

However, with a strength that belied his current dour mood, the captain fastened the boat down.

The dinghy jetty, washed by the waves, stretched up onto a rocky island that hardly seemed habitable.

“Well, we’re here.”

The captain kept one foot the boat and put one foot on the boards to pull on the anchoring rope because the waves relentlessly rocked the small vessel. As Col thanked him for his consideration, they hopped onto the pier.

“Thank you very much.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. We can’t just waltz over here without good reason, either. I’m happy to have an excuse.”

He smiled and produced a small figure of the Holy Mother from beneath his belt.

“Pray here, and you’ll be in sound health for the decade to come.”

It sounded like he was joking, but it did not feel like one.

It became clear that the reason the men clamored when Col asked for passage was not for the money but for the chance to come to this important place. It may have been that everyone was so fervent in their faith that if left unchecked, the island would overflow with people.

“Well, when you’re finished, come show yourself at the pier. It’s the rule that I have to leave here now. The guys back at the island will think I’ve outsmarted them!”

The man was grinning mischievously.

“I understand.”

The captain pressed the figure of the Black-Mother to his chest once more and bowed toward the monastery, released the rope, hopped into his boat, then glided off.

The wind and the waves crashed against the rocks without pause as the cold crept in through Col’s feet, stealing his warmth.

The story of the Holy Mother who saved the island was almost exactly how he imagined it. He felt the people of the island had several practical reasons for respecting the Black-Mother as the Holy Mother.

The only remaining problem was the monk.

“…So you noticed, Brother.”

Myuri’s gaze was sharp, perhaps due to passing up a break at the church and the restaurant back in the port town.

Or she may have been angry because he should be talking to her about those who were not human.

“I told you about the village I was born in, didn’t I? But I was not confident about it back there.”

“It didn’t smell like grilled meat, either.”

Col was startled, and Myuri cackled mischievously. For a moment, he thought about lecturing her about respecting the dead, but her expression soon became serious.

“She was probably the same as Mother.”

Perhaps Myuri did not say “the same as me” because when she changed into her wolf form, she was not that big. Her mother, Holo, became large enough to swallow a man whole.

“But even Mother wouldn’t be enough.”

Certainly, not even a wisewolf would have been able to fill that cavern.

“Maybe if it was the Moon-Hunting Bear?” Myuri spoke, making no attempt to hide her excitement.

The Moon-Hunting Bear was the incarnation of destruction, a being that occasionally appeared in myths from ancient times throughout the mainland. It may have been a spirit that truly did exist once, and it was said that it was large enough to sit on the ridgelines of mountains, and it could reach out and touch the moon. Many spirits died by its claws, and it ripped the earth itself in half. The story goes that after a violent rampage, the bear disappeared into the western sea.

It would make sense that the woman’s whereabouts were unknown if, after saving the people of the island, she turned to ash.

That being said, what he wanted to know was not what happened to her.

It seemed like Myuri knew that.

“So, why did we come here in such a hurry?”

“If the Black-Mother is not human, then there are four possibilities in this region’s faith.”

Beyond the unstable jetty that seemed like it could crumble at any minute was a bare stone building, where calling it “simple” would be better than it deserved, built on a reef to keep people away.

“The islanders either know she is not human and worship her as the Holy Mother anyway, or they truly believe it was a miracle of the Holy Mother wrought by God.”

Had he whispered, he would not have been able to hear his own voice over the sound of the waves and the wind.

“Then, there is the possibility that the monk making the figures of the Black-Mother knows about the miracle, or he doesn’t.”

As she finished listening, Myuri shrugged her shoulders and looked at him, amazed.

“You’re really picky with the weirdest things, Brother.”

Myuri had made a comment, but that was not the case.

If the islanders and the monk both truly believed in the miracle of the Holy Mother, then that was fine. There was no way to prove what happened in the past, and they had already converted to the teachings of the Church, so they could be trusted. However, it would be a different story if the islanders and the monk believed that the miracle was actually caused by someone who was not human and did not actually consider it an act of God.

If they simply wore the teachings of the Church as a cover, then Col and Myuri would need to overlook that deception should they become their allies in their fight with the Church. And judging by how the captain spoke, while the people of this region looked at the Church’s authority with suspicious eyes, they were still earnest in their faith.

And so, he needed to see the monk who was making the Holy Mother figures that served as the basis for their faith.

While lacking in other areas, when it came to matters of faith, Col had the confidence he could see through the fabrications of others. Monastic life was to fight with oneself, so any deception would be readily visible. There was no way someone with clean nails and spaces between the fingers would be devoting themselves to unforgiving moderation, no matter how tattered their clothes were.

“But, Brother, they won’t like inquisition.”

Myuri, born and raised in Nyohhira, a gathering place for travelers, spoke as though she understood.

“I must check to see that the faith in this land is righteous.”

There was a sudden strong gust of wind, and for a moment, his body had almost been blown away. Myuri closed her eyes under her hood and brushed her bangs away.

“Well, I guess that’s your job.”

Myuri shrugged and pressed a gloved hand to her nose.

“But it’s cold. I feel like I’m going to get sick. Let’s at least hide behind a rock.”

Though she was used to the snowy mountains of Nyohhira, this was a place where the sea wind blew. They walked up the pier, supporting each other, and landed on the reef. It was too small to be called an island, and in addition to the shedlike building, it would have felt crowded with four or five adults huddled around a fire.

The waves almost reached their feet, perhaps because it was high tide, and they were splashed with water whenever the wind blew. If something happened, it seemed impossible to swim to a port with people, and no one would notice yells or a raised flag.

Were someone to truly be living here day to day, there was no way they would be of ordinary sensibilities.

It was like the legendary recluse living in a hermitage in the desert from the scripture.

“Myuri, please wait for me in that hollow.”

Col lowered his voice but not because he was going over some secret plan. Monasteries were silent as a rule.

“Why? I want to see the inside, too.”

Myuri objected, of course, and spoke frankly.

“Women cannot enter monasteries. This is a matter of respect for the faith.”

She began to say something, but she seemed to tell by his expression whether he would give in if she argued some more. She pursed her lips, disappointed, and looked away in a huff.

“It will be over quickly.”

He patted her shoulders lightly before taking a deep breath. He watched her sit down before making his way to the monastery, but when he glanced back, she was dramatically hugging her knees and making herself smaller. He sighed, returned to her again, and wrapped his own scarf around her neck. The wool scarf covered her red nose, and she looked up at him as though to say, “Oh well, I suppose I’ll forgive you.”

And once again, he neared the stone building. There was not a scrap of luxury about it, and it felt more like a storage shed in the backyard of a company building that could be found in a large town. It looked like it could fit, at the most, two rooms, and one just barely big enough to fit an adult lying down. It was a place completely unrelated to the comforts of living, in various senses of the word, and it was strange how someone could truly reside here.

However, candlelight poured from a window—a square simply cut out from the walls, not even any oiled paper to cover the holes.

There was no door, and hanging in front of the entrance was the skin of a shark or something of the sort.

He pushed aside the hard, cold, rough skin and found a place of prayer.

There was a shelf on the opposite wall of the entrance with lit candlestands on either side of it. In the middle sat a figure of the Black-Mother. This was a substitute for an altar.

There was nothing else in the dreary room, but something odd suddenly caught his eye. Beneath the altar was the sea.

Perhaps due to the outside light, the color of the water had changed from blue to green. There were no waves since the walls cut it off, but it was still clearly connected to the sea outside in some fashion. It was possible that the monk bathed there as he prayed, but Col shivered when he imagined it. If he dipped his body in there, there was a chance the icy seas would drag him right out.

“Do you need something?”

Col jumped at the sudden voice.

Flustered, he turned around, and from the other room, a man as thin as a twig with a beard that had never been cut was standing, studying him. If he had seen him in town, Col would have certainly assumed he was a beggar.

But his hands looked like they had been painted pitch-black, signifying that this person was the monk on this island.

“P-pardon my intrusion.”

Col straightened his posture, placed his hand on his chest, and bowed his head.

“I am called Tote Col. I aspire to be a man of the faith.”

When he saw the man’s arms as he bowed his head, he winced. The skin had become like leather from the salt and dirt, and it looked more like a wood carving than human arms. When he raised his head, the eyes peeking out from behind those eyelids looked fake to Col, who could not detect any emotion residing in them, almost like a deer in the mountains.

“For my studies, I wished to hear more about the story of the Black-Mother.”

His legs were shaking not only due to the cold. The monk wore tattered rags, and his legs were dreadfully bare. Col felt embarrassed for how warmly he dressed. He cowered before this man.

Then the monk opened his mouth.

“Pious servant of God. I am nothing but a fleck of dust that offers prayer. God orders us to give what we have, but I have nothing. I cannot even produce hot water.”

The monk, nearly every feature but his eyes mostly hidden between his hair and his beard, looked troubled, even compassionate as he considered Col.

“State my name to the harbor. Those of kind hearts will welcome you warmly.”

The monk called himself Autumn.

He could not find it in himself to question the righteousness of faith to this Autumn.

What made him think that was inside of Autumn.

“There is nothing but prayer to be found here, traveler from the south.”

He lingered sadly, and perhaps because they were growing numb from the cold, he quietly closed and opened his pitch-black hands once. Behind him, Col could see a figure of the Holy Mother he was working on as well as his few tools.

Yosef had said that this man made all the Black-Mother figures by himself. He could not imagine how much perseverance was needed to create such detail in this cold, drafty stone structure. Even when Col occasionally warmed his hands while he transcribed, it was indescribable hardship to work during the winter.

He imagined Autumn carving the figures of the Holy Mother and thought—

He was simply carving away his very soul.

His voice slowly rose from his throat not out of respect.

It was something that was more similar to fear.

“May…”

He managed to rouse his wavering voice and asked.

“May I ask just one thing?”

Autumn looked at him with the eyes of a grazing deer, then closed them, signifying he was listening.

“What is it…that supports your faith?”

There were those who had tremendous theological knowledge, whose sermons touched the hearts of people, yet drank in the hot springs and ogled naked dancers. There were others who, once they donned the robes, suddenly became self-restrained, austere servants of God. He deemed that irresponsible enough, but God never denied the occasional episode of self-care.

But Autumn was different.

He had the eyes of a deer that ate nothing but grass or one that even refused to eat that grass.

Col wanted to know so badly what had caused him to be that way.

“What will you do with that information?”

It sounded like a question from a demon, because this man had no interest in Col himself.

And yet, he squeezed out the courage to ask.

“I wish to know what your faith is like.”

Even Col was aware of how insolent the query sounded coming from a young man in nice, warm clothes. He saw now how he had stood in the shoals and assumed he knew the depths of the ocean. Such faith was actually possible in this world.

But he felt like he had to ask now. He could not feel any attachment that Autumn might have had on life, and if he did not reach out now, the man might disappear forever into the heights where Col could not reach.

“What faith is…?” Autumn murmured from behind his beard. His shoulders shook.

It took Col a while to notice that he was laughing.

Autumn opened his eyes slowly. Perhaps he was not looking at Col out of astonishment?

“Faith, to me, is salvation. So it is obvious what it is that supports me.”

What slowly came to look at Col were the eyes of a martyr.

“The awareness of my sins.”

At that moment, Autumn seemed to change. The more he thought about that, the air around him transformed. From the depths of his being, which had been like a plant just before, gushed out anger, deeper than the seas itself.

His trembling legs were no longer his imagination, and he found it hard to breathe.

If this anger was what Autumn directed at his own sin, then it was too late for the word repentance. He loathed himself. He was a lion—running wild, baring its fangs, claws digging deep, drowning.

As Col simply stood there, overwhelmed by the man’s presence, it was as though Autumn had shut the door to his heart. Winter changed to spring in an instant, and he returned to his previous self, speaking softly.

“Of course, I will not say that is what makes up faith in its entirety. There may be faith that gives thanks for a happy life under God’s will.”

As though to show that his words were neither lie nor merely concern for Col, Autumn softened his eyes for a moment.

But he soon sighed, and his eyes returned to the color of the deep sea.

“I am a sinner. Thus…”

He gave a dry cough.

“…I shall not side with Winfiel, nor the Church.”

Col did not dare raise his voice in a cry, but he was so startled he almost made a noise.

As he recoiled, Autumn closed and opened his hands again.

“This island cannot exist without trade. There are many quick-eared merchants. News of the commotion in Atiph has already reached us. Besides, it has been almost three years since both sides began fighting. It is about time something happened.”

He spoke like a sage, stepping down from his pedestal just to speak to him.

“You say you are with the Debau Company, so perhaps a messenger from Winfiel? Maybe not.”

A chill went down Col’s spine—he knew that much. He had assumed this man was a monk, removed from all worldly affairs. He assumed that this man, of all people, was unconcerned with the mortal world, surrounded by the walls of a house of God, living by prayer all day, every day.

“Well, I understand if you do not wish to answer. But…”

It was just as he was about to continue speaking.

“Stop, stop!”

Col could hear Myuri’s voice coming from outside.

“Let go, I said. Let me go!”

He wondered what was happening and looked at Autumn, but the monk gazed out the entrance, as though he might comment on how strong the wind was.

Aware of how rude it was, Col turned on his heel to go outside, and he reeled. There was a group of people who looked like their very livelihood was ruffianism, and Myuri, her arm gripped by one of them, had been strung up like captured game.

Then, behind them, floating on the water, was a sword-shaped boat.

“Y-you people—!”

Col was about to speak, but it occurred to him that it was rather himself and Myuri who were the intruders.

This was a sanctuary of the islands, and not even the islanders could approach casually.

“Leave her be. These are my guests.”

Col heard a voice from behind him. Autumn showed himself, and the men immediately let go of Myuri and dropped to their knees. It was the bow of a servant.

Myuri, now freed, scrambled over to Col and clung to him.

“What is this?”

One man answered the monk’s short question.

“We beg you to come with us.”

After he spoke, Col could hear a long, deep inhale from Autumn.

“Very well.”

At his response, the men rose and created a path for him.

No matter how he looked at it, they appeared to be pirates, and they served Autumn.

And so the answer was simple.

This was the center of faith for the northern islands, and—

“You said you were called Tote Col.”

Before he took his first step, Autumn spoke.

“Why don’t you come see the depths of my sins for yourself?”

The thing made him aware of the sins that supported this boulder-like faith.

“And then leave, for the sake of this island.”

He did not wait for Col’s response and walked down the path the pirates had made for him.

Though he was as skinny as a dried branch, he did not budge in the gusts of wind.

The pirates on standby at the pier began their preparations for Autumn to come aboard. The rest of them stared at the intruders from the south.

It was different from hostility. This was a gaze reserved for outsiders.

“Lord Autumn has commanded it.”

One of them spoke. Refusing now would lead to an even worse outcome, and Col wondered what Autumn was up to, of course. A monk led pirates, and he prayed because of his awareness of his sins. His hands were pitch-black from making the figures of the Holy Mother, but it could also mean his hands were dirtied with sin.

Col was searching for allies for the Kingdom of Winfiel in their fight against a corrupted Church.

He needed to know what was happening in this land, where a sinful monk spread his teachings.

“Oh, God be willing…” he managed to reply, and without showing any emotion, they headed for the boat.

Beside the pier sat a small vessel with several oars. After some people climbed in, it made its way to a larger ship waiting a bit farther out. The boat captain who had brought them to the island in the first place was watching on from a distance, a worried expression on his face.

“I wish I was a bird.” Myuri mumbled.

Of course, if she were, they might be able to escape.

“But there are certain things we cannot run from.”

“…?”

Myuri looked at him with a puzzled expression, and one pirate pointed silently to the empty boat.

Col took her hand and jumped aboard.

Then, as she put her hand to her chest, she said, “Just say the word, Brother.”

And I will become a wolf, is no doubt what she meant.

He appreciated her spirit but did not imagine that would solve any of their problems now.

The pirates, who existed to resolve issues that could not be dealt with using talk, had come to call on the monk to iron out a problem that could not be tackled with violence.

What would he show them?

The numerous long oars poking out from the ship on the contour of its slim body made it look like a skeleton.

The ship they boarded was called a galley, one that was known for how slaves and prisoners worked the oars to propel the vessel at high speeds.

It was quite late afternoon; clouds began to cover the sky, and the sea was dark as night came early in the winter.

The wind was strong, and white, foamy waves appeared here and there. There was no shouting or singing on deck, and the pirates rowed silently. Autumn sat at the bow of the ship with his head bowed, like a criminal about to be sent to the gallows.

Col and Myuri had been left in the back of the deck. They were not being watched over, nor were their hands tied. In any case, the crew held no interest in them.

It could have been said the seafarers were dedicated to their work, but even passionate craftsmen sang songs about their craft.

“It’s like a ghost ship.” Myuri murmured.

She must have heard that word from a guest in Nyohhira, but that was exactly what it was. They hushed themselves, making it feel like only the dead rode on this ship. That was all he could see.

The ship passed straight across the lake in the sea and entered the cluster of islands that surrounded the lake. As they did so, the waves quieted and the wind died down. How they lifted the oars, brought them back down into the water, paddled, then raised them again all in a line began to look like a pagan ritual.

The ship slipped between the islands. The ship they had come on from Atiph could not compare to its speed. He now understood that when war finally broke out between the Kingdom of Winfiel and the Church, this power would become a crucial element to whomever it sided with. But at the same time, because he knew that they would be counted among military powers, Autumn listened for sounds of the outside from his stone shed.

However, Autumn had said he would not side with either power.

Perhaps it was due to faith, or maybe there was another reason.

Next to Myuri, who touched the pouch of wheat at her chest and whose eyes glinted on guard, Col gripped the Church’s crest at his chest in anxiousness.

The only sound on the boat was that of the oars hitting the water as they passed several islands. Each was impressively bare of trees. Had the forest burned in the eruption at Caeson, then the entire region would have perished.

Their gratitude toward the Holy Mother was certainly not an exaggeration.

But to be conscious of one’s sins? To continue to regret giving one’s entirety to the Holy Mother? What sin was Autumn repenting for to continue carving figures of the Black-Mother?

Then, there was movement on deck. At some point, two pirates stood on either side of Autumn at the bow—one held a big shield, and the other a large wooden mallet. The pirates stopped rowing and the boat glided across the water by energy alone.

Before long, the mallet hit the shield, and a loud dong, dong echoed throughout.

“It’s the signal to attack.” Myuri said, having probably heard stories of pirates before.

As the sound of the shield continued to echo, everyone else grabbed their weapons. There was a thud and a shock that ran through the ship, perhaps because it had hit the seafloor. The water must have been rather shallow, as the pirates simply jumped off the ship and into the sea.

They were not instructed to get off or to stay. They were being treated as though they were not there at all, and Col started to feel as though he was having a nightmare.

Under the dim, leaden skies, he looked at Myuri beside him.

“I doubt anything fun to watch will happen.”

The girl, her nose flushed, narrowed her red, forest spirit–like eyes.

“It’s okay. I’m here with you, Brother.”

“…Aren’t you worried about yourself?”

Myuri smiled, to which Col responded with a dry smile of his own before getting up. Even in Atiph, when he had fallen despondent in face of the vulgar and violent darkness, it was Myuri who had been the one to support him.

Most of the pirates were on the beach. There was a lonely village that looked like it might get blown away by the wind, and there were only a few run-down shacks. Boats perhaps used for fishing sat on the beach, exposed and on the verge of decay even now, with seaweed and shells clinging to them.

In the solemn atmosphere, roaming goats plodded along wearily, but their calm made them seem as though they had given up hope in all things.

When Col dropped into the water, it was so cold it felt as though he had been bit; he then helped Myuri down into the water, then pulled her up onto the beach.

Right after that, a piercing voice echoed around them.

“Please, forgiveness! Mercy!”

It was a shock, like suddenly seeing the red of blood in a colorless dream. Nyohhira was a hot spring village, so though there were a few disturbances caused by drunks, he never heard the desperate screams of someone truly afraid.

They were rare, even at the executions on the street corners that he had witnessed several times on his travels.

He could hear the voice from one of the sheds.

“Mercy! There must be—there must be a mistake!”

Had one of the pirates bellowed in anger, it would have been much better. That would at least signal a conversation between two people.

But no one there opened their mouths; only one middle-aged man continued to cry.

Myuri stood still in shock, even forgetting to blink.

Were she to speak, she might say that they should not have come here.

“Mercy…Lord Autumn…”

With a moan, the owner of the voice was pulled out from a shed. Pirates held him up on either side, as though he could not even walk on his own legs. It was too much—Col’s body began to move to stop it, but when he looked again, he saw a wooden brace along his right leg.

It was violent to be sure, but it did not inherently seem that way.

Yet, when Col saw the honest-looking man being pulled outside and falling face-first onto the ground, crying, his heart ached.

And the hand the man clung to belonged to the monk, Autumn.

“I exist to fulfill my duty.” He spoke shortly, and he directed his gaze into the shed.

Who came out next was a pretty young girl, even younger than Myuri.

“The number of resources is limited. You cannot fish with that leg anymore. Someone must leave this island.”

“Oooh…Sheila, Sheila!”

The man called the girl’s name. They seemed to be father and daughter. Though her face twisted at her father’s cries, she did not take his outstretched hand.

“Lord Autumn, Sheila is my only daughter, my only family! Mercy, mercy!”

Autumn did not even shake his head. One pirate urged the girl on, and she hesitantly walked forward, taking care not to look at her father on the ground.

“My leg will heal! I will be able to fish again! I can mine charcoal! I will even gather amber for you!”

His appeal was weaker than the embers left over in the furnace at dawn.

Productivity of the mines had worsened, and searching for amber involved wading waist-deep in water to scour the beach floor. In this cold, that was enough to knock out even the strongest.

It was clear there was not much he could do with such a severe leg injury.

But what were the pirates planning to do with the girl?

“So, please, please…don’t make Sheila a slave…!”

Col gulped, and his body tensed.

This was the darkness in half of half of the world.

This was the whole story of the slave trade. In resource-poor regions, there was a strict limit to the number of people who could work and the number of people who had to be provided for. And so, due to the father’s injury, he went from a provider to one who was provided for.

If there were only so many chairs, then one person would have to stand.

It would have to be someone weak, a young girl.

Col’s breathing had become shallow, hot. There was nothing he could do about the customs of the islands.

That being said, was this something he could forgive? Was it okay for someone who called himself a monk to command this?

Sheila followed the pirates and stepped into the sea as though she was being led into the jaws of death. Once she was sold as a slave, she would no longer be able to live and walk on this ground.

Col’s heart was beating so fast it pained him. He could not interrupt. He knew that. It would only make him an enemy of the pirates, and in a worst-case scenario, it would even cause trouble for the Kingdom of Winfiel. A dark shadow would fall across his great goal of protecting righteous faith for his own small sense of justice.

But he could not overlook this. He had to recall why he left Nyohhira for the outside world. Did he not resolve to point out injustices for what they were, so that the world would be a better place, even if he was up against a giant?

There were things that servants of God with true faith had to say.

He knew, however, that a sound argument would not make the situation any better. The fisherman’s leg would not heal, the islands would not grow any richer in resources, nor could he make the gold from selling the girl into slavery any less dirty. Before him was a situation in which praying showed its true powerlessness.

All that was left was faith. Autumn might be planning to preach to the fisherman about the nobility of endurance. Even Col froze at the rashness of such an action. He had just lost his daughter, and how would the very man who made that happen preach to him about it?

Or perhaps it was possible if the man believed in Autumn, and by extent, the Black-Mother.

Col had even forgotten to swallow in this tense atmosphere, and then Autumn spoke.

“Hate me.”

He said it again. “Hate me. I pray to repent for this sin. I pray so that the islands may continue to prosper. I pray to God for your health and the happiness of your daughter.”

Autumn fell to his knees and folded his hands in front of his chest. The man, who had lost both his tears and voice from astonishment, instantly changed his expression to that of rage.

“How dare you!”

There was an awful thud. The man used to be a fisherman, and though his leg was bad, the strength in his arms was in good shape. He grabbed the kneeling monk’s beard, punched his cheek, and when the beard slipped out of his hand, he grabbed his hair and punched him again.

Unlike the sound of hitting a tree or a rock, the terrible noises echoed in the dim, empty village.

The man straddled Autumn, beating him black-and-blue.

No one tried to stop it. The pirates stood around them, and the villagers watched from the doors of their sheds, frightened.

Then, after he had hit him multiple times, the man was out of breath, and he stopped, fist still raised.

“I…”

Autumn spoke as he lay on the sand.

“Let us pray for the girl and your happiness…It is my duty to burden myself with this sin and pray to God that it may be forgiven.”

There was a dull thud sound as the man punched the sand next to Autumn’s face.

“…Urgh…”

The man collapsed onto Autumn’s chest and began to cry, and the pirates finally pulled him off.

Autumn did not take anyone’s hand, standing up by himself. It was difficult to see due to his beard and hair, but when the wind blew, visible ribbons of blood streamed down his face. This was a creature who suffered sin. An old goat who consumed the sins that someone reaped, digested them, then ate them again.

It did say in the scripture that God would forgive the sins of sinners, but Col had not imagined it to be like this. Autumn’s rationale was so logical that it seemed as though he was using what was written in the scripture arbitrarily.

But there was a spirit with an overwhelming sense of self-sacrifice. An undeniable torrent of faith.

Autumn watched as the man was returned to his shed, and then he spoke quietly.

“Let us go.”

The pirates obeyed, filing back toward the boat.

As this all happened before him, Col could not budge from his spot. The silent footsteps of the pirates walking on the beach was like a march of dead soldiers that are sometimes said to appear in the snowy mountains.

After the pirates passed them, Autumn was last in line, halting to stand before them. His eyes were not critical, nor did they ridicule or hold any excuses.

He looked at them with sad, forlorn eyes.

“I will do this until my sins have saved the islands.”

His lips were cut in several places and were bright red.

“These islands are balanced on a dangerous scale. There are times when one must wield a sword in order to keep the balance. The Holy Mother preserved these islands with a miracle. No matter what, I must protect these islands.”

There was no way a boy who only ever read books in his hot spring village should stand before this.

When Col turned to the side, he was simply glad he had not collapsed to his knees.

Autumn looked at the young man with a distant expression and continued to speak.

“I am lucky. God forgives many sins.”

Then he walked off. Though his steps were unsteady, he did not fall, nor did he take anyone’s hand.

Autumn harbored as much sin as he could carry on his back and did nothing but pray. The islanders revered him because, in place of the Holy Mother, he sacrificed himself to support the islands.

“Guests.”

As Col continued to stand in place, one pirate called out to them.

“We will be sending you to the port by a separate ship.”

They had no choice. He did not even have the strength to talk back.

He concentrated on nothing but pulling Myuri along, who had also lost all speech. They climbed aboard the small boat before they were shipped off to Caeson.

By the time they arrived, it was nighttime.

Luckily, there were no clouds and the moon was out. They walked along the pale-blue, glittering snow and arrived at the church.

The island was filled with poverty and guilt.

But this place, a base for merchants from the south, was filled with the warm glow of candlelight.

When Col awoke, he still felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare. He felt like he had just repeated the scene from the dim beach over and over instead of sleeping.

When he woke up, his head was heavy and in pain, similar the morning he awoke after being sick in bed for three days.

He could not forget the look in Autumn’s eyes then, and he wanted to scream.

Would he have sacrificed himself for his faith so readily? Had he pretended he knew everything about the world, just by reading books?

Autumn was still staring at him. Col closed his eyes, but he felt Autumn chasing him. Those eyes, deserted by everything in the world, frozen like the bottom of the sea, bored into a silly boy who hailed from a hot spring village.

Forgive me. I didn’t know. I was only looking at half of half of the world.

Forgive me, forgive me…

Those words and the sound of Autumn being punched rang in his ears.

The ground wavered beneath him, and he could hear another voice from far away. The moment he thought the world would end, he could hear it clearly.

“Brother? Are you okay?”

His heart beat so fast it was painful, and his face was damp with sweat.

“Brother?”

He felt his shoulders being shaken again, and he finally understood that Myuri had woken him up.

But was he really awake this time?

He breathed in through his nose to calm himself down, and he could smell fresh water. It was a familiar smell, one that let him know it was snowing outside. The room was unusually dark, likely because thick clouds were covering the sky.

Myuri, who had shaken his shoulders to wake him up, was sitting on the corner of the bed. She held a comb in her hand; she had been diligently brushing her hair.

“You look terrible, Brother.”

She showed him a troubled smile, then reached over to grab the waterskin from their luggage placed by the wall.

“Have some water.”

Col accepted the skin and drank from it, finding the water had chilled well. It was then he first realized that his throat was parched.

“You…”

“Hmm?”

He gave the skin back to her and asked.

“Did you get enough sleep?”

Myuri had taken the skin and was about to drink from it, but she stopped.

She smiled dryly, drank some water, then answered.

“You’re always worried about other people.”

She bent forward and placed the skin and her comb on top of their things, then hopped backward and sat on the bed with a thump.

“Auff—!”

Myuri’s silver tail collided with his face with great force.

He could smell her sweet scent, a hint of sulfur mixed in with it.

“Myuri, you are always, always—”

The continuation of his words was interrupted when he saw the expression on her face as she turned back to look at him over her shoulder.

It was a sad, mature smile.

“Hey, Brother?”

She faced forward again, stretching her legs and placing her heels on the floor.

“I think we should just go back to Nyohhira.”

She looked back at him again when she finished talking.

“You don’t look happy, Brother.”

She reached out to him and placed her hand gently on his forehead. Her small hands were cool.

“You were having nightmares all night long. You calmed down a little bit when I patted your head, though.”

Her slender fingers ran through his hair, and for a moment, he was almost satisfied knowing that, but she began to chuckle. It must have been a joke.

But in his faint memories of the night, he did feel like someone had run their fingers through his hair like she was doing now. Perhaps it was a memory from when he was sick in Atiph?

Myuri watched her hand as she slipped her fingers through his hair over and over.

As though satisfied after doing that for a while, she pulled away from the top of Col’s head and then poked his cheek.

“Let’s go back to the village.”

She had said the same thing during the commotion in Atiph. It was their escape from an ugly reality.

“I would be completely in agreement if you were the one returning.”

He forced his body up, but the moment he did so, a terrible lethargy as well as a headache assaulted him, but the cold helped to keep him collected.

“But I must fight for righteous faith.”

“Even when you look like that?” she said.

His words caught in his throat. He did not know what he looked like.

What made him uneasy was that he knew there were things inside of his heart that he had to hide.

“It’s the same thing as what happened in that other port town before. I don’t think you were meant for this.”

Myuri placed her hands on the side of the bed and mischievously pulled both legs up.

He thought she might stomp after reaching a certain height, but her body fell backward as though a string had been cut, and her legs fell, too.

Her weight pressed on his thighs through the blanket as she lay on the bed.

“You’re kind and honest.”

She then rolled over to lie on her stomach.

“When you see the old beardy guy, you immediately start thinking that’s the right way. And then you put so much pressure on yourself. It was the same when you were with that blondie in Atiph, too.”

It was as though she had peeked in on his nightmare from the outside.

“I think you do best working hard in places with bubbling hot springs, reading books, sometimes talking about complicated things with guests, and sticking your nose in my business.”

The last part of that sentence sounded a bit like a joke.

“If Mother would let me leave the village by myself, what I would do is explore a little bit, then come home. Lively towns, calm fields, severe climates, desolate lands, or endless pastures…I’d look around at the scenery and the people who live there; think, Wow, there sure is a lot in this world. Well, that was fun; and come home.”

Col could easily imagine her doing that. He could see her alone, carrying a beaten rucksack on her back, sometimes turning into a wolf as she roamed around the world.

“But you’re different, Brother.”

The only part of her that smiled was her mouth. Perhaps she was growing irritated.

“Wherever we go, you think it’s your house, you consider everyone you meet there your best friend, then somehow end up believing that you have to accept everything you find there, and then you can’t move on to the next town. You always worry so, so much over it. After leaving Nyohhira, watching you while we’re outside the village made me realize why Mother didn’t mind me leaving home, especially with what happened yesterday.”

Myuri got up on all fours and drew closer to him, then plopped her head onto his chest. Her wolf ears, covered in the same color of fur as her hair, tickled the tip of his chin.

“I can’t leave you alone, Brother. You’re more softhearted and honest than Father is.”

Myuri wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, clinging to him.

“You’re not meant for the world beyond the mountains. If you keep following that blondie, there will just be more and more awful things. I don’t want to see you have nightmares every time that happens. One day, you’ll just break. Brother? Let’s just stay Nyohhira, where it’s warm and exciting. It’s a small village filled with song and dance, where the last year is the same as this year, and this year will be the same as next year. I always thought it was cramped and boring, but leaving made me realize that it isn’t at all. There are so many good things about it. So, please?”

As she clung to Col, she rubbed the base of her ears against his neck, fawning on him.

In that place, where he was treated as a competent priest, he went about his daily work, living comfortably.

In that place, there was the master, an intelligent and understanding former merchant; his wife, the maternal wisewolf who saw through everything but kindly accepted him; and their daughter, who was like the midsummer sun as well as a person who admired him.

Was there anything he could want more than that? It was unimaginable.

But he looked down at Myuri as she clung to him, holding his breath. He gazed at the beautiful hair she got from her father, a strange color combination of silver flecks in ash, and her expressive wolf ears.

Was he sure this was not a continuation of his nightmare?

Was a demon trying to pull him to the depths of the sea?

Did such a restful place truly exist in this world?

But they were so far away from all that in this place where a frigid sea surrounded them on all sides!

“I can’t.” He answered, grabbing Myuri’s thin shoulders and pulling her away from him.

Her body was slender, as light as an angel.

“I believe in the teachings of God. It’s my wish to spread those teachings, which will become a support for those living in this world. I knew that the world would be an ugly place. Knowing this, I came down the mountain. That is why…I must protect these righteous teachings.”

He desperately recited his mantra, as though repeating it for himself. Even despite how Autumn’s eyes, on that dark-blue-colored beach, had seen just how empty those words were.

As he gripped her shoulders, Myuri looked at his hands and sighed.

“What does ‘righteous teachings’ mean to you anyway?”

The knowledge written in the scripture became a lump and gradually rose in his throat. There was much he could explain.

Though that is what he thought, he froze when he heard Myuri’s next words.

“If righteous faith is support and guidance to live, then I think me liking you is righteous faith.”

Though they belonged to a young child, her eyes peered at him quite discerningly.

“And even though the god you pray to doesn’t give you miracles, you’ve given me plenty.”

She lay her cheek on his hand gripping her shoulder and nipped it.

“The one who saved the island gave them a miracle, so wouldn’t any way the islanders chose to show their gratitude to her be righteous? It doesn’t matter what the Church says.”

His hand was now caught between her shoulder and cheek, and she spoke nonchalantly. “And even if someone who’s not human did something right, it’s wrong because they’re not human?”

“That’s—” Col began, but when their eyes met he lost any ability to speak.

When he noticed the presence of a nonhuman entity at the shrine, was that not what he had so naturally thought?

He had explained it so calmly to her.

He had said that if they were faithful to the Black-Mother even if they knew she was not human, then it was wrong. Even though Myuri’s mother was not human.

He was at a loss when he came to realize his own shortsightedness, and Myuri grasped both of the hands on her shoulders and began to play with them, putting them together and pulling them apart before his chest. She finally placed them on her own small cheeks, closed her eyes, and spoke.

“Mother talked about that. She said people like Brother and Father have two perfectly good eyeballs but only look at one thing, so look around for him. She was completely right.”

She gripped his hands again and moved them about, rubbing them against her cheeks and giving a ticklish giggle.

And then, she suddenly placed both onto the blanket.

“For you, I would even be a guard dog, but I hate watching you walk in a direction that doesn’t make you happy. So…”

We’ll go home.

To paradise on earth, filled with warmth, endless song, dance, and laughter—to the hot spring village, Nyohhira.

“Okay, Brother?”

She climbed onto him and clung to him again. She was warm, and he could smell the sweet scent of fruit. If he hugged her back, her silver tail would wave happily and she would wiggle about. And that was how they would lead a drowsy life together.

And if he were to simply give up on the path of God and hug Myuri back, he would at least be making one girl happy. Was that not his part? His dreams were too outrageous. His mind had simply been stewing too long in the hot baths.

There was also still a part of him that fought back— But.

He hesitated to wrap his arms around her back because even she had made the decision to go through hardship in Atiph. Even though she did not want to, in the end she changed into a wolf for him in order to save Hyland, who had also resolved to sacrifice her life if need be.

The only one who hadn’t risked anything was Col. Standing on the boat as the mountain spat all-consuming fire while most of the people were left behind was none other than himself.

Of course, he did not want to fruitlessly put himself in danger.

Rather, he was afraid that if he did return the embrace of the ball of warmth that was Myuri, then he would no longer be able to feel the cold of ice, the heat of fire, or even certainty itself. He was afraid that if he lost his ideals for the world, then he would never be able to feel the true joy of this world ever again.

It was certainly terrifying and painful to look at Autumn’s dark faith.

But if he looked away, however, he was worried he might never feel the light of the sun again.

Should he close his eyes and ears to the world, he would never be able appreciate the sights and sounds of its majesty.

“Myuri…”

He murmured her name, and her tail moved lazily.

She had surely thought over things for her helpless brother, finally finding a way that would hurt him the least.

But that was an unnatural way to live, like subsisting solely on honey. He was aware that he indulged her too much, and she, too, was trying to indulge her spineless brother in the same way.

If he bit her neck, the bittersweet taste of an unripe fruit would let him forget everything.

But the sweetness of honey could only be enhanced by bitter rye bread.

“Myuri, what you say is indeed correct.”

“So—”

“But think about it more. I…Even if I misjudge, in order to save the neglected, like I once was, I want to show people the path to God. I must think seriously now about how I wish to associate with the world.”

When Autumn had shown him the sin he was burdened with, there was no admonishment for the young man. It was not anger but eyes that housed sadness of indescribable depth.

As Myuri had said, it was not possible to keep moving forward, accepting everything from all the people he met as his own. It was impossible to save one village, one town. Not to mention that wanting to reform the Church and spreading the correct teachings of God throughout the world was just a delusion of grandeur.

However, should he choose to live a life where he turned his back on the things before him, then there would have been no reason for him to leave the village he was born in in the first place. Then, he would have never met Lawrence, a merchant at the time, and he never would have met Myuri. They were doing all this because he believed the world could be changed, no matter how insignificantly or meaningfully.

Though both good and bad, Col could not imagine himself now without faith. Even if he was able to cover his eyes and plug his ears and run away to the mountains from all the hardships of the world, he did not want to reject his present—a series of past moments in which he so boldly stood up.

Of course, what Myuri had said was correct. She truly meant what she said. He would often become too engrossed in whatever lay in front of him; his legs would not move, and his mind would be thrown into chaos. But even if the faith residing within him was not yet ripe, he had the confidence that it was not false, either.

He had to ask himself again how he wished to interact with the world. Would he act like Autumn in the face of misery and poverty that he could do nothing about? Would he pretend like he never saw it in the first place? Or would he choose a third path?

Col had to look around himself carefully. He could either return to Nyohhira or commit himself to Hyland.

He was old enough already; it irritated him to know how he acted without thinking, how he grew flustered after clashing with things. He always had to thank the silver wolf, who kept watch in all directions for him.

So he looked at Myuri, who pouted because she had failed in persuading him in the end, and belatedly wrapped his arms around her in a hug, then kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“I am truly thankful that you worry about me from the bottom of your heart,” he whispered into her wolf ears and rubbed his cheek against them.

Myuri looked up and stared at him, eyes wide.

Then, her face flushed red in an instant.

“Wh-wh-why now…?”

“Why now, indeed. My eyes and head have grown clouded and dull from steam, and I was not thinking seriously about anything.”

He said and sighed.

“I was not chasing my ideals; I naively wished that the world would be as I wanted it to be.”

Myuri clung to him again, as though trying to hide her expression, and her tail moved busily back and forth.

“You’re so much more of a dreamer than I am, Brother!”

Col smiled wryly, and as he patted her back lightly to calm her, he laughed at himself because she was exactly right. Since he was only ever dreaming, it was natural that he found himself at a loss when he woke up to reality.

Autumn had been much too real for him. If Col could properly face the monk and the circumstances surrounding him, then surely it would be a source of growth.

Moreover, he had his very own cute guardian spirit, so now was not the time to be frightened of nightmares.

“Well then, Myuri—”

It was just as he was about to speak.

There was a loud thunk, thud and then a groan outside of their door.

Someone had fallen down the stairs. It was snowing outside, so they must have slipped on their wet shoes.

Col tried to get up to see what the matter was, but Myuri still clung to him and did not let go.

“Myuri, please move. Someone needs help right outside our door.”

The person who had fallen at the end of the hall shouted curses, perhaps having dropped something. Or perhaps they had injured themselves and were groaning in pain.

Yet Myuri still clung to Col silently, and when she finally let go, she sighed.

“I trust you, Brother.”

Don’t get your promise wrong is what she meant.

“Of course,” he said, taking that responsibility. As he got up from the bed, he draped his coat over his shoulders before adding, “But it does not mean we will be going back to Nyohhira.”

Sitting on the bed, Myuri bared her teeth at him before burying herself into the blanket.

He smiled slightly, then opened the door and entered the corridor. He looked left and right, spotting someone sitting by the staircase. What surprised him was the sight of Reicher, cradling a small cask of alcohol.

“Mr. Reicher. So it was you. Are you hurt?”

Col entered the corridor, closed the door, and as he approached, body shivering from the cold, Reicher looked up at him with dull eyes and smiled weakly.

“Three flights of stairs are rough for me at this age. My leg got caught and I fell.”

Col did not point out that he was clearly drunk.

“I spilled some of my drink, too. What a waste.”

It was possible the man yelled not because of the pain but because he spilled his liquor.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes, of course. By God’s protection, I’m not hurt.”

Col knew how to treat drunks. Whatever they said, simply nod in agreement. There was no point in spouting logic to them, as they would only grow angry. He only checked to see if any injuries were visible.

“You seem all right.”

“Yes, but perfect timing. I came to call on you.”

“Me?”

He held out his hand and pulled Reicher up when Myuri came out from the room. As always, she was pouting, but she helped him stand, too.

“You met Lord Autumn, didn’t you?” he spoke when Col placed the man’s arm around his own shoulder to support him.

Reicher looked at him with breath reeking of alcohol and a tearful smile.

“We concluded a meeting together just now.”

“A meeting?”

Reicher tried to remove the cork from the cask in his hand, but since he only had one hand free, he could not. He fumbled about before it finally fell from his hand, but Myuri caught it.

“A meeting for selling the island girl to a slaver. All the southern merchants are here, you know.”

When he said that, he was no longer looking at Col. His eyes were open, but they did not look at anything.

“I prayed for the girl’s future. But I carry no sins with me. I live an easy life here, surrounded by stone walls. Did my prayer have any meaning?”

As Reicher spoke, he reached out to the cask in Myuri’s hands.

And that is when Col finally understood.

Reicher did not enjoy booze—he found need to drink it.

“And I’m not brave enough to run from here. Oh God…”

The old priest began to bawl, and he covered his face with the hands that had reached out to his drink.

Col was not the only one who froze in place in Autumn’s presence.

When he thought this, he readjusted his grip on Reicher and spoke.

“Let’s go somewhere warm.”

Myuri looked at him, annoyed, but she did not try to stop him, and she dutifully helped Reicher down the stairs.

No one was at fault.

But the open pit in the earth was terribly deep and cold.

If they could not fill it up, then they needed to know its depth and remember its cold.

The problem was figuring out how to avoid being swallowed up by it.

“I was once the chaplain of a church that belonged to a landlord and his family. I only prayed for the safety of him and his family, and if I could lend an ear to the woes of their retainers, then it was a good day.”

In the office of an assistant priest who had various jobs on the first floor of the residences, Reicher began to tell his story.

He slouched at the edge of the chair, wrapping the cask with both of his hands.

But only his words were clear. It was as though the still-living parts of his heart were telling him they must be so.

“Even in such a safe, large territory, three generations of strategic marriages will create knots like the eyes of demons. It was no one’s fault, but everyone had started hating one another. Once someone lights a spark out of self-interest, everything catches fire in an instant. Well, it was quite tragic.”

Reicher cradled and caressed the cask, but he did not drink. Just having it in his hands seemed relief enough for him.

“Children killed their parents, younger brothers murdered older brothers. Brides killed by their mothers-in-law, and mothers who threw their children into rivers. The mercenaries we hired did not do their duty, wreaking havoc in the villages throughout the domain instead, and honest farmers who sued for damages were hung in the gallows.”

The window in the office was simply a square cut into the wall, and the snowfall was clearly visible from inside.

The peat in the furnace crackled nervously as it burned.

“I couldn’t take it anymore and left, so I wandered. Where would I find salvation? Then I overheard men talking about the miracle on this island. I came, thinking the Holy Mother could provide me with what I wished for, but that is when I met Lord Autumn.”

Reicher sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

“If misery is soot that has seeped into the world, then Lord Autumn is a dustpan. He dirties himself black and receives everything. Then God rinses him. I was shattered—I didn’t know that could be an answer.”

Autumn’s actions were frightfully rational, using the logic written directly in the scripture. What was difficult to believe was that he had kept his good heart as he did so, and he was truly praying for forgiveness of his sins.

“I heard Lord Autumn was originally from the islands.”

Reicher quietly answered Col’s remark.

“He said he was born here, then sold off as a slave when he was still young. There are many of those like him here. There are lots of tough, hardworking folks here, after all.”

The guard who had looked at Myuri had also assumed she was a slave.

“Long ago, when ships with sails weren’t as common as they are now, they also sold off adults, or so I’ve heard. As rowers for ships. I’ve heard they played a major part in wars on the seas.”

It was cruel work, and most of them would be completely wrung out, finally leaving the ships after three years.

“Leave” did not necessarily mean they were let off kindly at a port, though.

“Ever since I’ve come here, I’ve tried all I can to make sure we sell to respectable slavers, but there’s no way to find out where they are all sold to.”

“Are there those who buy their freedom and come back?”

When Col asked this, Reicher smiled with a coughing fit.

“There may be people here and there who buy back their freedom after all their hardships. But they know that there is no place for them here if they came back. There’s no wood to build houses to live in or materials to build boats for fishing.”

He sighed deeply, as though a fragment of his soul had escaped through his mouth.

“We can only keep so many sheep and goats, and there’s only so much fertile land for cultivation. We’re somehow pulling through with the taxes we collect from those who come out to sieve for amber and those who mine for charcoal in the summer. I know how the southern merchants do things, and so in order to make sure they’re not forcing unfavorable trade agreements upon the people of this land, I keep an eye on things with divine punishment as my shield. Everyone wants his protection for their journey at sea…But I don’t know how much even that helps.”

In his own way, Reicher was pouring his all into this land he had washed up on.

If that was the case, then the merchants in the courtyard who had waved to him so congenially must not have had the friendliest of relationships with him. It was more likely they thought of Reicher as a traitor, while considering the people of the island to be friends of the merchants. This man had lost all his spirit, except that which could be found in alcohol.

“What’s more, the Ruvik Alliance, an important pillar in the support of this church, is discussing the possibility of reducing the number of the islanders’ boats even more. Our savings will diminish, too.”

Praying would not fill an empty stomach, nor would it free anyone from the shackles of monetary transactions.

What this land needed was money.

And what did not add up in the balance books, Autumn took upon himself as his personal sin.

Reicher was drinking likely because he felt like his guilt would crush him even now.

Had Col and Myuri not been there, it would have ended up the same. Col looked at the girl beside him, and her beautiful red eyes stared back at him questioningly.

While they were in their exchange, Reicher adjusted himself in the chair, removed the cork from the cask, and took a swig.

“…Pahh. This is unacceptable as a clergyman, but…”

The man certainly drank like a bandit.

That was what Col was imagining, but Reicher’s next words were painful.

“I wish war would break out soon.”

“…War?”

Autumn stood at the head of seafaring pirates. Those aboard ships gathered information, allowing him to know right away that Col and Myuri, who had so shamelessly wandered in, were working for Winfiel.

Col thought that Reicher might be the same, but the priest took another swig from his cask and exhaled painfully.

“…Guh. W-war. Winfiel has risen in revolt against the pope’s tyranny, and the fire has finally been kindled in Atiph. Now, it’s just talk about when it might all go up in flames. When it does, I just know that the islanders’ manpower and fishing industry will play a crucial role.”

Reicher was about to drink more, but Col, of course, stopped him. He was drinking like he was trying to end himself.

“Mr. Reicher.”

“…Who will weep for me if I die? I know even God has already forgotten my name.”

He smiled in bitter irony, but he did not try to force himself to imbibe again. Perhaps he had wanted someone to stop him.

He placed the cask on his lap limply, then looked up to the heavens and closed his eyes.

“If war broke out…then the price of fish would rise. Many of the islanders might become distinguished soldiers. The kingdom, the pope, whoever we work with, the reward will be the same.”

Reicher talked as though to himself. He knew that even if they earned some money that way, they would only be comfortable for but a moment. And while it was almost certain some would thrive in the war, there were many who would die and others still who would come home with wounds they would carry for the rest of their lives.

“Oh God. This land only perseveres on the sacrifice of others. May God have mercy on Lord Autumn, as he continues to burden himself with sin…”

He prayed deliriously as the energy slowly drained from his head down, and soon he fell asleep right then and there. They retrieved the cask before it fell and placed it on a nearby shelf.

The way Reicher was slumped in the chair made it appear less like restful sleep and more like he had completely exhausted himself.

Col had Myuri fetch the assistant priest to ask what should be done, but he simply shrugged and told them to leave him be, that this was nothing unusual.

He could not bring himself to do that, but he knew all too well how difficult it was to carry a passed-out drunk. Then the assistant priest added peat to the furnace and draped a blanket over Reicher, so he would not be risk catching a cold.

Seeing that, they thanked the assistant priest and left the office.

Col wished to have a breath of fresh air, so they exited into the snowfall.

“Brother?”

As he reached the bottom of the steps, Myuri called out to him from the top.

“What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

Standing under the dim, snowy sky, Myuri’s silver hair looked like threads of ice.

“I’m all right.”

Then the expression on her face changed to that of slight surprise before she came down the steps.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking how cool you’ve gotten. To think you were so sniveling just before that!”

He simply could not shake the somber expression from his face, which likely made him seem calm.

“It doesn’t matter how cool I am, but thanks to talking with you, I feel as though I’ve been able to steel myself.”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s bring Mr. Reicher along when we board the ship back to Atiph.”

Myuri was not surprised, but her rounded, reddish-amber eyes looked at him.

“He’s someone who can’t escape. I don’t really think we could convince him to, either.”

That was correct, and he understood how Reicher felt as well. Had Col himself come here alone and met Autumn, he would have surely ended up the same way.

“But luckily, he cannot hold his liquor as well as Ms. Holo.”

They would simply bring him on board after he passed out. He was not attached to this island—he was a prisoner of it. Once he left, chances were good that he would never come back.

Then Myuri widened her eyes at such a rough plan, and her lips slowly changed to that of a smile.

“Brother, that’s bad.”

“A true solution would be to find a way to make everyone on this island happy, though.”

“That doesn’t exist.”

She declared her conclusion without hesitation, even though she knew nothing about how big and complicated the world was.

That would be what a girl’s realistic intellect was.

“I cannot agree with that. But we lack the time and numbers to do so at the moment. So we can only think about what we can do right now.”

Myuri openly stared at him before suddenly looking away.

It was like a master who watched his apprentice finally grow to realize their full potential.

“Then can you reconsider this crazy ‘fix the world’ thing? And stop working with that blondie?”

“I have, for now, given up on sending my very young little sister home.”

“I’m only like your little sister!” She protested as she stomped her foot.

As they talked in the falling snow, whiteness covered their heads and shoulders before they knew it.

As Col brushed some off Myuri, he spoke.

“Why don’t we eat at the port for now?”

It seemed he had spent quite a long time having nightmares, and it must be noon around now.

Myuri squinted as he brushed the snow off, and with narrowed eyes, she opened her mouth.

“…Can I have meat?”

“Do you remember what Mr. Yosef said? The fish should be good here.”

“Then I want fried fish. With lots of salt on it!”

Though she seemed frail when her mouth was closed, her tastes were that of a drunk.

“Don’t eat too much.”

“Okay.”

It was their typical, clear-cut conversation, but there was something definitively different.

He was holding on to Myuri’s hand just a bit tighter than usual. She must have noticed as well.

In his hands was an extraordinarily precious jewel.

He had learned the depth of the darkness in the world, and now finally, he also knew the light.

Myuri sat dissatisfied at the table in the canteen because there was no fried fish to be had.

Towns and villages that did not butcher a number of pigs every day could not keep a daily pot of fat. Herrings and sardines did give off some fat, but those who did heat them in a pan would likely not want to eat what was fried in it.

So in the end, she had a hodgepodge of fish stew, which was a bit of an exciting-looking dish for a girl raised in the mountains. The fish heads that floated in it, clearly a departure from the animals of the mountains, were mashed in half, their mouths crowded with eerie-looking teeth. It was only natural that even Myuri hesitated. However, once she started eating, she found that every bit of fish was delicious, and the soup had the perfect amount of saltiness for dipping bread. Her meal left her no room to concentrate on anything else.

The bread they ate was not made of wheat but of chestnuts. There was a peculiar hardness and harsh bitterness about it; this was not something one ate for fun. Col had not thought there was anything particularly luxurious about Nyohhira, but despite it being so snowy and deep in the mountains, the village was rich in food, likely due to its popularity as a place of healing, receiving its fair share of imports. He was once again made painfully aware of how blessed they had been.

“What are we going to do next, Brother?” Myuri inquired as she bit into a rather slim fish head, sharp teeth poking out from the corners of its mouth.

Her voice was low, maybe because she was busy biting the meat from the head, but it was more likely that it was her own way of being respectful in the quiet canteen.

“Preparations for a ship to go home…I would also like to investigate the island just a little more.”

“…You’re not giving up?”

When she looked at him with irritated eyes, he could not help but smile wryly.

“I do not think that saving the island is such an outrageous idea. I may be able to help somehow, and it may even be of benefit to Heir Hyland, as well.”

When she heard Hyland’s name, Myuri made the uninterested face she always did.

“By giving the island what they need, they may side with the Kingdom of Winfiel if war breaks out, even if not openly.”

“What about money? Isn’t that blondie rich?”

Myuri dunked her bread into the salty broth and bit into it.

“Money is powerful and will certainly help us. But it’s easy.”

“Easy?”

Her mouth was full of bread as she sloppily asked a follow-up question.

“Its appeal may as well be the same as violence. However, if we take the time to learn about the land and give the people what they truly need, they will understand our sincerity, even if it was worth the same amount of money. You see?”

Then she chewed loudly and swallowed with a glug. Myuri studied the rest of the bread, then nodded.

“I guess, if someone gave me my favorite kind of bread, I think I would do all I could for them.”

Though she typically preferred quantity over quality, it seemed the chestnut bread was not very good.

“So, in the meanwhile…”

She spoke vaguely up to that point and waved for him to come closer.

Col leaned over, wary that she may be planning some sort of trick, and she spoke to him.

“Can I look into who the little doll really was?”

Col stared back in surprise, but she was surprisingly serious.

“Mother won’t tell me the details, but she doesn’t know where her old friend that I’m named after and her other friends are, right?”

Myuri was implying that the Black-Mother may be one of them.

Myuri’s mother, the wisewolf Holo, once ruled over a forest in a land called Yoitsu, so it was hard to imagine that a much bigger wolf worked under her. There was a vague sense, though, that in the bygone age of spirits, size meant justice.

But knowing that this young girl was often bothered by the blood flowing through her and other nonhumans, his feelings were complicated. Though she seemed to not mind, at the end of the day that feigned indifference extended no further than the expression on her face.

“If the legend is a clue, then I have no idea why the fishing became really good after she stopped the lava.”

That was a good point. If the Black-Mother was not human, then what was she an avatar of?

“We’ll search for that together. It’s dangerous alone.”

Col sat back down in his seat.

“I’d be fine even if I came across a bear.”

“You may come across painful truths that are more frightening than any bear.”

He ripped off a piece of the chestnut bread and put it in his mouth. As he chewed quietly, Myuri sat across from him and stared off into space, perhaps deep in thought.

Then she suddenly looked back at him, and this time closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, worried about something.

“What’s wrong?”

She groaned, answering as she furrowed her brows.

“Which do you like better—coddling me or being reduced to tears when a painful moment takes us by surprise?”

Col could not say he “liked” anything about the latter.

He looked at her in exasperation, and she suddenly opened her eyes in realization.

“Oh, you should just coddle me before and after something bad happens. That way, I’ll get the most out of it if you come with me.” She said with a satisfied smile.

“You should not be thinking in terms of profit.”

“Mother told me; she said that girls shan’t cry without accounting for it first.”

He was not sure if he would say he did not expect it from a mother and daughter of wolves, but she only seemed to be receiving precise instruction on the way of the hunt.

“I would prefer if you did not cry,” he said with a pained smile, when Myuri’s expression suddenly turned serious.

“The same goes for you.”

He could not believe a girl half his age said such a thing to him.

But simply because she was half his age did not mean that he was not happy to have someone worry about him.

“Thank you.”

He thanked her earnestly, and she looked at him dubiously for a while before grinning and returning to her food. He gazed at her for a while, and his mouth naturally began to smile.

It was often said to let one’s beloved child go on a journey, but when he looked at Myuri’s growth, he could only react with surprise. Or perhaps it was he who had not grown up, and he was only now realizing how amazing she was.

When a child became an adult, it was an important rite of passage to learn how wide the world was and how tall the sky was. If Col could learn the cold of ice and the depths of the sea, then perhaps he would grow more as a person as well. It was possible he could even find a different angle to look at his ideas for creating a new institution from the war between the Kingdom of Winfiel and the Church. Since faith took forms even he could not imagine, there was no single shape for the key to the gates of heaven. God’s house took many forms.

And he now knew that even the actions of nonhumans, like the one on this island, could help spread the teachings of God. Which meant the size of the gates needed to be made a bit larger as well.

He had been so shocked by Autumn that he had lost his head, but that, too, was a significant problem. To live among the world of humans, it was a problem they would have to seriously face one day. It seemed that Hyland had already realized the truth about Myuri and was vaguely aware that there were people like her throughout the world. Therefore, even in the smallest of possibilities, there was a chance that Caeson could become the precedent to open a new path.

Then, those like Myuri, who had stood before the world map at the trading house in Atiph, might not have to lament that there was no place in the world for them. There were many besides humans who possessed beautiful souls.

Col could not save the girl from being sold into slavery, nor could he offer any words of comfort to that lonely gaze of Autumn’s, who had no choice but to do what he did—but he could save Myuri.

When he reached that conclusion, something occurred to him.

“Myuri, I want to ask you something.”

“Hmm?”

Myuri sat satisfied before her bowl, which had turned into a boneyard, and she looked at him.

“Was Lord Autumn human?”

If the Black-Mother was not human, and the one who had spread her teachings was Autumn, then this possibility was the first thought that naturally came to mind.

But Myuri closed her eyes, as though searching her memory, and cocked her head.

“It was cold and my nose was a little stuffed, but I would have known if he smelled like beast. I could only smell the sea. It was like he hadn’t taken a bath for a really long time.”

Which meant Autumn was human.

Had he not been, though, then many things in his report to Hyland would have changed, and in the case that they did become enemies, she needed to know how disastrous that could be.

But it seemed well that he did not need to think about that.

“Are you full, by the way?”

“Yep. Thaaank you for the food.”

Then, with Myuri in tow, they walked around the port a bit.

It was a small town with no walls that could be crossed from one end to the other in a very short amount of time. Standing outside of town, the only thing to see once the buildings had disappeared were the snow paths extending in various directions, hardened by repeated footsteps. Their presence was only enough to guess that somewhere ahead there was a place where people gathered.

On the main street, there was a collection of buildings, a sign hanging from each of their eaves denoting different artisans, but it did not seem that they typically had goods out for display. Nor did it seem likely that any of these places were currently at work, as silence lay over them.

The only places open were a rope makers’ workshop that handled nets, and a blacksmith with a harpoon and a hatchet on display in the front. No matter what, it seemed that these two workshops were indispensable.

However, the net looked like something that had simply been re-braided whenever it became torn, while the bladed goods seemed more suitable for smashing instead of cutting. Without materials, craftsmen could not braid new rope, and without fuel, smiths likely could not refine their tools how they wanted.

What would make the people of this land happy seemed to be, without a doubt, fishing tools. It would become the pillar that would support their daily lives.

It is written in the scripture that to help others with ulterior motives was hypocrisy, but Autumn had shown them that virtuously doing nothing carried no weight on these islands.

Such a thing may become a seed of deceitful faith, but one could also nip it in the bud if there was a chance it would bloom. At the very least, it was much better than the misshapen rigidity of the current Church.

Col had to recognize that simple prayer would be of no help in reality.

And as he thought about all this, walking around the town, he realized that it was not quiet because of the hard times but simply because it was the snowy, cold season. Yosef’s trading house, too, just happened to be uneventful during the middle of the quiet season.

What made him notice this was that when they occasionally passed someone on the path, they would stare up at him, eyes wide. It was as though they could not believe someone was walking there.

In truth, he had almost had it with the cold. They should return to the church.

They had just returned to the path along the dead river.

“It’s different from Nyohhira, isn’t it?”

He had not felt like opening his mouth in the cold, and it was his first time speaking since the canteen.

“Have you been someplace like this before?”

“When I sailed to the Kingdom of Winfiel, it was a bit livelier than this. And I traveled mostly in areas where it didn’t snow in the winter.”

“Places where it doesn’t snow in the winter, huh? I can’t imagine anything like that.”

Myuri gazed out to the sea, her breath white. As they stood still, the snow piled higher and higher on them, as though urging them to return to their room.

“Let’s go one day. The color of the sea is completely different; it’s an incredibly exhilarating sight.”

“The color of the sea can change?”

“There are some waters that aren’t blue, but I’ve never seen such a bright green before today.”

“If you’ve seen it before, then it can’t be a color that you’ve never seen.”

Myuri turned around and revealed the mischievous grin on her face.

“Now is not the time for jokes. Let’s head back to the church.”

“Okay,” she replied obediently and followed behind him.

Then she suddenly stopped walking and looked out to sea again.

“Is something wrong?”

“I thought I was imagining things but…I wasn’t. A ship is coming.”

“A ship? I suppose there are still people who go out fishing on snowy days like this,” he said, but he only noticed it when he turned to look at the port.

It was quiet, and even the smallest of boats had been pulled up on land and turned over. Maybe it was not a fishing boat.

Then Myuri continued.

“I think I saw that ship in Atiph.”

“Are there differences in ships?”

He did not really think before asking, and Myuri met him with a cool stare.

“Every shipwright has its own style. Duh, that’s so obvious!”

She knew odd bits of information as she had experience working as an errand boy unloading cargo in the Atiph port for the Debau Company.

He took her word for granted, but he did not think it particularly strange that a ship from Atiph would be coming to this port.

“It must be a trade ship. That’s how we came here, remember?”

“Yeah, but…Yep, I knew it.”

Myuri spoke as she created a visor with her hands to keep the fluttering snow out of her eyes and stared out across the water.

“It’s a company boat.”

“From the Debau Company?”

That was certainly odd.

The ship that Hyland had arranged for them had belonged to a different company. That was why Yosef had not known they would be coming. The reason they had not used a ship from the Debau Company was simply because there were none scheduled to travel to this region then.

But when Col stood next to Myuri and looked out over the water, he could see another ship behind it.

Though it was far and just barely visible over the horizon, they could tell how large it was even from where they stood.

It made it seem like the one in front was being chased, fleeing in their direction.

And it really did seem strange that a whole two ships would arrive together on such a snowy day.

He realized that fishermen had emerged from their houses in the port to stare out over the water.

“I wonder why?” Myuri asked quietly.

She spoke as though she had just watched her prey in the mountains act strangely.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked because, before he knew it, the snow on Myuri’s hood and shoulders had piled up into quite a thick layer.

When he reached out to brush it off, white clumps fell from his own body.

Though he was clearing the debris from her, she did not even glance at him. Her attention was focused at the port.

The ship from the Debau Company hurriedly slipped into the docks, ignoring the island fishermen as they watched on in astonishment. Soon, a ramp was placed onto the pier.

Down from the deck came a man wearing plenty of clothes, his figure perfectly round.

The hand brushing Myuri came to a stop.

At the same time, she sucked in air through her clenched teeth.

“I’m not cold.” She smiled fearlessly. “I’m excited.”

The one who had alighted from the ship was Yosef. As he propelled his pudgy body forward at an unsteady run, he kept glancing out over the water. With displeasure, he swiped off the snow that clung to his frame while he ran straight toward them. But it did not seem like he noticed they were there. He had not raised his head once, concentrating only on running along the path.

Even when he was close enough that they could hear his heavy breathing, Yosef still had not sensed their presence. When he finally did look up all of a sudden, he was dangerously close to running into them.

“O-oh?!”

Yosef, flustered, stopped in his tracks, his expression plainly saying, “What are you doing here?”

Of course, that was what Col wanted to ask as well.

“Is something the matter?”

Yosef, completely out of breath, opened his mouth twice but could only bring himself to cough instead of speak. After placing his hands on his knees and taking several deep breaths, he stood up.

“Th-this must be the will of God. I have an urgent message for you.”

White billowing clouds came forth as he kept panting.

Nervousness raised a shiver that ran through Col’s body—did something happen to Hyland?

“A message came from Atiph for me. Then I came as fast as I could in my ship, but I was mainly concentrated on staying ahead of that thing behind me.”

He made it clear that both vessels arriving at the same time was no coincidence.

“And what was the news from Atiph?”

Yosef coughed painfully once more, then managed to string some words together.

“I don’t know from what country, but a high-ranking clergyman from the south is bringing a very important merchant with him to the north.”

“High-ranking? With an important merchant?”

Col could not quite grasp the situation.

Then, behind the coughing Yosef, the giant ship’s silhouette was becoming clearer.

The men gathered at the port all began clamoring incoherently, pointing. It was a bit of an exaggeration to say that he could not believe his eyes.

“It’s…huge…” Myuri murmured in a low voice.

The ship looked like a mountain gliding over the water.

It would not be surprising if there were five or even six decks. From each side of its giant hull sprouted a surprising amount of oars extending into the water. Befitting for a giant, they slowly steered the ship across the water with great force. The sight of it evoked images of God’s own ship, soaring across the sky.

But if this were a divine vessel, then there must have been a religious conversion of some sort. On the sail fluttering above the giant ship was a painted crest that Col knew very well.

“The Ruvik Alliance?”

They were the world’s largest mercantile group. Due to a focus on conducting long-distance trade, they controlled the largest number of seafaring vessels by far. The Ruvik Alliance was somewhat legendary among merchants. It was often said they once went to war with a king for disputed special privileges and emerged as the overwhelming victors.

In the northlands, most people thought the spectacular rise of the Debau Company had lessened the Ruvik Alliance’s power, but Col knew people only entertained that sort of talk in the north.

The giant vessel that had appeared in the port town of Caeson possessed an overwhelming, coercive force.

“They’re not here for trade,” Yosef continued to explain. “That ship did not stop off at any port on the way here. They must have enough crew for full shifts and enough food on board. Such a big ship can’t sail in the narrow passages between islands, so they must have taken quite the long way around, but our boat still struggled to keep ahead of it on the sea routes.”

The ship was too large to dock in Caeson, so it dropped anchor off the coast. Smaller boats were lowered from the side of the ship, and the men from the port sent out their boats, too. They were likely going to ask what their purpose was.

“Oh, the guard dogs have arrived.”

Among it all, Myuri pointed out to the water. There was the pirate ship.

“I wonder what will happen?”

It was eerie enough that such a giant ship would stop at such a small port town.

Col understood for the first time that authority could be visible.

“I don’t know…However, if those oars coming out from the side of that massive ship so much as hit the pirate’s vessel, they will undoubtedly sink. The Ruvik Alliance has a reason behind this display, why they brought out that ship. If they’re planning to trade, then the hold will have to be filled with mountains of gold and silver in order to pay. We merchants would never embark on any pointless ventures.”

Col understood the reasoning from traveling with a respectable merchant. It was clear the travelers had come to this land in order to obtain something, but what?

What could they hope to trade for in this land of ice, where everything had been swallowed by poverty?

“Oh God, please protect us.”

Yosef prayed, then pulled out a small bundle from his bosom.

“Oh, Holy Mother, please give us protection.”

Snow continued to fall.

The painted crest of the Ruvik Alliance flying eerily above them, visible amid the drifting specks of white.