The Humble Temple
Even on the rugged slopes of Mount Yver, Jeanne and Fabian climbed without the slightest sign of fatigue. Mountain traversal was a basic training exercise for knights, a necessity for honing endurance.
Yet for the scholar who had accompanied them all this way—Divine, a man born to knowledge—scaling such a harsh mountain was truly a trial.
“Ugh. I’m dying here. Let’s take a short rest.”
“That’s why I told you not to come.”
“As a scholar, how could you even consider something like this? You do know the path to the temple, don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“Eh?”
“I said I don’t know.”
A brief, awkward silence fell.
A moment later, Divine forgot his complaints and launched into a barrage of complaints.
“If you don’t know, what now? We don’t have time to comb the entire mountain. The enemy arrives in two days—how could we possibly find what we need?”
“If we can’t find it today, we’ll camp and descend tomorrow.”
“Oh, my poor head.”
Such an impractical superior. Divine clutched his throbbing forehead and sent Jeanne a look of pure resentment.
Jeanne ignored the glare with elegant composure and resumed her climb.
“Just a little more rest… Oh, fine. Let’s go together!”
Divine finally gave in, forcing a pained smile as he followed.
The deeper they descended into the mountain, the cooler the air became. Though the outside world basked in summer heat, here it felt like the first chill of autumn had already arrived. The distant peaks even looked as if they might be covered in snow.
Still uncertain of the path, Jeanne climbed upward without hesitation. The moment Fabian’s suspicion grew—wondering why a princess would move so blindly—Jeanne stopped.
“There. They’re coming.”
“What is it?”
Divine answered gruffly.
“A priest of the Horde.”
“Did you receive prophecy tutoring while I was away, Princess?”
Divine recalled the words Jeanne had once spoken about seeing the future. He had dismissed them as jokes, yet now doubt crept in.
Following Jeanne’s gaze, he saw a hooded figure descending from above. In this remote mountain, such a stranger could only be a priest of the Horde.
“Or perhaps you received the gift of prophecy from the priest of Lan?”
“Enough teasing. You yourself expected a priest of the Horde to arrive.”
The priest approached steadily. Unfamiliar with the terrain, he still moved with surprising speed down the treacherous slope.
“This place is rarely visited by outsiders. Anyone who comes is watched—unless they’re a local herb gatherer.”
It was only natural. The priest of the Horde had arrived exactly as Jeanne had anticipated.
He moved with fluid grace, like a shadow slipping through the gloom. Divine could not help but glance toward the hooded face.
‘I see legs, so he’s definitely not a ghost.’
Even if he were, it would not matter much, yet knowing was always better than blind speculation.
The priest stopped directly before Jeanne.
“What brings you here?”
“I came to meet you.”
“The Horde does not accept just anyone.”
“Ask the High Priest, then. Princess Jeanne has come—may she enter?”
Asking the High Priest meant requesting an audience. The priest fell into thought.
Though the Horde’s ways were far from the mortal realm, a princess’s authority carried immense weight. Would he dare refuse a direct audience granted by royalty?
After a long moment of hesitation, Bern, the priest, nodded slowly.
“Very well. Follow me.”
He led the way. Among the dense trees, the path before him seemed to open wider. Jeanne and Fabian followed without hesitation.
Divine grumbled as he struggled up the steep trail, yet his resolve to see the Horde’s temple with his own eyes kept his steps heavy.
***
The temple of the Horde was far from grand. Most temples boasted towering white marble pillars, but this one exuded poverty rather than humility.
The Horde’s doctrine forbade the sinner from benefiting himself. Comfort was to be shunned, new things discarded for the old.
Their buildings were little more than wooden frames, packed earth, and dried herbs—structures that would eventually decay yet were repeatedly rebuilt whenever they collapsed.
In the courtyard of weathered stone slabs, Samuel, the returning priest, swung his wooden practice sword with the same rhythmic focus he always showed during training.
Though he concentrated on each motion to clear his mind, his thoughts remained filled with doubt.
Every image from the journey lingered vividly.
The dead were dead, and the living were living—each a tragic sight that stirred profound sorrow.
Thwack.
The practice sword cut the air with fierce precision.
“Why does the High Priest refuse to grant permission?”
Why would the leader of the Horde, who claimed to be a goddess of mercy, deny aid to the wretched?
Even thinking of it made his stomach twist.
If the Horde were evil, no matter—yet her name alone proclaimed her a benevolent deity. The very reason he had left the mortal world was to aid humanity.
Moreover, the priests of the Horde were powerful. As mountain folk, they excelled in herbalism and possessed medical knowledge on par with other temples. In their self-reliant life, they had become masters of many arts.
And as warriors of the god of war, their training in body and mind had made them formidable with the sword. Samuel had never fought a true knight, but he believed the High Priest’s skill unmatched—he would have stood against the royal knights.
There were only about fifteen such priests, yet if they all descended the mountain, or even all but the oldest, they could be a great help.
Thwack-thwack.
The sword sang through the air again. Samuel’s movements, learned directly from the High Priest, were clean and disciplined. Though begun for self-control, he had grown lost in the art itself.
“Impressive skill.”
Samuel’s focus shattered. He turned toward the voice.
“Who are you…?”
The speaker was tall and heavy-browed, of similar age to the High Priest. Samuel quickly scanned him—sword at his belt.
Behind him stood a woman and a man. Their hair, mixed with gray and the green of early summer, stood out sharply against the temple’s muted tones. The woman carried a sword; the man examined the temple with open curiosity.
Samuel looked at the stranger priest.
“Who are these people, Priest Bern?”
“We’ll explain later, after the High Priest’s approval, Samuel.”
With that, Bern led them inside the humble temple.
Samuel watched them with burning curiosity until they disappeared.
As they entered the temple, Fabian spoke to Jeanne.
“He looks young, yet his skill is considerable. What he showed was only the basics, but those are the most important.”
Bern, who had spoken only once earlier, finally interjected.
“Samuel is said to possess rare talent even among the Horde’s priests. He would have been better suited as a knight.”
“Do the Horde’s priests know the sword?”
“The Horde is the god of warriors. Swordsmanship is our basic skill.”
Fabian had never heard of the Horde as “the God of Darkness,” but Ines had mentioned it.
Divine added, “She is also the Goddess of Redemption.”
“A warrior goddess who redeems souls? That seems mismatched.”
“That is…”
Divine opened his mouth to explain, but Bern opened the chamber door.
“The High Priest awaits. Enter.”
Missed opportunity once again. Divine clicked his tongue in frustration.
Jeanne and Divine followed Bern into the chamber. Fabian waited outside, as only a limited number could enter. Bern greeted the High Priest and withdrew.
Unlike the grand title, the chamber was modest—almost austere. The High Priest was older and gentler in appearance, yet his long hair and beard carried a rugged edge.
‘The God of War, indeed.’
He carried the very aura of a warrior. One might even mistake him for an adventurer wandering with a single sword.
Jeanne faced him.
“I met a priest of Lan. He told me to come here.”
“He also claims to see the future. Why here, I wonder?”
“The thing you desire is here.”
“If you wish to request aid for the war, spare your breath. My answer is one.”
“Rejection, then?”
“It is.”
Having heard the outside world through Samuel, the High Priest had already guessed Jeanne’s purpose.
“If I command as a princess?”
“Priests serve a greater goddess than any mortal king. We will not bend to human power.”
A tense silence passed between them. Divine swallowed hard.
“The goddess taught us to benefit humanity. Though I am no theologian, every benevolent deity agrees. If this is a request to aid the wretched souls outside…”
“It is not permitted. The cleansing of sin requires cleanliness within. Associating with mortals inevitably invites more sin.”
“I will not ask you to wield a sword. Even medical aid would be refused?”
“My will has not changed.”
Jeanne sighed at the High Priest’s stubbornness.
“Do the other priests here follow your wishes?”
“All priests serve the goddess.”
And the one closest to her was the High Priest. Without his permission, no others would act.
Jeanne felt helpless. She nudged Divine.