Chapter 6

Priestesss Roberta

Roberta stepped out of the tent. As she let out a long sigh, her breath stretched out into the air before scattering. The alcohol had risen to her head, leaving her face flushed and her body warm, but the night wind blew cold, making her shiver. It was hard to believe it was summer—it felt like early winter.

'So I'm going to live here from now on.'

She lowered her head with another deep sigh.

"Ah… I hate this."

The words slipped out without her realizing.

There was a lord whose true thoughts she couldn't read at all. That alone would have been bad enough. But the parish priest appointed by His Holiness the Pope had gone missing, and no matter how she looked at it, the matter seemed tied to the lord.

On top of that, he had supposedly lived for hundreds of years yet looked her age, performed a baptism despite not even being a priest—and somehow succeeded at it.

Her head felt like it would burst from the confusion.

Even worse, this was only the first day.

'How many years did Father Alonso spend here?'

A parish priest's appointment usually lasted about ten years. Sometimes, it even became a lifetime post. Of course, such cases were rare, since a longer tenure could corrupt one into something like a secular ruler.

'I really hate this.'

She kicked at a stone embedded in the ground with her right foot.

'Everyone just says what they want—what am I supposed to do?'

Her kick gained force. The deeply lodged stone popped out with a dull thud, flying off before embedding itself somewhere far away. Or at least, it must have. It was too dark to see, and the sound was swallowed by the wind.

She pulled her outer robe tighter and looked out at the night.

There was hardly anything to call a view. Clouds covered the sky, hiding even the moon—what could she possibly see? It was a darkness so complete that closing or opening her eyes made no difference.

And that very darkness drew her into thought. With her eyes at rest, her mind began to wander, and she recalled a conversation with Elder Brase she had briefly forgotten.

Stories of knocking down a giant larger than three men with a whip, helping a snow fairy bring forth summer, or entering the nest of a sleeping dragon—each one absurd, yet fascinating. And every story ended the same way: with praise for Lord Ulrich.

'Father Alonso used to tell similar stories, too.'

Roberta recalled the conversation with the elder.

She had listened attentively, sipping her drink. When the wine ran out and he began downing cheap distilled liquor, the elder's voice gradually lost strength. His eyes still held spirit, but his body failed to keep up, and his voice began to crack.

—Look.

At that moment, the elder had concluded like this:

—I will live barely half a century before returning to the earth, but my lord will live longer than the time our clan has served him. And he will take care of my grandson, who received the sacrament today, just as he taught me with the same hands that once taught my ancestor how to use a bow. As long as we serve him, it will be forever.

Roberta understood his words.

'I don't exactly agree, but I get it.'

Such claims weren't uncommon. Even though the age of humans had continued three times over, other races had not gone extinct. Dwarves and fairies—those other races had merely lost their former glory. Each continued their own histories.

Because of that, mixed-blood children were occasionally born, and sometimes pure-blood dwarves or fairies even stood above humans. The elder's ancestor might have been from three hundred years ago, but if he spoke of the founding ancestor of a clan that served fairies, that would date back over a thousand years.

History could be a tedious shackle for humans, but at times it also became a driving force. Like how the House of Cormillius, descended from the first emperor, held the exclusive right to elect the Pope based on that lineage.

And if history was not of a nation or a family, but of a single individual's life, wouldn't the feelings toward that person grow heavy enough to resemble faith itself?

Roberta let out a short laugh.

'Forever? If that were possible, how nice would that be.'

Unless one were a god, humans aged and eventually died. Even fairies, with their long lifespans, merely did not age—they too would meet an end. Where could eternity exist?

'Maybe it's fine to hope. But they truly believe it—like a god.'

Roberta didn't like that.

If she found even the slightest flaw in logic, she would dig into it obsessively—so much so that others would call her excessive. Once curiosity took hold, she couldn't rest until she resolved it.

That was why, despite the Pope and the bishop guaranteeing Ulrich's identity, she had still doubted and pressed him relentlessly. Another priest might have taken things simply and never tried to uncover the truth, she thought.

That was likely also why her faith was not particularly strong, despite being a priest. It was no surprise there were whispers that she would never have become one if Alonso—who was practically her adoptive father—hadn't helped her.

'I have no idea what Father Alonso was thinking when he sent me here.'

Letting out yet another sigh, she shook her head.

A little over a week passed.

The morning after completing the baptism, Roberta returned to the city of Freiche and took up her post in the parish, immediately beginning her duties as the parish priest.

She rebuilt the temple, selected attendants, administered sacraments—laying the groundwork from the basics to restore a parish that had collapsed after her predecessor's disappearance.

At the same time, she did not forget to investigate the lord.

'In any parish, its affairs are tied to the lord.'

Though she couldn't claim she was entirely free of personal motives, it was also part of her duty as a parish priest. The temple and the secular ruler shared the same domain. Their relationship could be one of opposition or cooperation.

So she treated it as a key task.

The problem was that her efforts were blocked from the very start.

"The lord? Hmm… it's hard for me to say."

Like this—no matter whom she asked, they avoided answering. She almost found herself missing the elder who had drunkenly spilled all sorts of stories, to the point she considered seeking him out.

'What is this? Why is everyone avoiding the topic?'

Fine, they could at least say whether he's good or bad, couldn't they?

One day, while she was troubled and holding her head in frustration—

Visitors arrived in the city. An old man and a boy.

Roberta, who had been polishing holy relics with a sulky expression, narrowed her eyes. She had heard that Freiche, located in the remote land of Dithmarschen, rarely saw outsiders.

"Hmm?"

At least since her arrival, she hadn't seen a single one. And yet, an old man and a boy had come. Why would two people who might not even make it through the year travel to such a place? A strange curiosity stirred in her, and she followed their movements.

As expected, they headed straight for the lord's manor.

Her intuition whispered in her mind.

'Suspicious.'

Coincidentally, she was staying at the manor herself. The temple was in worse condition than Alonso had described, so Ulrich had suggested she stay there.

It was an uncomfortable offer—she had wanted to refuse and either rebuild the temple or find another residence—but given the state of the territory, there was no other option. So, under the condition that it was temporary, she had been living in uneasy cohabitation with the suspicious lord.

It was also around the time the sun was setting. She closed the main hall and hurried to the manor. With dinner preparations in full swing, no one paid her any attention.

Roberta searched for the place where Ulrich would receive the two guests.

It was his office.

"Greetings, my lord."

As she arrived in front of the office, the old man's voice could be heard just in time.

Roberta peeked through the slightly open door. The room was not very large. The lord's manor had been converted from a fortress, so it was rather inadequate as a living space.

'If he's lived for hundreds of years, couldn't he at least decorate it a little?'

As she grumbled inwardly, Ulrich spoke.

"So, what brings you to me?"

He sat at his desk, a small window behind him.

"I came after hearing about you, my lord. I was told you have lived for a very long time. Three hundred years… no—perhaps even longer."

"That is true."

"And yet, you are young."

The old man hesitated, carefully studying Ulrich.

"How is that possible?"

"Did you come to find that out? For immortality?"

When no answer came immediately, he continued.

"Even if you knew the reason, it's not something you could achieve."

"I see."

"Hard to believe, perhaps. My apologies."

"No, that's not why I came to see you, my lord."

The old man tightly gripped the boy's hand beside him. His grip was so strong that his shoulders trembled for a moment, yet the boy remained still, staring at Ulrich.

"My name is Rashid. I come from the Kingdom of Ararik."

"The Kingdom of Ararik…"

Ulrich muttered, as if searching his memory.

"If I recall, it lies in the East. You've come quite a long way."

"I did not expect the journey to be this long."

"Nor this cold, I assume."

Rashid gave an awkward smile.

"And the boy? Your grandson?"

"No, my son."

Ulrich narrowed his eyes and asked again.

"A late child?"

"I had him at twenty-one."

At those words, Ulrich leaned forward. Roberta, watching from outside, also narrowed her eyes.

It was only natural—the two looked like a grandfather and grandson. Rashid appeared even older than the clan elder she had met before, while his son looked no older than ten.

"And your age?"

Rashid answered that he was sixty-seven.

"I see."

Ulrich leaned back and let out a long breath.

"So the problem lies with him."

He pointed at the boy.

"Is that right?"

"Yes. As you can see, my son's growth has stopped. At an age where he should have grown and had children of his own, his body has ceased developing, and his mind has regressed to that of a child. Before I die, I wish to lift the curse placed upon him."

"His mind as well?"

"He remembers nothing except that I am his father. His speech is as simple as that of a child just learning to talk, and his behavior is the same."

Ulrich hummed and stroked his chin before standing.

"I'll take a look."

The boy stepped back, flailing his hands in the air. As Ulrich approached, he looked ready to claw at him, so Rashid placed a hand on his back and raised his voice, telling him to stay still.

"No!"

He even bared his teeth at Rashid in threat.

"You brat!"

Rashid raised his hand.

"That's enough. I'll handle it, so don't worry."

Ulrich picked up a bowl of fruit and held it out to the boy. Seeing the bowl filled with dried fruit, the boy's eyes widened. He quickly hid his teeth, snatched the bowl, and began stuffing fruit into his mouth.

While he was distracted, Ulrich examined the boy's neck, chest, and wrists. Even as he ate, the boy growled like an animal, but Ulrich paid no mind.

"I see."

After a moment, Ulrich stood up again.

"What do you think?"

"What do you believe is the cause?"

"I don't know. I suspect it may be some kind of curse…"

"You truly don't know?"

His voice dropped low. The old man lowered his head, avoiding his gaze. Ulrich looked down at him calmly, neither smiling nor angry.

"My son desecrated a temple when he was eight. That must be the reason. He incurred the wrath of the gods—"

"Enough lies. Who did this?"

The old man immediately stepped in front of the boy.

"Judging by your reaction, you know what you did."

After hesitating, he admitted it.

"And before coming to me, you must have sought out many others."

Ulrich stepped back and sat down again.

"What did they say? That it cannot be cured?"

"..."

"Let me guess. They asked what you had done."

Rashid lowered his head even further, biting his dry, wrinkled lips.

"The diseases and curses that circulate in this world can be resolved by priests. And even if they cannot, most can be handled by mages or alchemists. Arrested growth and mental regression are no exception. Many who seek immortality have suffered such conditions, so there are plenty of solutions."

Then he added:

"But that only applies when it is truly a disease or a curse. If this were such a common and simple problem, why would you go out of your way to find me? You came all the way from the distant East? Do you think rumors about me have spread that far? Impossible. Outside of Osnover, only a handful of people even know of me. You wandered everywhere before finally coming here, didn't you?"

His silence was confirmation.

"Tell me. What did you do?"

Ulrich leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked.

"Or do you want me to say it myself?"

After a brief hesitation, Rashid lifted his head.

"My son… was brought back to life. From death."