Our Child Has Changed (3)
Potatoes.
A famine-relief crop cultivated in every corner of the world. With over five thousand varieties worldwide, they thrived even in barren soil and yielded far more per unit of land than other crops, earning them deep affection as a staple of agriculture.
Nutritionally, they held so many of the nutrients humans needed that they came close to being a complete food.
In the empire, where the four seasons stood out sharply, potatoes could be grown in spring, summer, and autumn.
In Wind-shelter Village, they were mainly cultivated in spring. Sowing began in mid-February, and the harvest came in early June, before the rainy season arrived.
“Potatoes are life itself! Just as life hands you many choices, a potato plant splits into many stems.”
The white-haired old man of advanced years launched into a full philosophical oration on the potato.
“Haha, I see.”
Lowen, who had been digging up potatoes, smiled in his good-natured way.
He had clearly asked about potato cultivation methods, yet somehow found himself listening to potato philosophy.
“That lush green field is a deception. The real thing only comes out when you dig deep into the earth. Potatoes!”
The potato elder raised a potato high and raised his voice.
“My ancestors said it: know thy potato.”
Just as he prepared his next line, a massive palm crashed down on the potato elder’s back.
—Thwack!
An explosive sound rang out.
The potato elder toppled face-first into a pile of potatoes.
“You damn old coot! Instead of working, you’re just flapping your gums!”
The potato elder groaned, rubbing his lower back as he rose.
“This woman calling it chatter! I was teaching His Grace the bishop the truths of life! Argh!”
The potato wife brought her plump palm down hard on the potato elder’s back once more.
His scrawny frame crumpled again.
Judging purely by destructive force, it was like being struck with a mace.
The potato wife who possessed such strength was impressive, and the potato elder who kept getting back up after taking those blows was impressive in his own right.
“Aigoo, this woman’s trying to kill me.”
“Just die already!”
“Honestly, is there anything this woman won’t say?”
The potato elder, as if seized by madness, thrust a potato forward with dramatic force.
“Even if you obstruct my truth, the potatoes still grow well!”
“What kind of nonsense are you spouting!”
Lowen, who had been laughing softly, stepped between the two and mediated the marital spat.
“Everyone, please calm down.”
The villagers clicked their tongues, muttering that the couple was at it again.
The children playing around the field giggled as they watched the fight.
Wasn’t there a saying about shrimp getting their backs broken when whales fight?
Wearing a gentle smile across his face, Lowen twitched the corner of his mouth and heaved a deep internal sigh.
After a full hour of mediation, he finally managed to separate the two.
“Haa…”
Lowen exhaled a sigh in place of cigarette smoke and caught his breath.
It felt like he had been battered by a storm.
Back in the knight order he had often broken up fights like this, but violence had been permitted then.
Of course he could not raise a hand against this elderly couple.
It was not exactly a remote backwater, yet when harvest season arrived in Wind-shelter Village, the farming folk helped one another. That was why more than ten people would gather around a single field.
Watching them work their hands busily while chatting warmly felt like witnessing a scene from a festival.
Looking at them, Lowen suddenly recalled the old days.
When he was very young, he and his little sister had helped the villagers sweep the snow from the village.
He had been grumbling in the cold when his sister had scolded him sharply.
Remembering that moment warmed his heart even as it left a bitter aftertaste.
“Eat some of this and keep working!”
While he was lost in old memories and digging potatoes, the aunties brought over a mid-morning snack.
The workers brushed the dirt from their hands and crowded around.
From a distance, the snack turned out to be potatoes as well.
“Bishop, come over this way too!”
The villagers beckoned to Lowen.
He had just begun to feel hungry.
Honest labor and the sweat it produced made the stomach empty quickly.
“Yes, I’ll be right there.”
He took a baked potato from the basket and sat a short distance away.
“Why are you sitting off by yourself like that? Come over here.”
“That’s right, Bishop. Come this way.”
The villagers’ enthusiastic gestures continued.
He declined a few times, but the persistent calls finally made Lowen rise from his seat.
As he approached the group of villagers, he suddenly halted.
“......”
Light shone in Lowen’s eyes.
Light was welling up from that warm, lively atmosphere.
Is it all right for me to join them?
A sense of dissonance rose.
There was nothing particularly wrong with it, yet the past he had buried deep in his heart was mocking him.
Got a conscience, do you?
He had never killed villagers like these.
But the question still came: was it right for a murderer to insert himself among such pure people?
Lowen closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again.
He had decided to deceive himself until next spring.
He had decided to play the part of bishop of Windbird Cathedral and protector of the Saintess.
So there was nothing to feel guilty about.
Hiding his past, deceiving himself, Lowen smiled and walked toward the villagers.
“With someone as reliable as the bishop here, it looks like we’ll finish early this time.”
“Right? I keep telling my son to help, but he just runs off.”
“Same with mine. If he were even half as good as the bishop, that would be something.”
The aunties heaped praise on Lowen.
Each time, he laughed brightly and nodded, saying thank you.
“Bishop, how about a drink?”
One of the uncles drinking over potatoes held out a cup to Lowen.
“Ah, I’m sorry.”
Lowen politely pushed the cup back with both hands.
“I have to return to the cathedral by evening, so I’ll have to decline.”
“Not much of a drinker?”
Lowen nodded awkwardly and gave a smooth smile.
“Two or three cups and my head starts spinning.”
“Heh, you look like you could hold your liquor. Unexpected.”
“I hear that often.”
The uncle smacked his lips in disappointment and withdrew the cup.
“If the chance comes later, I hope you’ll pour me one then.”
Color immediately returned to the uncle’s face.
It was thanks to Lowen making clear that he was not rejecting the drink entirely—only that circumstances prevented him this time.
“All right! If you put it that way, next time you definitely have to join us!”
The uncle holding the cup laughed heartily and returned to the drinking circle.
“Bishop, Bishop.”
The moment the uncle left, the aunties’ attention zeroed in.
“......Nothing going on?”
One auntie lowered her voice to a whisper.
But everyone had their ears pricked, so it was meaningless.
“Pardon? Going on about what?”
At Lowen’s reply the aunties exchanged glances.
Those glances were sly.
“......About the Saintess. The Saintess.”
At one auntie’s words the others fluttered about, saying things like “How shameless to ask that,” “Oh my, how improper,” and “You shouldn’t ask things like that.” Yet not a single one of them told Lowen not to answer.
“About the Saintess?”
He had already told them beforehand that the Saintess had important prayers to offer and therefore could not come along.
So this was not a question about where the Saintess was.
And judging by this secretive atmosphere, it was not a question about her well-being either.
The auntie who had taken the lead lowered her voice even further.
“......A man and a woman living alone together in the cathedral, right?”
Lowen understood the intent of the question.
These middle-aged women wanted to hear a fresh love story between a man and a woman.
More precisely, a forbidden love story.
A cathedral where a vigorous young man and woman cohabited, the hierarchical relationship of Saintess and her protector, and then a single drop of romance added on top—it made the perfect gossip material.
Any other clergyman hearing such a question would have exploded in anger. Lowen, however, answered with a gentle smile.
“Nothing of the sort is happening.”
In truth, quite a lot had happened.
He had used the Saintess’s rear entrance for intercourse twice already.
He had also pumped her full of seed until her belly swelled tight.
“I am a priest who protects the Saintess. For me to look upon that holy person with selfish eyes would be nothing short of blasphemy.”
Another lie was added to Lowen’s ledger of sins.
At the bishop’s upright, priestly answer, the aunties lowered the corners of their mouths that had been twitching upward in anticipation.
“Still...”
As repayment for the baked potato, Lowen tossed a small scrap of bait to the aunties whose excitement had cooled.
“Her beauty is such that selfish thoughts arise without meaning to.”
That single sentence reheated the atmosphere that had gone cold.
The aunties launched into excited chatter among themselves, letting their imaginations run wild.
Imagination was free, so he said nothing further.
And no matter how far their imaginations stretched, none of them would ever picture the Saintess spreading her rear hole wide and seducing Lowen.
Come to think of it, I wonder if the Saintess is doing all right?
Nodding along to the aunties’ chatter as if keeping time, Lowen thought of Ariel left alone at the cathedral.
I just hope she hasn’t caused any trouble.
Considering Ariel’s recent behavior, the possibility that she had already caused an accident was high enough.
She might have broken a window while trying to clean, or fallen face-first into muddy water while trying to do laundry, or perhaps even set the cathedral on fire while trying to cook. As those possibilities rose, anxiety crept into Lowen’s heart.
Lowen gave a short snort of laughter.
I’ve become a proper guardian, haven’t I.
The fact that he was worrying about Ariel from a distance only drew a faint smile from him.
Two hours after Lowen had gone out.
“......I messed up.”
Ariel stared down at the rumpled bedsheets with a face full of despair.
A large map had been drawn across the white bedsheet.