CHAPTER THREE

That night, after receiving the parchment with the translation of the scripture, Col barely slept. He was glued to the desk, absorbed in reading it and referencing the original as he went on. He was inundated with intellectual stimuli, constantly surprised by some of the interpretations and wordings.

He vaguely remembered Myuri becoming upset about being unable to sleep because of the bright candle, but she had gone silent at some point.

Then, he suddenly realized he could hear a wagon passing outside. He felt like he had been reading the translation until that very moment, but apparently he had fallen asleep, and a blanket was draped over his shoulders. He looked at the bed where Myuri was curled up sleeping. She somehow seemed exasperated.

Having fallen asleep in the same position in the cold, his body felt like a dried branch. He slowly loosened up, and after deciding to take a quick snooze, he crawled into bed. His tension eased when he felt the warmth under the covers from Myuri’s body heat, and he instantly fell asleep.

When he next awoke, he bolted upright in a sudden wave of regret and fear.

“The lunch preparations!”

The sun was already high in the sky, and from the color of the light, he could immediately tell that breakfast had already finished at the bathhouse and it was time to get ready for lunch. He instantly felt a cold sweat and the need to apologize to Lawrence, who was likely working hard making arrangements. Lamenting how he had broken his streak of never waking up late over these past few years, he got out of bed, and that was when he realized—

“…Good morning?” Myuri, sitting at the desk and combing her hair, raised a perplexed greeting.

“Oh…Right, this isn’t the bathhouse…”

He could hear the sounds of a bustling town from beyond the open window.

There was a faint scent of salt.

“You really like to work, Brother.”

Myuri smiled, astonished.

“Oh, and while you were being Mr. Sleepyhead and snoozing your time away, a package came.”

Myuri was typically the one being scolded for sleeping in, so she was enjoying her chance to nip at him. It was perhaps too much to expect her to wake him up. There was no doubt that she gloated upon rising and finding him still asleep.

He could not forget to inspect his face and clothes for pranks.

Then, he looked at the package, and his sleepiness immediately evaporated.

“Myuri, move.”

“Wha—?”

He picked up the parcel that had been laid next to the door and placed it with a thud onto the desk. Myuri, shooed away, reluctantly sat down on the bed.

“This is enough to…”

Inside, there were many sheets of paper made from rags and as much parchment made from sheep as he could carry. The ink was practically overflowing, and there were enough quill pens to carry him into the air.

“Are you going to use all that by yourself, Brother?”

Myuri looked astonished, sitting cross-legged on the bed and tying her hair back.

“No, there are scribes who should be working with us…Myuri, did anyone come to visit?”

“Hmm, oh, someone came and asked if you were here, but when I told them you were sleeping, they were all, ‘okay, we’ll be waiting.’”

“That’s them!” he said and was about to exit the room in one big stride when Myuri called out to him.

“Ah, hey, Brother! What about breakfast?!”

“As you like!” he said and exited the room.

The day’s work at the Debau Company had started long ago, and it was still just as crowded as it was the day before. After Col described things to a passing errand boy, the boy brought him to a corner of the unloading area where several men sat idle. When they noticed him, they heaved themselves up as though with great effort. They all had stooped shoulders and bandages wrapped around their right hands. They each carried a worn-out bag on their shoulders, and their clothes were stained as though they had been dragged through mud and water. Their hands and faces were just as mottled as their clothes were.

To someone who did not know who they were, they seemed nothing but poor travelers or farmers escaping a heavy tax on their village. However, just as mercenaries proud of their demonic strength would be covered in the blood of their victims, excellent scribes were covered in ink.

Though every other part of these men seemed impoverished, their eyes shone brightly.

“We hope we may be of some use in sharing the correct teachings of God.”

“Of course. Thank you so much for coming.”

Col shook hands with all three of them and thanked them for reaching Atiph.

“Are you not busy around this time of year, though?”

“Ha-ha-ha. I suppose. My notary master ordered me to come, however.”

“I am from the tax collector association in the port.”

“I’ve come from the city council library.”

Those who could read and write were treasured, and those who could copy books were priceless. That work was more difficult than anyone could imagine, and it was taught as a way of penance in monasteries. It was a task not many people would offer to carry out, and those who would do so with perseverance and without complaint were few indeed.

Hyland must have gone through those papermakers to gather these scribes, so they were probably quite skilled. The places they had been pulled away from were in all likelihood incredibly busy.

“Still, by helping Heir Hyland, and by extension the Kingdom of Winfiel, our masters supposes that the benefits will outweigh our missing services. The tithes are applied to many things, after all. It would not be odd for one or two craftsmen like myself to earn their fortunes should taxes vanish.”

“And it seems other large craftsmen associations are having their subordinates spread Heir Hyland’s ideas and sending people out to collect funds in front of the Church when the time calls for it. However, by the nature of our work, we do not have very many potential masters to work for. If we didn’t contribute at all and then the tithes were actually repealed, we would lose our place in town.”

“In addition, everyone is simply interested in what is written in the scriptures. They are not satisfied by the Church’s excuses and wonder what God is really saying.”

He could clearly tell from their responses that Hyland’s plan was going well.

He felt an indescribable excitement when he thought how the world might change.

“According to Heir Hyland, you are a very knowledgeable theologian.”

“Please, teach us.”

“Oh…ah…oh no, far from it. I am honored.”

It seemed Hyland was praising him everywhere, but it was also possibly a bluff to encourage the people. Hyland was not a noble with only a good personality to his name.

“Well, well, this is the first time I’ve met a priest who has adopted the virtue of humility.”

“Indeed, how inspiring.”

Col had a feeling that this was also part of Hyland’s strategy, and he could do nothing but smile dryly as he stood before the awestruck scribes.

Then, securing a workspace for them was another trouble. The Debau Company trading house appeared to have been simply thrown together by connecting a number of different buildings with corridors, and it was so complicated and big, they would be lost without a map.

Even still, every room was full of people, and they ended up using the room Col and Myuri were borrowing.

“Myuri, hold this.”

They pushed the bed and furniture all up against the wall and brought in desks from other rooms.

The room suddenly transformed into a copy room of a workshop or a church, and only Myuri sat on the bed, hugging her knees.

“So what is it we will be copying?”

“Here it is. Please divide the work among yourselves.”

“I hope all the spelling has been corrected. I cannot read, you see.”

It was not unusual for a scribe to be illiterate. Letters were like pictures, and those who could copy them could do the work. Rather, this was preferred, since they could more faithfully re-create the original. The problem was that any mistakes would also be perfectly copied.

“I have for everything I was able to understand…”

If the scribe did not know how to read, then he would not know what parts had already been corrected. That being said, it would not be good to scribble notes directly on the parchment where the translation was. As Col wondered about how to approach the issue, the man produced a pincushion from his bag and said, “Please rest assured. Insert the pins onto the words that have spelling mistakes, and then I will refer to them and fix the spelling.”

“Excellent.”

He admired the craftsman’s rational wisdom. He quickly began placing pins into the man’s allotted parchment.

The other two men were wrapping cloth around their wrists and preparing small armrests that they seemed to typically use while they worked. They truly called to mind warriors preparing to go into battle, which was promising. Before long, their setup for work was completed.

“Then, let us stir life into the Church.”

One of the craftsmen spoke, and each began to work.

When Col was about to return to his translation work, he realized that Myuri was nowhere to be seen. He then remembered she had asked about breakfast. Perhaps she had not eaten all morning while waiting for him to wake up.

He hurriedly exited the room, and there was Myuri, leaning against the window frame in the hallway, gazing into the courtyard, and feeding the little birds.

“Myuri.”

When he called to her, the birds suddenly flew away.

“Wow, the animals really hate you, Brother,” said Myuri, with the blood of wolves flowing through her, and she bit into the bread in her hand that the birds had been pecking at.

“Your breakfast…Where did you get that bread?”

“I got it by dancing a little outside.”

She wiggled her hips.

It seemed she was slightly angry with him.

“That was a joke.”

“I know, however—”

“I have traveling money of my own. Here, this is for you.”

She interrupted him, reaching into the bag dangling from her hand and pulling out crumbly, dry bread and jerky. She gave it to him.

“They called that a biscuit, and boatmen eat it. It’s so hard, it’ll break your teeth.”

She grinned, showing off her canines. It certainly seemed hard enough, but that was not what he was concerned about.

“Ah, Myuri, I have work to do, so…”

“I know. It would definitely be weird if I were in the room with you.”

She was the one who forced him to bring her along, so if she understood that there was no place for her and obediently returned to Nyohhira, it would be a great help.

“That’s what’s written on your face, at least.”

“…”

“Well, I’m not going home.”

She smiled mischievously and poked the chest of an unmoving Col.

“Now I know how Miss Helen and the others feel when they tease you, Brother.”

How cheeky, he thought, glaring at her, and she took a step back.

“It’s busy everywhere here, so I found work to do. Luckily, I get to wear this.”

As she had yesterday, she was wearing the same clothes as the errand boys in the company.

However, her hair was in its usual state, which looked incredibly untidy when coupled with her outfit.

“If so, you must do your hair properly,” he said, then added, “I’ll braid your hair for you.”

She probably had not braided her own hair on purpose.

“Heh-heh. Okay!”

She smiled happily and closed the distance between them. He felt she was doing as she pleased with him, but after a bit of thought, he decided it was fine as long as she was in a good mood.

As he braided her hair, boys who were cleaning and company employees carrying goods passed them several times, and they all stared at the two, confused by the odd sight of a guest braiding an errand boy’s hair.

Col was most definitely embarrassed, and only the free-spirited Myuri was content and did not mind.

In the several days that followed, Col focused solely on his work.

There were very few things Col had to fix in the translation Hyland gave him, and it was rather a learning experience for him. The translation was further along in Winfiel itself, so if he did any translating himself, it would conflict with that. The task was awe-inspiring but also enjoyable. At any rate, he was free and would not lose anything, so he did as he pleased.

The scribes were also skilled, and the numbers of documents he received from Hyland increased. Without an illustrator decorating the margins, they could write five pages in a day. Out of the thirteen chapters of the scripture, Hyland gave him the manuscripts for the first four, and the number of copies grew and grew.

Whenever the scribes completed one, Hyland would take it and distribute it to the city nobles in Atiph and the land-owning nobles outside the urban area. There were also requests from the townspeople, and the day after distributing two parts of it, managers from each association clamored for a copy for themselves.

While Hyland’s campaigning certainly helped, the town likely already had the groundwork for this result. It was frigid by the sea, and there were deep snow-covered mountains just up the river. According to the craftsmen, there had been pirate attacks from the stormy northern seas until recently. The environment outside the walls did not lend itself to a relaxing life, and the entire town thirsted for the teachings of God.

Such a situation allowed Col to work late into the evening, several nights in a row without distress. He had dedicated himself to studies that no one had ever found necessary until now. He would not consider any troubles he had to endure now as a hardship, as long as his efforts were of use later. The scribes left each day at sunset, but of course, he did not stop working then. Since he stayed up so late with the candle still burning, Myuri eventually forced him out at night. With no other choice, he placed a large crate and chair in the hallway, and then wrapped a blanket around himself as he worked to help him concentrate better. Myuri made a point of being angry about it, but she was probably just cold sleeping by herself.

When he awoke, he could barely open his eyes—he was so happy thinking about the scripture that he did so even in his dreams. Back in Nyohhira, Lawrence understood him, but the work in the bathhouse was never-ending. This was the life Col had longed for.

But the single thing that disrupted his routine, whether in Nyohhira or Atiph, was of course Myuri. Once her work helping the company was finished, she would return to the room and tell him in detail about everything that happened that day. When he responded with disinterested grunts, she would finally fall quiet and instead pull up a chair beside his and read the scripture. Perhaps that was also because he would give actual answers to her questions about the translated portions.

However, as he pursued his work, Myuri grew worried about his health. That was to be expected since the food she prepared for him when she left in the morning was untouched when she got home.

Even though Col was usually the one to scold Myuri about her lifestyle habits, their positions were now completely flipped. She stopped shooing him out at night and instead began pulling him into bed as the candle burned low. It would be funny from an outsider’s perspective, and he thought about how Myuri would make a good big sister if she had a younger sibling.

That being said, he figured his fervor for his work was difficult for Myuri to understand. One day, after pulling him from the desk into the bed again, she spoke.

“Hey, Brother? Can I ask you something?”

He tried to answer, but he coughed violently when he tried to speak, likely because he had not used his voice in a while. “What is it?” he finally managed to say.

“Why are you so obsessed with the teachings of God, Brother?”

Perhaps Myuri meant it as a reprimand, but it was a rather fundamental question.

“Ahem…Hmm. Have I never told you?”

“No. So…it’s kind of scary.”

She snuggled up to him and clung to his arm inside the blanket, perhaps out of fear that he would run back to the desk while she was sleeping. In reality, there were several times when he leaped out of bed as he was falling asleep after hitting upon a translation for a particular word that had escaped him.

But once he really thought about it, he had no memory of talking about this to Myuri. They had conversed about many things ever since she was a little girl, so it was a bit strange.

“I see…It is a difficult question, though. I might not be able to answer in a sentence or two.”

“Tell me. If it satisfies me, then I’ll set out two candles for you before I sleep.”

It would not be bad to extend work hours by one candle. And if he could explain why he was so attached to the teachings of God, well, it would be a good opportunity to open Myuri’s eyes to his lessons.

He slowly collected his thoughts and opened his mouth as he gazed up at the dark ceiling.

“I didn’t believe the teachings of God and the Church at first.”

“Really?!” Myuri yelled in his ear. She was as surprised as when she had first discovered that it cost money to boil water in the world beyond the hot springs of Nyohhira.

“Yes, really. The village I was born in was home to so-called pagans. We prayed to things like the beautiful springs or giant trees, and ‘God’ to us was a big frog, passed down through legend, that protected the village.”

“A frog?”

“There was a legend about it. Perhaps it really existed a long time ago.”

Myuri’s mother was the embodiment of a giant wolf, after all.

“Well, that’s where I was born, so I never honestly thought to learn about the teachings of the Church. It is ironic, but I decided I should learn when my village was about to be razed by their knights.”

He recalled why he had never talked about this to Myuri. It was not an amusing story.

“The villages we interacted with disappeared one after another, and of course, there was nothing we could do. No matter how much we prayed to the village god, help never came. The adult men were prepared to fight until the bitter end, and women and children got ready to escape with the intention of never coming back.”

A similar thing was probably happening somewhere in the world, but it was much more frequent back then. Myuri kept silent and gripped his arm even tighter. Her shoulders were hunched, as though she regretted asking him the story.

“Well, to jump to the end, coincidence after coincidence led to the village not being destroyed. It’s still there today.”

Myuri was clearly relieved.

“However, at the time, the entire northlands, which included my village, was called the pagan land. It was embroiled in a war.”

“…Only Nyohhira was safe, right?”

At the time, the old lands of Nyohhira were called the paradise of true believers in the land of pagans.

“Right. That is why, regardless of whether or not the Church would attack us again, I figured there was only one way to protect the village. And that was to become an important person in the Church myself,” he said, and Myuri was clearly at a loss.

Even he knew that it was a simple way of thinking.

“At the time, I…I was even more of an ignorant child than I am now. All my ideas were simple but at the same time calculating. Or perhaps strangely insolent. That’s why, though I was learning about God’s teachings then, my faith lay in the strength and ferocity of the organization that was the Church. The people around me who were studying the teachings also just wanted to have privileged work in the future, so no one seriously practiced them.”

A university city was a bustling town where the wise men recognized by the Church as sages would congregate.

It cost money to study, and swindlers gathered wherever money was spent. There, all his savings were swept up, then he was burdened with debt, and in the end, he ran with his life.

It was a terrible experience, but thanks to that, he stood where he was now.

“But despite that, it must have suited my personality because I enjoyed learning about the teachings of God. Before I knew it, they became my flesh and blood, and once I had internalized them, the study itself became enjoyable. But no matter what, the thing called faith did not stick in my heart. That was because the world was too irrational and uncertain for me to carry that unwavering conviction.”

There was a day when his village had been almost completely wiped out, a disaster prevented only by sheer luck, and then came the realization that the frog god they believed in only existed in their village—he had felt that there was nothing certain in this world.

He believed the only thing right in this world was that the strongest one would win.

“Those thoughts were completely overturned when I met two eccentric travelers.”

“…Mother and Father?”

“That is correct.”

Though it was a minor thing, Myuri seemed happy to hear the compliment. Her tail, which she used at night to keep herself warm, rustled under their blankets, and it tickled him.

“But…why? Wouldn’t you think that the Church’s God was a total lie after meeting Mother?”

There was likely no evidence against the existence of an even stronger god.

But his faith was of a completely different sort.

“Your thinking is correct. But in a way, not quite. While the ontological discussion of whether or not God truly does exist in heaven was important, the difference was that they taught me that there are things in this world to believe in from the bottom of my heart.”

“…I don’t get it.”

Her tail moved under the covers, unsatisfied.

“If you assume that unshakable truths exist on this earth, don’t you think their bond is one of them?”

The question seemed to startle Myuri. Then, after a moment’s thought, she frowned slightly for some reason.

“Well, maybe. Mother and Father are so close it’s gross.” That was how she felt as their daughter. “But how is that related to God’s teachings?”

“Well, let’s see,” he said and closed his eyes, recalling the big adventures he had had since meeting them—the exciting and sometimes dangerous times—and how he had still been able to laugh.

“No matter what danger they faced, even when they fell into hopelessness, they never let go of each other’s hand. That is because they knew that their feelings for each other were the only certain thing in the world.”

“…”

Myuri did not say anything, probably because it was embarrassing for her to hear such stories about her parents.

“When I watched them, I thought that as long as you had something to believe in, you could overcome any hardship. And then I learned that that ‘something’ most definitely existed. Looking around me with that in mind, I finally understood that faith was incredibly important to surviving in this cold world.”

Faith could be feelings for a loved one, loyalty to the organization or lord that one served under, or even the less praiseworthy convictions of misers.

What they had in common, however, was that they could be strong because of their faith.

“And at the same time, I was painfully aware of the misery and powerlessness of the helpless, because I was once like that, too.”

He could no longer fathom his despair from that time, nor did he want to. His loneliness had withered him away into nothing, like a malady pulling him into the abyss of death even as he lived.

“Then, for the first time, the teachings of a God flowed through my blood.”

God was always with you.

He felt like the lid over his head opened when he finally understood it.

“When I understood the meaning of ‘God will never abandon you,’ it was like a warm waterfall suddenly washed over me.”

He thought that Myuri might laugh at his exaggeration, but she surprisingly did not. On the contrary, she gripped his arm even tighter and rested her mouth on his shoulder as though she would bite it.

“I…get that. When you told me that you would always be my friend, I felt the same.”

She sounded like she was sulking, perhaps because she was being bashful. She was talking about the time when her mother, Holo, told her about the blood of wolves flowing through her veins.

“If I can become a priest, I would be able to spread that warmth throughout the world to all the people shivering in the cold of loneliness. When I was at such a loss as a child, I just so happened to run into Holo and Lawrence, but many people in the world will not have such luck. I realized, however, that I could be the one to bring that luck to those people. God’s love is limitless and will not lessen when it’s shared.”

To that end, he had to understand God to the greatest extent possible. He had to be able to confront all sorts of doubts. He could dedicate himself to his studies, munching on raw onions to ward off sleepiness, because of his very faith.

“Um…,” Myuri said, nonplussed, and Col was immediately apologetic that his speech might have been too intense.

“I’m sorry, that was fairly dramatic. But it is rather close, I think.”

“No, that’s not it…I was just surprised that you actually had a reason for studying. I was sure my brother was just a bit weird.”

“Huh?”

He was slightly hurt, and when he looked at Myuri beside him, he could tell, especially through the darkness, that she was smiling mischievously.

“But now I understand. You really are weird if you think so seriously about that, and you never react when Miss Helen and the other dancers flirt with you, either.”

“Myuri.”

He lowered his voice to scold her, but Myuri continued on happily.

“And I think I understand a little why you left the village. I wasn’t sure why you were so angry over whether or not the pope was collecting money…He’s damaged something really important, hasn’t he?”

That was exactly it. Her assessment was so accurate, he wanted to raise his voice in joy.

The pope was using the teachings of God that were meant as deliverance for the people as a tool in his desire for money. Col could not forgive such a thing.

“I am sad that I cannot express how happy I am right now that you’ve finally understood me.”

“What? Then give me a big hug, like you used to when I was little.”

She grew up to look exactly like her mother, Holo, then realized the appeal of decorating herself over chasing animals in the mountains—when he thought about how much she had grown, he felt sad. However, she was still a child on the inside.

He smiled as he thought that, and when he hugged her, she cackled.

“But, Brother?”

“What is it?”

“When Mother told me about my ears and tail and I cried, why didn’t you tell me about such an important God?”

It was a given that the flow of their conversation would lead them here.

And the reason for that made him feel ill.

“Well, you see…”

“Yeah?”

If he lied to her now, Myuri would instead bully him to no end. He decided to resign himself to it.

“Even I have never seen God myself.”

“Huh?”

“But I’m here. You can see me, touch me, and talk to me. That’s why. It is…well…inconsistent…as a servant of God…”

There was nothing more shameful than this. Most of the deception of the Church must have been born from situations like this. As he thought surely Myuri would be dismayed, she spoke out of the blue.

“Just hug me again.”

“What?”

“You can see and touch and talk to me, right? Hurry, before I lose all my faith!”

The day Myuri would develop a faith in God seemed far off, but perhaps that was a good thing, in a way.

He did as the princess commanded.

Either because she had been working hard or perhaps due to her usual skill, before long Col could hear the sounds of soft snoring coming from between his arms. She was always footloose and fancy-free. Though she was small, his arms quickly grew tired hugging her, unlike when she was a little girl. He let go, careful not to wake her, and breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked at her sleeping face once again, and his face spontaneously broke into a wide smile.

Perhaps it would be acceptable to add the innocence of this sleeping face to the list of things that were certain in this world.

It was a face that encouraged him to work hard tomorrow.

Col’s days of prayer and contemplation continued, and as the copies of copies of Hyland’s manuscript spread throughout town, Myuri finally caught up to where he had finished his work. She could not help but interfere with his business, deliberately rushing him on to work faster and faster, but he felt the same way. When he finally finished translating the seventh chapter, he felt as though he was gasping for air and finally breathing again.

All the fundamental teachings found in the scripture lay within the first seven chapters, and the rest was about the travels of the prophets who had been given the words of God and the memoirs of their disciples. Of course, Col’s translation was provisionary, and there were plenty of things that needed to be adjusted, but the general idea should have been communicated.

Then, he also felt relieved that he made it in time. Hyland, who had been running around laying the groundwork for the plan, just yesterday finally began serious talks with the archbishop at the Church.

From what he had heard, he imagined the town would be completely on the side of Winfiel Kingdom. A church built on the townspeople’s respect as well as their donations surely could not ignore their wishes.

The first seven chapters of translated scripture that contained the basic teachings of God would unquestionably support this idea.

And his heart felt full when he thought about how the townspeople were so interested in God’s teachings.

The world was not without worth. What was right was right, and the path would continue to the truth.

Long after the scribes returned home at dusk, he could somehow feel the last droplets of sunlight from the roof on the other side of the street.

“Brother! Are you done?”

Myuri was the only one who would open a door without knocking.

When he turned toward her, it felt like he was seeing her face for the first time in a long while.

“Didn’t you say you’d be finished sometime today?”

“I did, just now.”

“Good, good.”

He could not help but smile as she spoke like a parent. “Have you learned a thing or two about hard work?”

“Of course. I’ve been doing so much every day. Everyone needs me everywhere. But what surprised me the most is how many jobs need to be done.”

As Col checked the ink of the translation as it dried on the parchment, his heart relaxed at Myuri’s enjoyment.

“Companies are the waterwheels that move the world, you know.”

“There’s lots of boring and tedious work, though.”

“That’s how it is.”

“I know, but…I had to count the coins packed in these crates, and there were enough to drive me crazy! And there’s so much money, and I spent all day counting it until my hands were black, but I only got a tiny, tiny, tiny bit of it!”

Now that he thought about it, there was indeed a night where she was particularly bothered by the smell on her hands. He had thought she touched a fish or something similar, but it seemed she was repelled by the smell of coin.

“But it’s weird.”

“Weird? What is?”

“The money changers had me running around doing errands for them, but they don’t use any of that money.”

“They might be keeping it safe for someone else or planning to use it for a large transaction. Perhaps for export.”

“Export? You mean selling it to other towns? But everyone here is upset because there’s no change, though.”

“If there’s a place that needs it more than they do here, then it would be more profitable to sell it there. It happens often.”

“Huh. That’s weird.”

He wanted to brag that through that export of coin, he had discovered an incredible trick long ago, but he resisted since it was childish.

“Anyway, I don’t want to do work like that. Work at the port is the most fun.”

“The port?” he questioned, and Myuri’s eyes lit up.

“They pile up cargo so high on big boats, and then you jump on top of it and throw everything down to people waiting for them on land. The port is packed with ships jostling together, and it’s hard because they’re always rocking back and forth when the waves come in! Especially today because a really skinny and long boat like a dragonfly came in around sunset and tried to force its way in, and because they didn’t know the customs here, everyone shouted at one another!”

Myuri sniffed, puffing out her chest. She acted the part of a competent errand boy, already counting herself as a member of the Debau Company. She was an honest and energetic girl, and perhaps it helped her blend in easily around such places.

When she mentioned a boat that looked like a dragonfly, she was likely referring to the quick ones that did not depend on the wind and were instead propelled forward by man power with dozens of oars lined up on either side. Perhaps there had been cargo that required urgent delivery.

Setting that aside, he briefly imagined her jumping onto the tall mountains of cargo in the noisy port.

“Erm…Isn’t that rather dangerous?”

“Yeah, lots of people fell into the sea. I’m the only one who didn’t!”

Myuri spoke proudly. In Nyohhira, she was fine jumping from creek to creek to play beside icy rapids. Of course, she was a skilled swimmer.

But that was not the problem.

“I am looking after you in place of Lawrence and Holo. If you happen to get hurt, what will you do?”

“Oh, I know. If I become damaged goods, then someone has to take responsibility.”

“…”

He breathed a heavy sigh. She was acting knowledgeable about the things Miss Helen and the other dancers told her, even though she did not understand.

“I meant something a little different, but…that’s roughly correct.”

“Really?”

As soon as she said that, there came the sound of a mooing cow.

“More importantly, I’m hungry. Oh, can you go out now that you’re finished working?”

Col had been eating in the room for these past few days. Myuri seemed to want to eat things they did not have in Nyohhira that could be found in the busier parts of town. But when it was apparent that he would not budge, she had obediently had someone from the company buy her a meal before eating her bread and other foodstuffs in the room.

“Yes, yes, very well. It’s been a while since I’ve moved my body; it feels like if I don’t, then I might just become stone.”

“There were so many times I actually thought you died.”

Myuri cackled, and she suddenly raised her head as though she had realized something.

“Oh, Brother!”

“What is it?”

“Since we’re going out, you shouldn’t dress like that,” she said, and he looked down at himself, but nothing had changed since he left Nyohhira.

He pressed his hand against his cheek to check if there was something on his face, but Myuri shook her head in a fit.

“Get rid of that priest-looking coat.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

He did as he was told and removed the coat, and Myuri carefully inspected him from head to toe before groaning.

“But you still kind of look like it…”

“Myuri? What are you talking about?”

“Brother, put your head down.”

It was too much trouble to ask again, so as he did as he was told and lowered his head, she roughly ruffled his hair.

“…Myuri.”

“How about this…? Oh! This might work!”

After glancing around, she opened the pot of ink, dipping the tip of her pinkie into it and drawing a quick line on his cheek. She did the same on the other side and then stepped back to examine him.

“Well, whatever.”

“Myuri.”

There was a hint of anger in his voice, but Myuri did not flinch, placing both hands on her hips and puffing out her chest.

“It’s dangerous to walk around outside dressed like a priest now.”

“…What?”

“All the men that do heavy labor are all worked up.”

As the curtains of night drew over the sunset, Myuri’s eyes glinted threateningly in the faint darkness.

“During breaks at work, I’ve been collecting all sorts of information from the townspeople. I’ve been working hard.”

“All sorts…?”

“We’re dividing up the work! You’re working hard here in the room, but you won’t know what’s going on in the outside world. So instead, I’m your eyes and ears! Isn’t that adventure basics?”

His only response was a blank stare, and Myuri’s expression changed to one of clear displeasure.

“You really didn’t think I was working just to amuse myself because I was bored, did you?”

“No…”

He had been absolutely certain that was the case.

“Sheesh! See, this is why I say you’re no good! You have no idea what that blondie is scheming!”

Of course, Col did not think that people of high status such as Hyland acted for simple reasons.

However, Myuri’s thorough distrust in him seemed to go beyond that.

“You’re really only looking at a fourth of the world, Brother.”

“Not even half?”

The world was made up of men and women. It appeared he did not know a thing about women, so that left a half. Even if he woefully accepted this evaluation of himself, where did that second half come from?

Then, Myuri’s expression became troubled yet slightly sad, and she spoke.

“You only ever look at the good parts of people.”

This innocent and naive girl sometimes dug into deep places.

“But people aren’t bundles of goodwill. Right?”

It was a cold truth. If Myuri, who was half his age, had to tell him this, then perhaps he truly was only seeing less than a fourth of the world.

As he stared vacantly, she placed her warm hand on top of his.

“But I could never imagine you doing anything evil, Brother.”

He gazed down at her, and the girl who was always doing evil things was giggling.

“So I’m going to protect you. I’ll keep an eye out where you’re not looking and make sure you don’t fall backward off a cliff.”

He thought for a moment how cheeky she sounded, but she had saved him from being run over by a wagon when he had been too caught up in his thoughts.

He could not think of anything to say in return, but it was beneath him to stay silent.

“Then, what should I be looking at with my narrow field of vision?”

Myuri gave him a sidelong glance before shaking her head in exasperation.

“Isn’t there someone you can’t take your eyes off of?”

Her usage of that phrase was a bit off, but she was much too proud of herself.

That discrepancy was funny to him, and he could not help but smile.

“Of course.”

“Of course!”

She grinned, baring her teeth. Then, she placed her forehead on his arm.

“That’s why…”

“Huh?”

Her voice was muffled, and he could not hear her, but by the time he asked for clarification, she had already let go of his arm.

“More importantly, I’m hungry!”

He got the sense that she said something important to him but also that she had rubbed her nose against him mostly to satisfy an itch. At any rate, it was true that he could not take his eyes off her.

“Don’t eat too much.”

“Okay.”

Her noncommittal response was typical.

He followed her as she quickly exited the room, a slight smile of exasperation on his face.

The energy of the town at night was different from how it was during the day.

It was more similar to Nyohhira’s—a feast of drink and meat.

Unlike in the sleepy hot spring village, though, sturdy, muscular men sat on long benches that jutted out onto the roads, making a ruckus. They were probably the men who unloaded cargo at the docks, craftsmen who cut wood with big saws, or the workers who braided the ferociously thick ropes that tied the largest ships to the piers. The men, baked in salt and alcohol, had piercing laughs and yells that carried a particular kind of impact.

Then, Col understood immediately that Myuri’s earlier caution was correct.

“So what’s the archbishop gonna do?”

“An assistant priest was the only one who showed up to prayer this morning. They’re so scared of Lord Winfiel!”

“No, no, the archbishop and Lord Winfiel were meeting the whole time inside the church.”

Everyone was talking about the Church and the Kingdom of Winfiel—namely, Hyland. Some were simply observing the course of events, while others bellowed their disdain for the Church’s taxes and called Hyland a savior.

Col and Myuri watched the revelers as they strolled along, and at the food stalls that were still out even after sunset, Col bought sandwiches containing a slice of cod that was deep-fried in oil. Myuri must have earned some spending money while she worked during the day because she pulled out some coins from her wallet and bought sausage, too.

“If I had come out dressed as I was, I definitely would not have been able to eat.”

He could imagine drunks catching him and closing in on him, asking whose side he was on.

“Appearance is important.”

You see? Myuri asked wordlessly with a tilt of her head. Once he smiled and nodded in response, he nudged her in the head.

As they stood on a corner of the street, eating their bread and watching people come and go, Col came to understand several things.

He learned what the men were interested in and what they talked about. Some showed the others that there were copies of a vernacular translation of the scripture. They raised cries of awe, as if declaring that was all they would need to defeat the malpractices of the Church.

These people were drunk, of course, so Col could not accept their words and actions at face value. However, he could see the extent of their expectations. If all these townspeople were on his side, then Hyland’s wishes would surely come true. Given all this, the archbishop could not ignore the wishes of the populace. He would need to work to correct the misdeeds, then join them in raising his voice against the pope.

“We might be able to achieve justice at this rate.”

Starting with the Church in Atiph, the movement would link to the next town, then the next. Col could not help but feel excited when he imagined his work helping this along.

He looked out on the town from the street corner with a hope-filled gaze, and Myuri, blending in with the scenery of the town as she leaned against the wall and nibbled at her bread, sighed.

“Justice…justice?”

“What’s the matter? Isn’t everyone facing the right direction, like Heir Hyland is?”

After Col asked his question, Myuri regarded him expressionlessly before jerking her chin like a real errand boy would.

Wondering what it was, he turned in the direction she indicated and found some rowdy men sitting on the benches of the bars along the street.

“Ha-ha-ha!”

“Here, here, look, look!”

He could hear jeers along with the barking of a dog. A drunk had jerky in his hands and was teasing a stray. That itself was not peculiar. The settlement was brimming with animals inside the walls.

“Here, it’s tithe meat! Go on and eat it up!”

He threw the jerky, and the dog ran after it at full speed and ate it. The men watched, guffawing. Then Col noticed something odd about the dog.

Someone had put a cloth around its neck to make it look like a priest.

“Father Dog! Please take our tithe bread, too!”

Every time the dog ate the food, the men would double over in laughter.

There was a half smile on Myuri’s face, but Col could not smile at all.

It was a clear desecration of authority.

“They’ve been like that since yesterday. I’m used to people drinking and getting unruly at Nyohhira, but they’re completely different. It’s a little…scary.”

Myuri finished eating her bread and brushed off the crumbs on her clothes.

“During the day today, a pastor from a church on a nearby island came. It was awful then, too.”

“In what way?”

The dog received its food with delight. The more it wagged its tail, the harder the men laughed.

“I think it’s a rule that the boats of important people from the Church have the Church’s insignia on the sail, unpainted. So everyone knew immediately what kind of person was aboard. Then came loud applause and loud cheers.”

He glanced at her, and her expression was dark. Her countenance did not match her story.

Or perhaps Myuri would rather the pastor not be welcomed?

As he considered this, the good-looking errand boy sighed.

“No one had come to welcome him. The people from the company told me this, but apparently, he was called to support the archbishop, and since the town is hostile against the Church, he would be opposing that blondie. Everyone knew, so they greeted him with fake cheers and applause. There was no way they could turn the boat back, either. So when he was getting off the ship, the pastor hesitated and went pale. Like he knew he’d come at a bad time.”

Malice.

It was malice boiling up in opposition to authority.

“No one was really welcoming him, and it was scary to think he might be mobbed. That pastor seemed to be a nice man, and when he left the port, it looked like he was running away.”

Not everyone rested on their laurels in privilege. That was true even for the archbishop in this town. He was ardent in his holy work, so he was not a wholly bad person.

“After working here for a few days, I noticed that no one really cares about the details. I don’t know—it’s hard to explain, but it feels like that as long as there’s something to get riled up about, they’ll go for anything. Everyone is so mad, saying things like, ‘How dare they take our money away!’ When I ask if the tithes are really that expensive, they laugh and tell me they’ve never been taxed by the tithes.”

Surely it was impossible that each and every person who spent the day carrying cargo would be compelled to pay such a tax. That tax took money from things such as large companies, checkpoints, or land revenue. Of course, it was possible to think that the tithe would at some point affect the little people, but it would be difficult for those individuals to actually feel its effects.

“Hey, Brother. You know what you believe, and you looked like you were really enjoying yourself, concentrating on your translation work, so I didn’t say anything.”

There was a degree of sincerity in the eyes gazing up at him that he had never seen in her before.

“Copies of your translation are circulating, too, and it’s like it’s okay to insult the Church any way they like now that they have that.”

“That was not what the translation was—”

“It seems like it doesn’t really matter what you think or what’s written on it.”

Details like God’s word did not matter. There were even merchants who, when they saw him carrying out his daily task of recitation of the scripture, thought it good luck and bowed their head for protection. That was normal.

“So you really have to be careful. That blondie might have acted knowing this would happen.”

“That’s…”

“Nothing comes out of that mouth but good things.”

Only half of half of the world.

He stared hard back at Myuri, but he could not respond. When he averted his eyes, he could see the dog that was being teased. Had he been too naive? But faith was an innocent thing. If innocence and naïveté were bad, then what should he do?

Certainly, Col did not think that Hyland was acting entirely on saintly motives. However, he was sure righteousness lay at the end of their path.

The feeling left him uncertain of everything.

He wanted so desperately to read the scripture.

“Myuri.”

“Hmm?”

He spoke as he watched the dog being baited while the men roared with laughter.

“Let’s return to the trading house.”

He was not translating the scripture for the sake of such ill will. He did not want to make a fool of the Church’s authority. He simply wanted to state that there were inconsistencies and then rectify them.

Of course, these sorts of people did not represent everyone, and he could not imagine Hyland was egging them on. But still, it made him realize that he was only looking at a quarter of the world.

“Okay.”

He had expected she might make a fuss, wanting to buy more to eat, but she responded easily.

She separated herself from the wall and was about to walk off, but she twirled around to face him.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Col had worked hard for his ideals but then found unforeseen malice in the townspeople. Perhaps his disappointment was visible on his face. Myuri was teasing him while making sure he was all right.

He could not tell which one of them was supposed to be older.

“…It’s not my fault if I get lost,” he said.

“Hey!”

Myuri pulled him along as they went back the way they came.

She walked quickly, likely because she wished to pull him out of the vulgar atmosphere of town as soon as possible. Though she was noisy, selfish, and sometimes said such terrible things that astonished him, she was a good girl.

And his line of thinking continued.

If Myuri was such a good girl, then it would not be odd to find others who were just as good.

Col knew that once one began doubting the world, there was no end to it, and he understood that there were bad people. In fact, his meeting Lawrence came about when he had just been swindled by a crook.

So while some made a fool of the Church’s authority simply in order to lighten their mood, most people would read the common-language version of the scripture and understand both the Church’s righteousness and sins. At least, that was what he wanted to believe.

Col and Myuri returned to the trading house and headed up toward the third floor, weaving through the people who were still working at this hour.

“You can do what you want, but today you have to sleep properly! Okay?!”

“Yes, yes.”

He smiled at Myuri as she howled at him and opened the door. Then the smell of ink enveloped him, easing the anxiety in his heart from the commotion outside.

The scent was that of knowledge and tranquility.

“I’d like to wash my face before sleeping, however. And Myuri, you smell like dirt, so please go get some water—”

As he spoke and lit the candle, he finally noticed that Myuri had stopped in the doorway.

“Myuri?”

She did not respond to him, and as he thought he saw her shivering, her ears and tail appeared. Then, she entered the room and closed the door, sniffing.

He thought it must be some sort of joke, but as though drawn in by an invisible string, she walked in a straight line and stopped before the desk.

“Myuri.”

It was not a question but a call. The manuscript of the translation he had just finished was stacked neatly on the desk. Nothing had changed most likely since before they left the room.

“Someone was here while we were gone. Many ‘someones.’”

However, there was no denying the tension in the bristling hair on Myuri’s tail and ears.

In addition, this room did not lock. Anyone could come and go as they pleased.

“Could someone have stolen something?”

He turned the bundle of parchment over, shining a candle over it to check. However, the number of pages was correct, and the handwriting was his own.

“It has not been marked over…Perhaps someone came to read purely out of interest?”

There were fervent believers within the company. They had likely heard a rumor that the translation would be finished soon and come to read it, but no one was here, so they instead read it on their own because they could not wait.

As he contemplated, Myuri, who had bent over to sniff around the desk, stood up and rubbed her nose.

“I don’t know. All I know is that someone was here. If I could be a wolf like Mother, then I might be able to tell who,” Myuri said regretfully and sneezed.

While she could hide and show her ears and tail at will, she could not become a giant wolf like her mother, Holo. That was perhaps because she also had human blood.

“Anyway, you need to be careful, okay?”

“I will. However, I do not think it would be wise to doubt people too much.”

Myuri waved her tail slowly, frowning at Col when he insisted, arms still folded.

Then he sighed and shrugged, as though surrendering.

“Well then, I will go retrieve hot water…Just in case, stick my short sword into the floor and use the hilt to keep the door shut.”

“If we’re going through that much effort, then I’m coming with you.”

She sounded angry, and he considered that was also an option.

He placed the lit candle onto a handheld stand and was about to leave the room.

“Oh, someone just came up to the third floor. I think these are Lewis’s footsteps,” Myuri said as her ears twitched. That was likely the name of another errand boy she had made friends with as she worked. When he thought that they might as well ask for water while they were at it, she suddenly hid her ears and tail. There was a knock at the door only a few moments later.

“Pardon me for intruding while you rest.”

There came a proper greeting. This person was probably not whoever came into the room while they were gone and did as they pleased.

“Come in,” Col responded. The door opened, and there was a boy about two or three years older than Myuri.

“Pardon me. Heir Hyland has called for you.”

When he said that, Col realized that Hyland was perhaps the one who had visited. As his client, he had the right to read the completed product whenever he pleased, and doubtless he did not think much of going into a commoner’s room without permission.

“Very well. We shall go posthaste,” he replied, and the boy bowed his head respectfully. Col saw him look inside the room. The boy’s composed expression turned into a smile, and he gave a little wave.

Of course, Col was kind enough to pretend he did not notice.

They closed the door, and Myuri grinned as she leaned against the desks the scribes used.

“Was that Lewis?”

“Yeah. We were at the port together, and he fell into the sea twice.”

He could not tell for sure if she was smiling because they were close or because she was recalling how silly he was for falling into the sea. Perhaps both.

“Well then, I will be going to Heir Hyland, so…”

He purposefully trailed off.

“I’m going, too.”

“There might not be any candy this time.”

“It’s fine. If you feed me too much, I might not be able to see anything else.”

In reality, perhaps Hyland enjoyed giving candy to Myuri as much as taming a cautious beast in the mountains.

“You cannot do anything rude.”

“Okay.”

She left the desk and exited the room first.

As he was about to follow her, he suddenly turned back to face the room.

Would it be all right to simply leave the translation manuscript as it was?

“Brother?”

Myuri called to him from the hallway, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to bring it with him.

At any rate, he had to announce that he had finished translating everything up to the seventh chapter.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Yeah. Since I got blueberries and apples last time, I guess pears are next.”

He smiled at Myuri’s gluttony as she forecasted what candy would be available and began walking.

But at the end of the long hallway, beyond the reach of the light in his hands, there was a deep darkness.

There was no harm in being careful.

He amended his opinion as they headed to Hyland.

Hyland had summoned them long after night had fallen. Moreover, he had begun talks with the archbishop just the day before.

He presumably had many reasons for calling on them.

“Oh, there you are.”

Once they were let into the room, Hyland greeted them from a table with a blindingly white cloth draped over it. Food sat on it, but it seemed like it had gone cold a while ago.

“I am sorry; we were out eating.”

“It’s fine.” Hyland smiled wryly, fiddling with a knife. “I’m not very hungry.”

He let go of the knife and leaned back in the chair.

“I’m sure you are strained under negotiations. Please do not push yourself.”

“Strained…I don’t think that’s quite it. Maybe unwell or disappointed.”

Hyland’s choice of words did not bode well for the negotiations.

“Is the archbishop being stubborn even with the townspeople’s support?”

Then, Hyland gave a slight laugh.

“The townspeople’s support, huh?”

Col could tell that Myuri, standing beside him, was falling into a sour mood. There was a slight sneer to Hyland’s smile. However, that was not meant for them.

“I thought so, too. But the ones making noise are all of the lower class.”

Cargo men at the dock, fishermen, and day laborers.

“And those like them know nothing except how to clamor violently. Today, a pastor under the archbishop was called in to support him, but when he arrived at the church, he sank to the floor. The man was terrified, as if he had just fled a battlefield.”

That was likely the pastor whom Myuri had talked about before—the one who was greeted with applause and cheers in a place he was not welcome.

“Do you know how they see me now as a result of that?” Hyland lamented, sitting tiredly in front of the food that had long gone cold. “They think I am trying to incite a civil war and annex this town into the kingdom.”

“What?”

This was completely unrelated to the fighting between the Kingdom of Winfiel and the pope.

“Are you aware some are posting the translation of the scripture around town and waving it about? Because of that, the archbishop shouted at me, claiming that the translation was false and it was actually literature to incite a revolt.”

“No…”

“Of course, anyone can see it’s real by reading it. I even presented it to the archbishop. But since they presume that the symbol of the town’s authority will lead our revolution, all the important people here are hesitant. On the off chance his judgment was actually true, then supporting me would be taking the side of a rebel.”

Hyland spoke in a self-deprecating way, and there was pain in his slight smile.

In addition, the courteousness of Stefan, who directed this Debau Company trading house, was keeping Hyland at a more respectful distance rather than offering respect itself. They conducted trade here, and it was more profitable for them not to challenge the authorities.

Along that vein of thinking, he felt he had an idea of who might have come into their room to read the translation manuscript while they were out. It must have been someone from the Debau Company who came to check and make sure he was not writing an essay in that room that called for revolution.

Hyland inhaled deeply before a long and slow exhale.

“Back home, more and more people are losing God’s protection at each major turning point in their lives, thanks to the pope. It’s not that we don’t believe in God. It’s not that we are using this opportunity to take over territories of other countries. We are simply unsatisfied with how the pope is placing God’s protection and money on the same scale. I don’t understand…how he can’t comprehend such simple logic.”

He tightened his fist, and it shook on the table. Col understood his dismay and did the same.

However, when Hyland finally relaxed his fist, there was an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Or perhaps, he is trying to rile me up. The moment you become angered is the moment you lose. Especially in negotiations.”

Hyland reached out to his drink, took a sip, then spoke.

“It was the same in the discussion with the archbishop in Lenos. He lined up all the people he could and had them all throw any insult they liked at me. That makes even the darkest things seem light.”

Church authorities could not remove Hyland by force, so instead they used the tyranny of the majority.

“And so, Col. I have something to ask of you.”

“Of me?”

“I want to increase my numbers, even by a little. I don’t know if he will try the same strategy tomorrow, but I want you to come with me to the negotiations.”

Col was about to respond to this unexpected result, but Hyland stopped him with a smile.

“I may ask for theological advice, but I won’t ask you to speak actively. I just want you to be there for dignity’s sake. I’ve told him that you are a young and accomplished scholar who keeps company with famous theologians. It should be effective enough if you simply stand there with a stern expression. The archbishop would never quiz you on the scripture. They did not reach their posts through the teachings of God but gained their seats navigating secular society.”

It seemed Hyland’s impression had formed after actually talking to them rather than mere prejudice.

“And even though the archbishop has never actually read the scripture, this is a port town. He would know the names of famous priests who pass by on their way to and from Nyohhira. If we mention some of their names and characteristics and talk as though you have a mentor, then perhaps the priests may consider you the equal of renowned theologians.”

Col felt like a scarecrow trying to chase off birds from the new shoots in a field, but he would do anything as long as it would help.

“I really don’t want to use such an awkward strategy. It seems, however, that the wonderful world in which people recognize their own folly upon hearing the truth only exists in books.”

Hyland seemed to be wearing down thanks to the gap between ideals and reality.

But at the mention of books, Col remembered he had a bundle of ideals in his own hands.

“By the way, about the translation, I’ve completed a provisional draft of everything up to the seventh chapter.”

“Oh!”

Hyland’s face suddenly brightened, and that made Col happy, too.

“I’m sure it will need editing, but I think the general idea comes across well.”

“No, thank you for your hard work.”

Col handed him the parchment, and Hyland skimmed the words with an affectionate expression.

“Mm…Ah, this is good.”

It was most certainly lip service, but Col allowed himself a bit of pride as a reward.

“I’m sorry I don’t have time to read it all. How much of this has been copied so far?”

“The copies reach about halfway through the seventh chapter. I just finished the rest of the chapter today, so I think I can copy it by morning. I’ll give that to the scribes so when we bring this part to the Church, they can continue to make copies.”

“Thank you for such quick thinking. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course.”

After taking back the parchment from Hyland, Col found hope in the steady progress and future prospects for their work.

“This is a historical first step, the opening move to provide people with the ability to read the scripture and realize what is right. I’m counting on you, Col.”

Col accepted Hyland’s encouragement and left the room.

Col ended up staying up by the candle that night, but Myuri was not angry. She did not send him out, but instead carefully read the translation beside him as he made copies. It was a fleeting hope of his that she would finally awaken to God’s teachings. She was perhaps unhappy that he had been given work once again, maybe because she was being neglected or maybe because she did not fancy Hyland.

When she suddenly rested her head on his shoulder as they worked, the gesture was also an expression of discontent.

The typically noisy girl was able to finish reading the entire translation without saying a single word.

When she lifted her head, she stretched and yawned, checking his progress. Once she saw that he still had a while to go, she stood up without saying anything in particular and headed straight for bed.

He thought about how she always did as she liked; her actions did suggest she was a little angry. After tomorrow, he had to find some time to spend with her.

When the idea crossed his mind, he was astonished at his own mollycoddling, but it was like an unbreakable habit now.

He imagined that if they were to part, not only would that mean he would no longer work at the bathhouse, but also that there would be a small hole in his heart.

It did not take until morning for Col to finish copying the rest of the translation, and he did so around the time when the town had fallen completely silent.

He could not be yawning in the middle of serving as Hyland’s companion, so Col slept, warmed by the heat of Myuri’s tail. He woke up at sunrise anyway. Myuri, who only stirred when the sun had risen well above the horizon, was completely exasperated when she heard about his early rising. But even Col realized it was all because he was too excited.

The scribes eventually came, and Col handed them a copy of the remaining translation. Once that was finished, he told them to give the copies to anyone who wanted them. He would take the original translation with him and Hyland to the church.

“And why are you wearing that?”

Myuri was dressed in her clothes from when they left Nyohhira, and her cape rested on her shoulders. Though it had only been a few days, she seemed more grown-up when she dressed femininely.

Perhaps because she had been working in town.

“Why? Because if I went to the church dressed like a company errand boy, it wouldn’t be good for the business, would it? We talked about it yesterday.”

Even if the Debau Company wanted to support Hyland, Stefan, who ran this trading house, did not want to oppose the Church. In addition, people were wondering if the crude commotion was as a result of the fighting from the territory annexation.

Myuri’s judgment was indeed correct, but he had to question her use of it as a premise.

“Is waiting in the room like a good girl not an option?”

“No! I already read the scripture. I don’t think I’d learn anything new if I kept working.”

“Is it because I can only see a fourth of the world?” he said, and after Myuri stared at him blankly, she laughed, tickled.

“Yep.”

“Honestly…I don’t know what Heir Hyland will say.”

There was slight hope in his words, but when they went to Hyland’s room, it went over surprisingly well.

“That look is not quite acceptable, but if you take off the corset and wear the errand boy trousers, then wrap the sash around your waist, yes. You would pass for the apprentice of a court official. I can get a hat with a quill ready while we’re at it. You have a well-groomed and open face. Any sort of look would fit you.”

Hyland only seemed slightly amused by this, but when she actually wore the clothes and tied her hair roughly at the nape of her neck, Col agreed that it would not be odd if she truly did work under a noble.

“Looks are important.”

“Exactly.”

When Hyland agreed with her, Myuri snorted proudly.

“Then let us go. The morning prayers have finished, and people will be exiting the church and heading to work at the stores or workshops.”

Hyland and his attendants had a carriage prepared for them, but Col and Myuri would follow on foot. The roads were always crowded, and if they were unlucky, then it would actually be faster to walk. Besides, they would also get a better feel for the atmosphere in town.

There was nothing left of the rough scene they had witnessed last night, and the town of Atiph was shimmering under the light of the sun. When Col looked out across these sights, he almost wanted to believe it was all a bad dream he’d seen in the darkness.

It was poor etiquette for a carriage to stop in front of the church if there was no official event, so Hyland had swung around to the back. There were young assistant priests, their sleeves rolled up and hands red from washing.

They were scrubbing the walls of the church with worn rags.

“Good morning. Is the archbishop in?” Hyland called, and one assistant priest, who seemed a little older than Myuri with a beard that had not quite grown in yet, wiped his hands and reticently opened the back door. It was a rough, steel gate that could stop the advances of enemies when the time called for it.

“Pardon us.”

As Hyland passed them, the assistant priests lowered their gazes, but when his attendants and Col himself followed, they glared openly. The group entered the dim church, and the back door shut with a heavy thud behind them. Myuri whispered to him.

“They really don’t want us here.”

“They must be irritated that they have to do extra work this morning.”

Hyland was the one that answered.

“Is cleaning not good practice, though?” Col asked.

“It depends on what they’re cleaning up.”

Col tilted his head at the answer, and Myuri whispered in his ear. “Rotten eggs.”

His gaze unwittingly snapped back to her. There were no shops on the streets behind the church, and few people were around during the night. He could easily imagine unsatisfied individuals bringing in rotten eggs. From the perspective of the Church, Hyland was the one stirring those people up, so of course he and his hangers-on were not welcome.

They briskly strode straight through the church. It was not a form of insolence or audacity, but rather due to the risk of being thrown out if they did not, or possibly being forced to wait indefinitely in a room somewhere if they politely asked for directions.

The church felt bigger than it looked from the outside, and the stone buildings were indeed impressive. Huge, imposing scarlet tapestries hung from the wall, and stone-carved candlestands formed neat rows—it was the epitome of luxury. The lights at night were most likely beeswax instead of tallow.

When they finally reached the office, Hyland swung open the double door without hesitation.

Then, he took a step forward and spoke.

“Good morning. I thank God for the privilege of seeing you again today.”

The space was large and the ceiling was high. The room was longer than it was wide, and the longest table Cold had ever seen, one that could easily fit twenty people, sat in the middle of the room. Along the walls were wooden shelves and oblong chests with elaborate designs, and on the plastered walls above them were pictures of angels, twelve in total, all bigger than the one he had seen in the Debau Company. Even the drawing rooms in the largest companies were not this luxurious.

There were seven pastors sitting at the table, all wearing purple robes with striking needlework, and two secretaries with parchment spread out before them. At the head of the table, sitting beneath the large crest of the Church painted on the wall, was the archbishop wearing robes embroidered with gold.

Behind them stood two or three chamberlains, each waiting. They were either assistant priests who did odd tasks as they studied God’s teachings or secular secretaries who worked in administration for the Church’s council. Surely, if all of them yelled together, any argument no matter how sound would be snuffed out.

“Glory be to God,” the archbishop chanted, but his expression was sour. “You’ve brought quite the entourage.”

He immediately began with a jab, but Hyland smiled delicately as he sat down in the chair a servant had pulled out for him.

“The more people, the warmer this room will be.”

The archbishop, still frowning, exhaled loudly through his nose.

“By the way, the translation of the scripture finally reached the seventh chapter today. I would like to give this manuscript to you.”

Hyland gave a signal, and a waiting servant took the parchment and brought it over to the priests.

There was not a single friendly countenance among any of the priests, but the waiting chamberlains politely presented the document to the archbishop.

“Perhaps reading it for yourself will convince you that it is not an essay of revolt rather than simply hearing it from me. Of course, God does not like conflict, and we are advocating harmony.”

The archbishop turned a page of the parchment before him and looked up.

“May I read this?”

“Of course.”

Hyland’s voice sounded slightly animated. Col was a little surprised as well. He was sure the archbishop would not even spare a glance. He quickly read the first page, carefully reading every word, then turned to the second page. He read cautiously and silently.

As he did so, not a single word came out of the thirty or so people in the large office. Occasionally, someone’s idle stirring or coughing would make a sound. The archbishop’s gaze was fixed onto the parchment, and he did not look up.

Col thought something was strange, as he was spending an abnormal amount of time on the second page.

“Is something the matter?”

When Hyland spoke, the archbishop turned the page and proceeded to the third. What a coincidence that he had finally finished reading it just then. Again, he spent an abnormal amount of time on the third page.

Col looked at Hyland and noticed his profile had stiffened in anger.

He finally realized that they had been tricked.

The archbishop suspected that the translation of the scripture was literature to incite a revolt, and to prove their innocence, they had him read it. Therefore, he should read it to the end, but to him, there was no need. The one with something to lose if the discussions failed was Hyland.

It would be no use for them to request he read faster, and it would be just as he wanted if they grew angry at his slow pace.

For him, it would be cause for celebration if they got up from their chairs in defeat. This was no longer a negotiation, because the archbishop would not listen in the first place. Hyland’s words were much too accurate—they were not sitting in those seats thanks to the teachings of God, but by navigating secular society.

The office was simply quiet, but the atmosphere was oppressive. Hyland’s noble dignity did not waver, and with one arm on the table, he stared at the archbishop. It was as though he was staring at a rat that would escape the moment he averted his gaze.

However, Col did not know what they would do about this stalemate. He could not imagine that the archbishop would finish reading. They could not request that he do so. They could not stand up. They were completely trapped.

He recalled the story of the failure in Lenos. The archbishop there must have done the same thing to Hyland. The young man was Col’s equal when it came to theological debates but, also like himself, unused to the spite of society.

He thought about this and yet was ashamed and irritated that there was nothing he could do.

When he began to wonder how much time had passed, he heard the ringing of a bell coming from outside the office. It sounded like the one in the church’s bell tower, signaling midday. That made him realize that no matter how deadlocked the situation inside the office might be, outside, people were living their lives normally, and time was flowing. He wondered if Hyland was betting on that flow.

As the night went on, that vulgar and violent time would come once again. Drunk men would dress dogs in priests’ clothes and ridicule their authority. Meanwhile, rational-seeming merchants, holding chicken thighs and scraps of the scripture translation, would spout insults at the Church as they ate their meat.

And still, the scribes were copying the translation back at the Debau Company trading house and distributing it. Those with good sense would read it and immediately understand that there was no righteousness in the Church’s tyranny. Those people might then throw eggs not at the back door, but at the church’s front gates. Once the people stood up to correct the Church’s evil ways, Hyland would wait for the right time to brandish his sword for the negotiations.

Then, when he thought about it that way, Col began to see the archbishop’s plan. It was possible he was betting on the complete opposite.

According to all the stories Myuri had heard as she did menial work for the company, the rowdy workers were simply lashing out because they could. It had nothing to do with the righteousness of faith or because the heavy tithes were weighing them down. Their troublemaking was nothing but a temporary fad, and if nothing came of it, then it was easy to imagine that their attention would simply go elsewhere.

The season was changing from winter to spring, and the busiest season of the year quickly approached. That much was obvious given the number of people visiting the Debau Company to petition. Soon the calendar would be full of spring festivals and religious ceremonies, so the archbishop would be running many of these things as his religious duty and would not lack excuses for pushing Hyland’s negotiations back.

Religious work was like salt—the Church’s presence was indispensable in daily life, especially during the change of seasons and important events throughout one’s life. If Hyland’s goals somehow hindered this work, then those who bore him ill will would undoubtedly appear. The very reason the people of the Winfiel Kingdom were suffering in the first place was because of that cessation of religious rites.

Would the people first raise their voices in anger, or would their interests return to their day-to-day?

Col thought silently in the nervous, oppressive atmosphere. This was a fight for how he should believe in the world. The people would see what was right and stand up for it. At the very least, that was what he and Hyland believed.

Oh God, he prayed.

But he did not know if it was correct to pray that the archbishop, a servant of God himself, was wrong. Heaven and earth had switched, and he was dizzy. Like the boat captain had said, the river did not flow in a straight line.

Though one could claim that such was the way of the world, his simple life in Nyohhira still felt so far away.

Time passed so slowly and painfully it seemed to chip away at him. Neither Hyland nor the archbishop spoke, so nobody suggested lunch. Time continued to pass, and the light shining through the skylight near the top of the high ceiling was now on the other side of the room from when they entered.

His legs and lower back were in pain, and it was likely that everyone there felt the same way. Not just the ones standing, but those sitting as well. Simply sitting in a chair was just as bad for the body. The older priests were noticeably exhausted. On the other hand, Hyland’s side was all young people, including himself. The chamberlains behind the priests were also young, but it appeared Hyland’s side had the advantage in this contest of endurance.

The one Col was worried about was Myuri, but she had the strength to run around in the mountains, so she was somehow enduring this. But when it crossed his mind that she may not come the next day, it almost made him smile.

Eventually, the light coming through the skylight began lengthening, and the color deepened. As he surmised that everyone must be thinking about the approaching end of the day, a loud sound echoed throughout the room. An elderly priest had collapsed face-first onto the table.

“Father!”

The chamberlains gathered around him and carried him out. The door to the office opened, and like the collapse of a dam blocking a river’s flow, the tension washed away.

The archbishop watched this turn of events and raised his eyes from the parchment, then spoke.

“We cannot hold a meeting like this. I have not finished reading this translation, so let us reconvene tomorrow.”

It was not only the priests who felt relieved. Hyland’s attendants, including Col, exhaled the breaths they had been holding.

But then—

“The night is long, so I will wait until you finish,” Hyland declared resolutely. The archbishop’s expression tensed, and his words caught in his throat. His fellow priests, almost instinctively, looked to him for guidance.

Admiration overwhelmed Col. Hyland was most certainly no fanciful noble.

He had been waiting this entire time for his opponent’s tension to ease.

Hyland stared at the archbishop, as though declaring his intention to follow through all the way to hell, unwilling to back off. Realizing this, the archbishop was dumbstruck.

However, the priests under him had showed they were at their limit, both physically and mentally. More than anything, they had relaxed for a moment in relief that the day was over. It was virtually impossible for them to gather themselves once again. The tables had turned.

It was possible that the archbishop had underestimated Hyland. After all, he was a weak noble, brought up in a manor. His delicate features even made him look feminine, and there was certainly nothing crude about him. But he had the perseverance that a hunter could appreciate, as well as a hint of mischief about him like a merchant outwitting an opponent.

“Urgh…Guh…”

The archbishop broke into a heavy sweat and groaned, but he was also a man who deserved his place in a seat of power.

“Yes…Indeed. We mustn’t leave this unfinished.”

He fixed Hyland with a biting gaze, not to be outdone. Perhaps this was the look of one pulling another into the grave with them. The priests’ expressions were all hopeless, but they did not go against the archbishop’s word.

Then, after carefully considering the situation, Hyland spoke.

“But first, why don’t we have a bite to eat?”

Col thought for a moment that this would just refresh their opponents, but when he saw the expressions on their faces, he understood.

Their feelings were clearly leaning in favor of Hyland. They would see him as a savior.

The archbishop, realizing he had been beaten to the punch, nodded painfully.

“Urgh…Then, bring us bread and drink. The stalls should still be open in town.”

The chamberlains bowed their heads, and they all left the office. Hyland turned back toward Col and spoke with a refreshing smile.

“You go and help them, too.”

It was clear that he was not treating them as servants, but offering a chance to stretch and get some relief, disguised as a command.

However, in this battle of stamina, his guards refused to part with him and answered, “With all due respect.” Should their master endure pain, then they would do the same.

“Then, the rest of you, prepare the meals.”

They had been standing in the same place all day, so Col felt like his knees and back were no longer his.

Myuri faltered as well, and Col supported her slim frame.

“Are you all right?”

“…I want to take a bath.”

“Me, too,” he responded lightly with a smile. Outside of the office, everyone was bending their knees and stretching. There were no friends or enemies in these shared actions. Though there was a hint of sourness between the chamberlains and Hyland’s attendants, they all shared sympathy for each other.

That being said, it seemed they preferred not to be seen going to the market together, so the chamberlains took the back entrance while Hyland’s attendants used the front gates. Col and Myuri had to buy food for themselves as well, but Myuri’s legs seemed like they hurt, so they decided to rest in the corner of a hallway along the way.

“That was awful.”

Myuri sat on a stack of crates along the side of the passageway and spoke with a smile.

“That blondie really has a nasty personality.”

Col unwittingly looked around, but no one was there. The assistant priests who were busily running around inside the church were probably in the main hall for evening prayers. And he detected a kind of respect in her words.

It was as if she was impressed.

“If you were sitting there, Brother, you would have given up before that old man got to the third page.”

And never mind all the subordinate priests’ emotions resting on his shoulders. It was impossible and out of the question.

“But what are those guys planning?” she mused.

He was less concerned about her acerbic manner of speech than about who exactly she was referring to.

“‘Those guys’?”

“Blondie and the old man. They both have a chance of winning, after all.”

“I thought about that, too.”

Hyland was waiting for the people to grow angry while the archbishop was waiting for the people to lose interest in the fight.

When he informed her of this, Myuri was extremely exasperated.

“See, Brother, that’s why you’re no good.”

“N-no good, why?”

Myuri raised her foot onto the crate and rested her chin on her knee. She looked like the boss of a children’s gang, about to lay out her plan to beat up the kids in the next village over.

“You’re good at archery and you’re stubborn, so walking around and hunting deer with a bow and arrow suits you. But you’re bad at hunting for numbers and traps.”

He did not know what she was talking about all of a sudden, but it was true. He would sometimes take his bow and arrow out into the mountains and shoot deer. His hunter acquaintances would applaud his results. However, when Myuri hunted in the mountains, they would grow heated, calling it an infringement on their territory. That was because she could catch enough squirrels and rabbits to live off any profits from their furs.

“Hunting with traps tests how nasty you are.”

“…Nasty?”

“You make lots of traps, then you create a path that forces and chases prey into it.”

Myuri was brilliant with such things, and Col himself was not. He knew nothing of the routes of squirrels and how the rabbits returned to their holes. He had a hard time efficiently looking at the big picture.

“It’s because you’re kind and honest.”

Myuri smiled.

“And that blondie must be plotting something because it’s obvious that old man has no one to turn to. The yelling strategy caught that man off guard yesterday, remember? That’s the makings of a hunter there. There’s no way that happened randomly without any preparation.”

“And so?” he asked, and Myuri shrugged.

“That blondie knows that it’ll take something more fundamental than a cheap resolution to turn the tide and make the old man give up. If not today, then tomorrow.”

Just then, his memory jumped to that dark night.

“No…way.”

Maybe that commotion, that boiling malice had not happened naturally.

To think that Hyland would do such a thing—that he would devalue the Church’s authority.

Col was at a loss for words from the shock, while Myuri merely looked on sadly.

“No matter how kind you are to the world, it doesn’t mean the world has to be kind to you.”

She appeared the same as she did when he was braiding her hair in front of the world map.

At that time, she was trying to hide her beast’s ears, her tail, and that she was a girl. No matter how curious she was about the outside world, the world would surely treat her cruelly.

Myuri had already realized that many years ago when she was very little.

“Blondie knows that in a few days, the town will be in a riot, which explains the confidence. But then, Brother.”

Myuri was gazing straight at him.

“That would be weird.”

“Weird? What could be more than…?”

“You remember, too, don’t you? It’s easy to make someone angry, but much harder to calm them down.”

Myuri suddenly grinned mischievously, and Col in turn smiled weakly. He remembered how much trouble it had been in the past to handle Myuri something had set her off.

“That’s…true.”

“But I don’t think that old man has no plan, though. He has to have something up his sleeve, too. But I have no idea what it might be. Your plan is too easygoing. It’s like fishing without a lure and just hoping some fish will bite it by accident. That’s why he must have some sort of strategy to deal with the crazy townspeople.”

Once she mentioned it, that sounded possible.

Both the archbishop and Hyland had large burdens to bear. There was no way either of them would wait placidly. He did not want to imagine that Hyland had deliberately conspired to create such a dark atmosphere in town for such purposes, but it made sense logically. Then what about the archbishop? What was he waiting for?

“If we can figure out the archbishop’s plan, then we will be able to help Heir Hyland…”

“Well, what we do know is that it’s not something you’ll be able to figure out.”

He shot her a frown, and she replied, “That just means you’re a nice person.” It did not cheer him up. After teasing him like that for a while, Myuri stood up from the crate, the weariness in her legs now gone, and held his hand.

“I’m hungry.”

“All right, all right.”

They then retrieved their meals from the square, and since both their food and breath seemed liable to catch in their throats if they ate in the office, they quickly took their meals at the side of the church. It was too early to call it nightfall, but the sky had turned cinnabar red, and the languid comfort that came from finishing work settled over the town. The more impatient stalls were already beginning to close down, and bars began lighting the candles in stands outside their shops, preparing braziers and tables.

However, once the sun set, the atmosphere in town would change dramatically. Once the warm, lively, and bright daytime fell away, the cold, chaotic, torch-lit night would come.

It did not seem that Hyland would leave once evening arrived, so at night the fight would really begin.

“Are you finished eating?”

Myuri nodded as she licked the pad of her thumb.

“I do not mind if you slip out if you start to feel unwell,” he reminded her, and Myuri cheekily shrugged her slim shoulders.

“And be sure not to collapse when someone is mean to you, Brother.”

With an attitude like that, she would be fine.

Then, they returned to the church once again, for the sake of God’s correct teachings.

When they returned to the office, the atmosphere had mellowed, most likely due to the meal break. The elderly priest who collapsed earlier still seemed pale but was sitting in his seat. Most of the priests’ chamberlains were present, and Col and Myuri were a bit flustered when they entered the room. They could tell they were among the last.

However, when Col noticed the archbishop turning the pages of the parchment, reading the rest, he was blown away. What sort of change of heart was this?

He could not imagine that the archbishop had been so enthralled by the teachings of the scripture that he could not stop reading. More plausible was that he was planning to move on to the next step in order to prevent the priests, who were his underlings and companions, from feeling even more alienated by the test of endurance.

The question was what that plan was.

Hyland’s strategy involved using the demeanor of the townspeople. He did not want to think that he was directly agitating them himself, like Myuri had said, but he had enough incentive to do so. Once night fell, the archbishop was the one who would have to concede in the face of the atmosphere created by the people abusing the name of the Church in the square.

Then what was the archbishop after?

In any case, there was no mistaking that everyone here was trying to outsmart the other. What were the angels thinking as they gazed down at them from the walls? Perhaps they thought it was too late for much of anything.

As Col pondered this, the chamberlains on the priests’ side looked around the room, counting everyone present before closing the door that led into the office. It was like placing a lid on the room to ensure the miasma would not seep outside.

Everything fell silent once again, and the archbishop continued reading. He was not simply moving his eyes along the page, but was obviously reading it carefully. As one of the translators, Col was simply nervous. What part was he reading now? What did he think of the quality of the translation? Was anything that he learned useful in the real world?

Col understood that ambition was not easily quenched.

Then, he finally felt he appreciated a small fragment of the archbishops’ feelings as they desperately clung to the privilege within this magnificent cathedral, no matter what others said, and no matter how far they strayed from the teachings of God.

It was unlikely that Col’s thoughts had reached the elderly clergyman, but the archbishop’s eyes suddenly paused at one part of the parchment. He reread the previous line, as though something had caught his interest, and read it over again.

It was clear from how he showed it to the priest next to him that it was not simply a way of wasting time. That priest looked at the indication section, and his eyes widened. He then showed it to the priest next to him.

Col desperately wanted to know which part they were talking about and why.

Judging by its place in the stack of parchment, there was no doubting that it was a part that he translated.

He stood on his toes and leaned forward, trying to take a peek, to get just a hint of which part they were passing around. The moment he saw the contents of the parchment as it slid onto the table, a chill ran down his spine. It was clearly his writing. He gulped, knowing that those with status and power were reading the words he had written.

Consumed by an inexplicable excitement, Col found his feet subconsciously moved forward. Myuri pulled on his clothes and stepped on his toes, and Hyland was smiling faintly at him over his shoulder.

He felt like he was the only child in the room.

The parchment circulated as this was happening and made its way back to the archbishop.

The archbishop placed it carefully on top of another pile of parchment and cleared his throat.

“I am surprised that this is the common-language translation of the scripture that the world is seeing.”

Everyone in that room understood that it was not simply an opinion.

Hyland responded politely. “We wish for at least some of the people of the world to know of God’s teachings. I’m sure you’ve understood that it is not something meant to rile up the people.”

The archbishop nodded slowly at his answer.

“I hope you do not mind me asking, but who was the one who translated this? A famous theologian of the Winfiel Kingdom, perhaps?”

At that moment, he sensed that Myuri’s hair, which was simply tied back, was bristling like the fur on her tail did sometimes. There was no doubting that the handwriting on the parchment that had slid across the table was Col’s. That part was his.

“No, the young scholar here was the one who worked on the part you are holding now.”

Hyland introduced him, and Col stretched his back as high as he could and raised his gaze. By no means could he take in all the priests’ gazes. He instead turned toward the crest of the Church that hung on the wall in front of him. It was as though God was blessing him for all that he had learned by granting it some small meaning, here in this great house meant for spreading his teachings.

“I see. And you were the one who asked this young scholar to do the translation?”

“Indeed. We in the Kingdom of Winfiel do not wish to keep the teachings of God to ourselves, and certainly God wishes for the same.”

That was the first strike, but the archbishop simply let it pass.

“Mm. Well, if this is the result of Heir Hyland, and by extent, the Kingdom of Winfiel’s careful consideration, then there is nothing to be done.”

The archbishop sounded impressed, but Col could not understand the meaning of his words.

He could just barely see Hyland’s expression ahead of him, and he was keeping his composure, so perhaps Hyland was supposed to understand, as well.

As he considered this, a grave question came from the archbishop’s mouth.

“Very well, may I consider what is written here the responsibility of Heir Hyland and of the Kingdom of Winfiel?”

Something was odd about the situation.

Hyland seemed flustered because the archbishop’s actions were going further than expected.

There was only one reason for him to say such a thing after passing around the parchment. There was plenty of room for debate, because to translate the words and phrases of the scripture was to give it particular meaning. However, by Hyland’s judgment, the archbishop of Atiph had probably never thoroughly read it. Could it be that he was going to quiz them on matters of God’s teachings, after all?

He wondered if there were obvious mistakes, but he corrected himself—no. He had looked it over countless times. And there should be no place that could be easily attacked.

One of the chamberlains brought the parchment to Hyland. From this close distance, he could tell that the familiar writing was his, and it was a part where the prophet’s words were praising God. There was nothing here that could be open to interpretation or a metaphor.

Hyland, too, seemed to be able to tell exactly which part of the translation it was at a glance and handed it to Col without reading anything in particular.

“Is there something wrong with this?”

He received the parchment from him and began reading the beginning of each line. There were no mistakes, as he expected. As he read his own writing, he recalled his excitement and happiness and his battle with sleepiness in the middle of the night and the pain in his back as he wrote it.

But Myuri pulled on his clothes.

She approached the document looking not at the letters but the parchment itself.

“This…”

She began to speak, but the archbishop spoke at roughly the same time.

“The line fourth from the bottom—is it not a moving passage in the original scripture that repeats praises to God many times?”

Fourth from the bottom?

He began reading backward.

Then, he unwittingly raised his voice.

“What?”

He could feel Hyland turn around, but that was not what bothered him at the moment. He could not believe his eyes. His balance faltered, and he felt bile rising in his throat.

What was this?

“Col, what’s wrong?”

He could not even move his eyes. Hyland stood from his chair and snatched the parchment from him. He then immediately flinched and looked up. The man who had spent the entire day unfazed by the soul-crushing test of endurance was now reeling from head to toe.

But he looked not at Col—but at the archbishop.

“No…What? How…?”

That word saved him. Indeed—how?

It was impossible that was his own mistake. The passage that should have been singing praises of God described him as a pig, and all his wisdom was replaced with nothing but pig noises.

“There is no cause for shock; the writing is all the same. There is no mistaking that young scholar wrote these words under your patronage.”

At the archbishop’s words, Hyland looked down with a pained expression at the parchment in his hand. The writing did indeed match.

It was so perfectly, so eerily Col’s handwriting.

He could only imagine that a demon snuck in during the night and wrote those things at its leisure.

Then—

“Brother, it smells like the scribes.”

When Myuri whispered to him, Col understood everything.

He had asked three scribes to do the copies. One of them could not read. However, that actually meant he was a skilled scribe. Why? Because letters were just like pictures on a certain level, and copying them perfectly was a job well done.

Then, with the ability to reproduce any writing, they could forge anything by simply rearranging words. A wolf could hide in plain sight under sheep’s skin. Someone had snuck into Col and Myuri’s room. It had all been planned. Myuri’s warning was correct.

Col regretted deeply that he had not checked more carefully, but it was too late.

“The only ones you should blame are those who would use such underhanded tricks, Col.”

It was at that moment Hyland called out to him. Their eyes met, and the young man nodded.

“And someone may have switched them while we were not watching during the break. We were not cautious enough.”

If the parchment had been switched the day before, there was certainly a higher risk of being discovered. In that light, Hyland’s proposition seemed the most likely.

Pain still remained in Col’s chest, but Hyland had helped to relieve his unease and let him think more clearly. At any rate, this was not a time to blame himself.

Though it was fact that they had been tricked, Col wondered if there was any meaning to such an obvious ruse. Clearly, since forgery was well within the realm of possibility, it would be fruitless to argue whether he had really written it or not. Most of all, the offending sentence was so blatantly intentional that it seemed excessive.

Was this the archbishop’s way of stalling for even more time? But what would happen if word got out that they butted heads over such a thing? Rather than accept that Hyland and his subordinates like Col had gone insane, it seemed more likely for the townspeople to assume the archbishop had carried out some dishonorable scheme.

He could only imagine it would have the complete opposite effect of what the archbishop wanted.

Supposing it did cause something to happen, that would be…

When he hit upon the answer, the blood drained from his face.

“Those who have written such a passage…” The archbishop raised his voice. “…Are apt to be called heretics, are they not?”

“What?!”

When Hyland yelled, the doors to the office burst open.

There stood the town’s garrison, lined up in formation.

“Cease all resistance! You are suspected for the creation, possession, and circulation of banned heretical literature!”

“Impossible!”

As though Hyland’s exclamation was a signal, his guards placed their hands on the sheaths of their swords. They did not draw because doing so in a sacred house would immediately make them traitors.

Suspicion of heresy.

Now Col could see what the archbishop was doing, but there was something he still did not understand. Members of the city’s garrison should have been unable to act without the city council’s command. The council of a free city such as Atiph was comprised of local nobles and important merchants. Did they not already show support for Hyland’s plight?

If he had not misunderstood, then there must have been one last missing piece to this puzzle.

Then, the key to everything suddenly appeared before the soldiers.

“Y-you’re…”

Hyland gulped, and Col doubted his own eyes as well. The priests and archbishop all stood from their seats and placed their hands against their chests in a gesture of respect for God. A lone man who was on the older end of middle age appeared from among the guards, wearing pure white robes. Painted on his vestments was the crest of the Church in a bright crimson. The one who wore these robes was granted the protection and safe passage of any ruler or power holder, free from all regulation.

That was because there was only one thing that reigned over this man, and it was the word of God.

And that was because he traveled the world, entrusted with all the authority of God’s earthly proxy that was the pope—this man was a papal officer.

“I hereby announce in the name of the pope—”

He spoke in a heavy, distinct voice that did not allow for idle chatter as he produced a single piece of parchment.

“We recognize the ideas put forth by the Kingdom of Winfiel as heresy, and all literature not dictated by God himself banned. The one hundred and seventeenth pope, Einmel Desir the Seventeenth.”

From far away, Col could not tell if the wax seal on the parchment was real or not.

However, if the papal officer had falsified the official sanction, then the target of the inquisition’s examination would be the archbishop.

It had to be genuine.

“All under Hyland are arrested in the name of God.”

Soldiers poured into the room. Hyland’s guards lowered themselves in order to strike back, but he stopped them with a wave of his hand. There was no other choice. They were outnumbered, and if it came to pass that they lost after daring to draw their swords, there was no telling what sort of dishonor would stain his reputation. Blood was truly the most eloquent storyteller.

And as the soldiers drew closer, rope in hand, Hyland quickly judged their expressions. On an emotional level, they were still on his side, though they had no choice but to act when the papal officer showed up.

There remained a chance to turn the tide.

For that, they had to remain innocent.

“God favors the righteous.”

They were arrested, and as they were being led out of the office, Hyland spoke those words to the archbishop. The archbishop averted his eyes with a tense expression, then suddenly showed the papal officer a flattering smile.

Col and Myuri were also ushered away by the soldiers through the back entrance where everyone was squeezed into wagons.

They were not escorted through the front due to the possibility of igniting the townspeople’s anger if they were seen.

Then the wagons traveled for quite a while even though the town was small. The soldiers, who did not bother to hide their sympathy, had placed Col and Myuri in the same wagon, perhaps because she clung to him the entire time. He wanted to hold her hand, but he could not because his hands were tied behind his back.

The wagon rattled along. Col could tell that the ground had changed from paved stone to a hard dirt path at some point. When everyone finally stepped out, they were surrounded by what seemed to be fields and orchards.

“Is this…outside of town?” Myuri asked Col quietly. Only one thing came to mind when he imagined prisoners being taken to a place devoid of people. What was more, the earth was perfectly plowed.

However, as he looked around, restraining his pounding heart, he could see the city walls beyond the trees. Certainly, they would not be suddenly put to death within the city.

“Come.”

The soldiers pulled the rope, bringing them around the wagon, and he was finally relieved.

They had arrived at a large manor, which was not uncommon to see in rural areas and was most likely owned by the city nobles.