On the Value of Faith (4): Words and Deeds Bear Responsibility

On the value of faith. Words and actions carry responsibility. It was a matter of course, and Lenoir had no intention of leaving the future head of a church ignorant of such a fact. Thus, there was good reason for Sara Lorojin to return to the mansion, kneel facing the wall, and raise her hands.

"Do you understand what you did wrong?"

"...Did I lose the argument?"

"I feel a dizziness coming on."

It was no empty words; even now, recalling the events at the slum square made Lenoir's vision spin. No matter how lacking her education might be, there were still lines of common sense one shouldn't cross.

"As I have always impressed upon you, the dignity of one's words and deeds determines their character. I empathize fully with your anger and your greater cause, but there were other words you should have spoken in that moment."

"Like what...?"

"Rather than blindly insulting your opponents, you should have made them feel shame on their own."

"I did!"

"What exactly did you do?"

"I exposed that old man's perverted tastes to the whole world!"

"..."

"You know what I grew up seeing, right? I'm not joking— that's genuinely his thing! And they threw the first punch anyway! Thinking about it now, it's so unfair!"

Sara whipped her head away with a huff, as if making excuses.

"They called me a whore first! Not that it was an insult or anything! Not that it was dissing my sisters!"

Her eyes bulged wide. "Do you know how much a night with her costs? And they just trash it like that!? Selbes said even at my level, ten gold coins would be a steal! I'm not used goods, you know!"

Sara slyly lowered her arms, clenching her tiny fists and venting her frustration with a rattle.

"Ugh, I regret not letting them taste Hilton's spicy fists!"

Lenoir squeezed his eyes shut.

"Little Sara. It seems the part you're angry about is not quite right..."

Sara tilted her head, looking utterly baffled. Just where—and how—should he even begin teaching this child? Her upbringing was unavoidable, but thinking of the future made everything ahead seem ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pitch black.

Pondering how to phrase it, Lenoir finally arrived at an answer.

"I have felt well enough how approachable you can be to others."

"Right? Everyone loves me!"

"However, there are ways to be approachable beyond stooping to their level."

"Tch, more tough talk..."

"...You have not even heard me out yet. Listen."

Sara looked up at him with sparkling eyes, as if eager to hear. He marveled anew at how she bounced back so effortlessly, never staying down.

"Your pure-hearted guardian did not always speak to you on the same eye level."

"Selbes?"

"Indeed. When dealing with you, she looked down with an embracing gaze from a higher place. Is that not so?"

"Hmm, kinda yeah..."

"Yes. So long as you do not forget the foundation of benevolence, you can bestow compassion without using their crude tongue. The goddess of the church must be not their friend, but their protector."

"Like Selbes?"

"I mean for you to emulate her demeanor."

Only then did Sara seem to grasp it, falling into thought. This was why eye-level education was so tricky. Lenoir seriously pondered whether he needed to learn vulgar speech for her sake—and promptly gave up at the thought of himself spewing such words, nausea rising. Far more efficient to find someone who could match her level while hiding their true thoughts, unlike her.

His worries deepened.

It was then.

"...If you are to rebuke faults, you must also know how to praise virtues. Well done. Standing firm before corrupt faith is commendable at least."

"Ah, thank you!"

"Moreover, your boldness before those who will become your people is praiseworthy as well."

"Hehe..."

Her mood lifted in an instant, and Sara crept closer on her knees, sliding mysteriously toward him. She poked her head in, bobbing it expectantly.

"You no longer even ask for it with words."

He placed a hand atop her head and stroked. Sara's face melted into a puddle.

"Ehehe..."

Her empty-headed grin was ever consistent. Though hardly goddess-like, Lenoir felt a warmth stir somewhere deep within at the sight. Likely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because her soul burned so brightly, satisfying him to no end. That was reason enough.

Lenoir was living the busiest days of the past few centuries. Above all, with a clear purpose driving his actions, his motivation soared. In terms of time density, even the sum of centuries wasted before couldn't match these packed days. Educating Sara, venturing out with her for relief work, overseeing temple construction—his mind spun ceaselessly with tasks.

Today was no different.

Sara had lately begun learning to read and write. Her scatterbrained nature often derailed her, but her quick learning and sharp memory let her master simple words and sentences in no time. She could now manage basic letters.

Though her spelling still needed heavy editing.

A letter for Selbes back home. He could picture Sara agonizing over it. Tempted to add footnotes, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it conveyed the meaning well enough—no need. Its raw vitality transmitted emotion better anyway.

He planned to send it via the Pterin guild to Hilton, and hear construction progress reports while at it.

Thus, arriving at the Pterin headquarters, Lenoir met Guild Master Colvin Pterin.

"Yes, we'll deliver the letter by express."

"Bring back a reply if possible."

"You shall achieve your desires."

Colvin bowed deeply in respect.

Lenoir then heard the report on temple construction. It was far from pleasant.

Obstacles abounded.

"...The opposition from existing churches is fiercer than expected."

"Does that hold meaning?"

"It involves the royal family as well, so..."

Not a welcome tale. Yet not incomprehensible.

"They never change, do they."

From the priests insulting Sara in the slums, before that, and now—it was the same. Modern faith disgusted him, prizing benefits over purity.

"Faith should be complete in itself, yet they treat it as mere currency. Dividing territories, trading belief for profit—what sets them apart from merchants?"

"...My apologies."

"I do not rebuke you. Merchants acting as merchants is natural. I simply cannot stand by while those who should not become merchants do so."

Especially Orin. Lenoir could not tolerate them above all.

"I dare guess Orin lies at the heart of this backlash. Is it so?"

"...Yes, benefactor."

"I have heard they trouble even Pterin. Is this true as well?"

"Shamefully, yes."

They were the most aggressive in this flow. Forsaking faith's essence for the physical power of divinity.

"In what form do they torment you?"

At the question, Colvin hung his head low.

"...It's about taxes. They claim churches deserve support based on the stability they provide society, but seek heavier taxes on guild profits in return."

"How ugly."

Truly so.

"Now I see they do not love faith at all. The essence of offerings is sharing surplus wealth. Carving from one's own flesh is fanaticism; forcing it marks false cults. They follow apostasy's textbook to the letter."

Lenoir's face showed open displeasure. Colvin swallowed dryly, bowing deeper.

"I have no face to show you, benefactor...!"

"You bear no fault. This is the original sin of greed-soaked wretches."

Lenoir rose from his seat. He spoke as ever.

"Before Seven Weeks pass, they shall vanish into history's shadows. So I decree, and the goddess's grace shall see it done."

A casual declaration, like sweeping roadside trash—yet its weight crushed Colvin. Amazement nearly escaped him.

Knock knock! The reception room door opened.

Colvin startled late, jumping up. "Ah, it's my daughter. I thought it right for her to apologize in person for the prior rudeness...!"

"The girl with hair like the sky, you mean."

Lenoir rummaged his memory, recalling that day.

-Huh? He's hot! You, come pour drinks with us!
-It's the master!
-Huh? Master? Oh, your friend?
-Yeah! My master!
-Ahaha! Cool! Friend fee here!
-Gasp! Thank you! Miss!

The woman tossing gold to Sara amid the drunken revelry. Vulgar enough to match Sara, but her soul lacked deep sin, leaving only a faint impression. If accepting her apology eased the guild master's mind, Lenoir saw no harm. He nodded.

Colvin beamed, ushering her in.

Lenoir was mildly surprised.

"Pterin's fourth daughter, Rnier Pterin, greets the benefactor's house. I venture here uninvited to deeply apologize for my past disgrace."

Neatly attired, Rnier outshone typical noble ladies in propriety. A vast gulf from the vulgar drunk he remembered.

Human masks have advanced so far.

Hiding one's nature was instinctual, but this level was unknown to him. Still, watching her greet with perfect etiquette sparked an idea.

"You are a child who loves her drink."

"Hehe... I know my image suggests as much, but please forget it..."

"No need. I see the vulgarity in your soul with my discerning eyes—it surprises me not. Your mask is so thick it's nearly admirable. Yet your true nature stands distant from evil, so I overlook it. One more thing: an task comes to mind for you. Consider accepting."

Rnier's forehead vein bulged. Her eyes bloodshot. But she endured. Before her stood the benefactor's house, Pterin's greatest pillar.

"What task do you mean...?"

Lenoir answered at once.

"Will you not become my master's etiquette teacher?"

She was perfect for it. Same mental level as Sara, but able to hide it and feign refinement—unlike Sara. Lenoir could think of no better fit.

Rnier's face twisted at the sudden proposal.