Chapter2: Priestess Roberta
"Do you know of Dithmarschen?"
At the question from diocesan head Alonso, Priestess Roberta blinked.
"Pardon?
"You don't?"
Dithmarschen.
She searched for the place-name in her mind.
"If you mean the place at the northern tip of the Osnover Kingdom, I've heard it's the entrance to the Ice Peninsula, a terribly cold land teeming with monsters."
"Indeed. I once served there as the head priest."
Alonso nodded once, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was a habit of his when he began to think deeply about something.
Roberta, knowing this well, sighed inwardly and averted her gaze.
It was a day in late spring.
The midday sun streamed through the mosaic window, warming the body and inducing drowsiness.
Roberta, a young Priestess of twenty-three, had been tasked with copying scriptures in the scriptorium set up in a corner of the Nua Grand Temple. Until just a moment ago,
she had been working sluggishly, stifling yawn after yawn, when she was suddenly summoned by the diocesan head.
'Is he sending me on a dispatch somewhere?' she wondered, thinking little of it.
The Nua Grand Temple was where the diocesan head resided and carried out his duties, so there were plenty of hands to help, but she was the youngest of the Priestesses.
She was often called upon for tasks that were too difficult to entrust to an apprentice.
For example, village hunts, ruin explorations, or serving as an observer.
"I would like to entrust that place to you."
But the proposal that came from the diocesan head's lips was unexpected.
"I mean to recommend you as the head priest."
The old priest, nearing sixty, offered Roberta a letter with a faint smile.
Its contents stated that the head priest of Dithmarschen had gone missing, creating a vacancy, and that a successor was to be appointed and sent immediately. Below the text was the seal of the Pantheon's Pope.
"Pardon?
Her reaction was the same single word as before.
Unable to even think of closing her agape mouth, she read the letter again and again. She couldn't help it. She had only been ordained two years ago, and already,
they were entrusting a whole temple to her?
"Pardon?
Entrusting a whole temple to her?
"For your information, this position is appointed directly by His Holiness."
Alonso pointed to the seal with his finger.
"Is there a Grand Temple in Dithmarschen or something...?"
"Of course not. It's the backwater of all backwaters. Its location is near the end of the world. And while the territory is larger than our Grand Temple's jurisdiction, less than a tenth of the land is arable. The population is even smaller.
"There is only one temple, small and quaint," Alonso added.
"And His Holiness personally appoints the head priest of such a place?"
"Yes, the predecessor was a figure chosen directly by His Holiness. It seems he went missing due to some unfortunate incident."
Missing?
"It seems His Holiness does not wish to experience failure twice. Since I know the situation there well, he has asked me to—"
"W-Wait a moment!"
Roberta nearly dropped the letter on the table and raised both hands to cut Alonso off. She had no idea where to even begin to grasp the situation that had been thrust upon her.
"I apologize for interrupting, but let me go over this one thing at a time. The head priest position in Dithmarschen is vacant, and you're recommending me for it, is that right?"
Alonso nodded.
"And the reason the position is vacant is that the predecessor went missing."
"Unfortunately, yes.
He frowned.
"And that predecessor was someone appointed by His Holiness the Pope?"
"Yes. That is correct. Is it not a simple matter?"
"No, it's not simple at all..."
Roberta's voice trailed off, the corners of her lips trembling.
He had spoken euphemistically of an 'unfortunate incident,' but she could guess what had happened. With the Pantheon's authority waning in recent times, secular lords had begun to emerge who defied the temples.
Acts that would have been unimaginable when Roberta first took her vows—such as stealing temple assets or interfering with clerical ordinations—were now being committed openly.
A priest went missing amidst all this?
It was obvious. He had been murdered.
'He's entrusting a place like this to me?'
It was nothing short of a poisoned chalice, she thought.
"Shouldn't finding the missing priest be the priority?"
"Don't worry about that. His Holiness will want it forgotten as well."
But, as she began to say, Alonso cut her off.
"Roberta, what you must do is go to your new post at once and fulfill your duties as head priest. Put the matter of your predecessor out of your mind."
The two met each other's gaze. As Roberta opened her mouth to press the matter, Alonso shook his head. It was a sign not to ask any more, and also a sign to accept it quietly.
She wanted to say, 'I've had enough,' and storm out. But she couldn't. How could a mere common Priestess like her refuse an order from someone like the diocesan head? Besides, she knew Alonso's character all too well.
"He's probably already nominated me as the successor!
The two met each other's gaze. As Roberta opened her mouth to question further, Alonso shook his head. It was a sign not to ask any more, and also a sign to accept it quietly.
She wanted to say, 'I've had enough,' and storm out. But she couldn't. How could a mere common Priestess like her refuse an order from someone like the diocesan head? Besides, she knew Alonso's character all too well
'He's probably already nominated me as the successor.'
He was only asking for her consent as a formality. The only act of defiance she could manage was to let out a long, deliberate sigh and ask a single question.
"Why me, of all people?"
"Because you are like me."
She looked at the old priest with a peculiar expression.
"Ah. I don't mean in appearance. I mean in character."
Alonso smiled and rose from his seat. He turned his back to her and looked up at a wooden panel hanging above the window.
On the left side of the long, horizontal panel was a carving of a woman discovering a baby on the ground; on the right, the baby, now grown into an adult, was shown handing a torch to a group of monkey-like creatures.
It was a woodblock print depicting two verses from the scriptures.
"As you know, my faith is not particularly deep."
Roberta quickly looked behind her. The door was open; what if someone heard? A look of bewilderment crossed her face.
"Alonso-nim:
At her reproachful call, the old priest laughed heartily.
"It's the truth, isn't it? How many people become priests today out of truly deep faith? They all harbor worldly ambitions and don the robes as a means to an end. You are no different.
Roberta cleared her throat and looked away.
To say otherwise would have pained her conscience.
"I wouldn't say it's your nature, but:
......:
'Roberta, I was the one who took you in when you were abandoned. I was the one who ordained you as a Priestess. Even if I am not your birth father, because I raised you, you were bound to be influenced by me. Isn't that so?'
She looked away, scratching the back of her neck in embarrassment.
"In my younger days, I believe I managed quite well as the head priest of Dithmarschen. Therefore, you, who are so like me, will be able to do well too.
After that conversation, Roberta set off for Dithmarschen. It was a journey that would take a good four months.
She had no companion. Alonso had ordered her to go alone, saying only one person was needed, and provided her with nothing more than travel money and a single horse.
"Take care of anything else you need yourself. You're old enough for that, aren't you?"
'Taking care of things' also included information. Alonso told her nothing. Despite having been the head priest there for over a decade and surely knowing a great deal, he did not share a single story with Roberta.
'Thinking back on it now, it's strange.'
Alonso had raised Roberta, telling her all sorts of tales from his experiences like they were fairy tales, yet he had completely omitted the stories from that period of his life, the one where he had stayed the longest.
And recommending her just because their personalities were similar? She had grown up in her adoptive father's care and had unwittingly been influenced by him, but was that a valid reason to recommend someone for a public position?
'There's something more.
He had completely omitted it.
'There's something more.'
Harboring these questions, she left the Grand Temple.
She wanted to know the facts that Alonso had not told her.
At the time she left the Grand Temple, all she knew was that it was a post where a priest appointed by the Pope had been killed. Because of this, she asked about Dithmarschen at every place she stopped.
As a Priestess, she naturally lodged in temples, and her informants were other priests. But for three months, the answer was always some variation of, 'Isn't that just some place up north?' She herself had barely known about her adoptive father's old post; how could strangers be expected to know?
She only heard a proper answer once she reached the Osnover Kingdom.
"They say he's of Elven blood," an old priest said.
"You mean a Galua?"
Galua was the word for a half-human, half-Elf. A similar word, Mannium, referred to a half-human, half-Dwarf.
"It's only a rumor. But... there's no other reason for him to have lived so long."
"If he's lived a long time, how long?"
"Well? I don't know his exact age. I spoke with him a few times, but you couldn't guess his age from his appearance. We only surmise it because records show he succeeded the previous Lord, a man named Hilde, after his death. That was 300 years ago."
Roberta narrowed her eyes.
'He certainly has lived a long time. He can't be an ordinary human.'
"Either he's of some royal bloodline or a half-blood born of a chance union."
Back when the civilizations of Dwarves and Elves coexisted with humankind, humans had frequent contact with them, and so mixed blood was said to be common.
There are even records of kingdoms whose entire populace consisted of mixed blood. Galua and Mannium were once the names of those kingdoms before they came to refer to specific
the term came to encompass all mixed-bloods. That era was not the one Roberta lived in, but a time in the very distant past.
Mixed-bloods were said to live very long lives, but they were not immortal. With the flow of time, they lost their unique destiny and were assimilated into the fate of humans,
and now, mixed-bloods were as rare a sight as pure-blooded Dwarves and Elves.
"His name?"
"He has no surname of Ulrich. To be precise, he is Ulrich of Dithmarschen, but that is a name he took when he married into the family. There are no records of him before that.
That's surprising. I thought he would be famous, having lived for so long.
"Hmm, famous he is. There is no one in this country who does not know the name Ulrich. The lack of records about him means there are literally none.
It's not for a lack of interest.
"Is that so?"
It would be strange if a Lord who has lived for 300 years didn't attract interest. Besides, this place was embroiled in a civil war until just a few years ago."
A civil war that had lasted for a staggering 32 years, it was said.
It began with the death of the crown prince from a plague. Sibling squabbles escalated to fratricide, which then erupted into a great war involving all the people of Osnover.
Since they fought not for small gains but for the throne itself, there was no mercy for competitors. It was a time when ten severed heads were worth less than a single coin.
The chaos seemed to conclude with the victory of some moron who had received support from mercenaries of a neighboring country. The nation, brought to its knees, had fallen to a level where it could be casually conquered by a fool who didn't even realize he was a puppet.
And yet. The moron invaded Dithmarschen.
No one knew why he coveted such a barren land. It was so out of the blue that some speculated, 'Wasn't it because he was offended by the sight of someone aloofly watching while others shed blood?'
And the result, well, it goes without saying.
"That moron lost. How he lost is as unknown as the Lord's own life. What is certain is that the moron's head was sent to the old royal capital, and the head of the Count who had been pulling the strings was sent to his master."
"And then?"
"And then the evil neighbor had its hand bitten, and we realized that we had failed to recognize a beast in our midst."
And the result, well, it goes without saying.
"That moron lost. How he lost is as unknown as the Lord's own life. What is certain is that the moron's head was sent to the old royal capital, and the one who controlled the... And then?"
"And then the evil neighbor had its hand bitten, and we realized that we had failed to recognize a master."
If a fox, riding on a wolf's back, ruled the animal kingdom only to be bitten to death by a lion, how would the weaker animals react? Wouldn't they naturally try to make the lion their king?
The houses that had prided themselves on their long histories were completely wiped out during the civil war, leaving a world of fledglings whose histories were shorter than Ulrich's single reign.
They forged a new crown to replace the lost one and offered it to him.
In response, Ulrich chose a person from his late wife's clan, placed the crown upon their head, and sent them to the people. That was four years ago.
"My, what a selfless Lord.
When the desire to devour any opportunity, no matter how small, is the very disposition of a noble... how could he refuse the throne that every noble covets?
An old man? Well, regardless... he is a man of refinement."
His actions afterward were also peculiar.
After sending forth the new King, all he did was arrange marriages between the Hilderson clan and the fledgling noble houses.
Through this, marital ties were formed among the nobility, and the civil unrest was quelled in an instant. Yet, the one who orchestrated it all never showed his face. He did not attend the wedding ceremonies, nor did he leave his domain when the coronation was held.
"I thought perhaps he might be wielding power from behind the curtain, but it wasn't even that. His actions were those of a man detached, as if he had no interest in worldly affairs, as if he simply didn't want to step outside his own garden."
"Couldn't there be some other motive we don't know about?
Roberta could not easily accept his words.
A Priestess of the Pope had died. While there was no certainty that the Lord had killed him, some incident must have led to such a situation, and she believed it was impossible for a detached person to become entangled in such an affair.
"I, too, like you, sister, have had an audience at the Grand Temple, and I saw many mixed-bloods there. The oldest among them was a Duke of some country, who was said to have lived for three hundred and twenty years, having the blood of a Dwarf."
The Duke, he was so old and frail that his body was said to be like a mummy. Unable to walk, lying in bed without the strength to even lift an arm, it was clear to anyone that death was hovering near. And yet, until the moment his breath ceased, he refused to share even a fraction of what he possessed. Not even with his own flesh and blood.
"The saints of old said that greed is human nature. Even if the years dull one's character, desire is instead honed to a sharper edge. I realized this truth while observing the mixed-bloods."
.......
"But he was different. He seemed like a man without desire."
•Like a monk?
"He is different from a monk. A monk is one who forgets or suppresses desire, so they cannot eliminate desire itself. That is why they sometimes succumb to evil gods, and to prevent this, they even go so far as to scoop out their brains. Ulrich, on the other hand... it was as if the very thing called desire had burned away, leaving only ash."
The old Priestess hesitated for a moment before adding one last thing.
"I do not know how it is possible. I knew he was a strange man, but perhaps he has lived even longer than the records say, and the years have managed to dull even his greed.
Roberta thought it was impossible.
"Could you tell me a little more?"
As seen in the story of the Duke, even for a mixed-blood, a lifespan of a few hundred years is the limit. Just as the Duke became a mummy after 300 years, if a mixed-blood were to continue living beyond that, they would be merely clinging to life. She believed the Lord of Dithmarschen was no different.
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