Episode 99: The Empire's Monasteries Uphold the Principle of Poverty
Monasteries in the empire serve the principle of poverty. Monks are those who pray to the gods. They are people who have sworn to live their entire lives according to the will of the divine.
The gods have never given teachings like, "Go into business~ Enjoy wealth and glory~" Monks do not obsess over making money. They encourage a life of helping the weak, serving others, sharing with their neighbors, and bestowing their abilities.
Thus, in principle, monasteries cannot accumulate wealth...
...But principles exist to be broken. Before serving the gods, monks are people living in the secular world. If the secular world craves money, they have no choice but to be swayed by its influence.
A monastery is like a fan club for the Heavenly Faith. It's a gathering of people so obsessed with the Heavenly Faith that they've dedicated their lives to it. Being a fan club, it's run on membership dues from the members. But who can survive on those pitiful scraps of dues? And even those dues get spent freely on acts of service?
In the countryside, that's fine. You just eat, shit, and pray. But the closer to the city, the more family members you have to care for, the more desperately a monastery needs money.
So how do monasteries make money? The best way is to receive generous donations from wealthy nobles. Monks seek out nobles on their deathbeds and gently coax donations out of them.
"Hey~ You look like you don't have long to live. Donate to the monastery and head straight to heaven?"
"Deal."
But what if the local lord is healthy as a horse? Or if he's donating to a temple instead of the monastery? Time for Plan B. Start a business!
The business monks jump into most easily is brewing. Excessive drinking is a sin, but with a monastery buff(?), they can mitigate that sin a bit. Since they don't own farmland, they use their surplus labor to produce secondary goods instead of farming.
"Phew. Care for a drink?"
Renis, the head of the Blue Key Monastery, set out beer and sausages. Both were perfect products for a monastery overflowing with labor.
Pray at dawn, run a medieval factory at lunch. Ian smacked his lips at the neatly laid-out drinking table.
Kr. This is what a small brewery feels like.
"Shall we cheers?"
"Cheers?"
Ian led the toast.
"To the blessings of the divine!"
"To the blessings of the divine."
Ian chugged the beer in one go with relish and tore into the sausage with his bare hands. Mmm. Damn good. The beer was excellent, but the sausage was meh. The spices were lacking.
Aah. When will I escape this super-salt food hell?
The monastery head also chugged his beer and huffed indignantly.
"That stingy Count Lumini! I knew that miser would cause trouble! How dare he lay hands on our monks?!"
He first expressed his gratitude to Mioinia.
"That was brave. Sister Mioinia. If not for you, the other monks' lives would have been in danger."
"I merely did my duty as a servant of the divine."
Mioinia's position was currently up in the air. She had betrayed the head nun and even Count Lumini. She'd earned the enmity of those in power, so returning home was impossible. Joining a nearby convent was awkward too. She needed to flee at least beyond the head nun's influence.
Defrocking as she wished? Imagine a young unmarried woman wandering post-apocalyptic medieval lands alone. She wouldn't end up in a good place.
Mioinia's best options were finding a kind-hearted convent... or marrying a kind-hearted husband. Both were tall orders.
At that moment, a sly-looking priest muttered.
"Tsk. The intent was righteous, but the methods were a mess. Betraying superiors and acting on her own? If she'd been under me, I'd have chopped her head off."
"..."
Mioinia had no retort. It was true.
The Heavenly Faith's doctrine emphasized strict hierarchy. When superiors command, inferiors must obey without question. Why? Because the highest authority in the Heavenly Faith is the Lord of Heaven himself.
If the Lord of Heaven says, "Do this~," and subordinates refuse, what kind of comedy is that?
...However, that priest was wrong.
The Heavenly Faith's hierarchy wasn't military-style blind obedience. Ian vaguely knew this, thanks to a possession event where Deektry, the clear-eyed zealot from the Saint Santiago Knights, had turned into a one-shot lecturer.
'A cleric's obedience must always be toward the divine, never toward human authority!'
'...Why tell me this?'
Back then, he'd thought the guy was too chatty. But traveling through medieval fantasy, he'd found religious knowledge surprisingly useful. Medieval life and religion were inseparable.
A noob, huh?
Ian couldn't quite follow the priest's words. What cleric demands military-style obedience like that? It was odd, but since the other monks were silent, Ian held his tongue.
But the priest's rudeness didn't stop there.
"Chopping heads? Quite the radical priest."
Belenca sniped back. Meaning, was it right for a servant of the divine to so casually mention execution?
The priest didn't bat an eye.
"Not for a lazy knight to say."
"..."
"You knew Takarion was captured by heretics and still dawdled like a slug. That's some top-tier slacking. You'd have no defense even burning in hellfire."
Did I hear that wrong?
Ian stared at the priest in disbelief. But he hadn't misheard or imagined it.
Kira, sitting beside him, shouted.
"What did you say? How dare you talk like that!"
"Shut your mouth, wench."
Kira's face paled. She was a mage, fake or real. She'd been respected as one who performed miracles.
Yet here was someone openly insulting her!
"You just called me a wench..."
"Ears clogged? Didn't my words sound like words? Or have you only met brainless fools quaking at your cheap tricks?"
The priest spat venomously. His tone was brutally cruel.
"Don't delude yourself, mage. This isn't some pushover crowd where your illusions work."
"..."
Ian flinched. No way—was this guy a mage? Picking his words to provoke on purpose?!
If he was a church mage, a cleric, this was mirror therapy backfiring. Fun when he was the one dishing it out, frustrating when on the receiving end!
Belenca sipping her drink in silence, Kira hanging her head glumly. Seeing his comrades like that, something hot surged in Ian's chest.
Cleric or church bigwig—whatever.
Screw it!
Ian went full mage mode.
"Hey, who the hell are you?"
"Who the hell?"
The priest looked at Ian like he'd heard something absurd.
"You dare call Saint Marcus's direct disciple 'you'?"
"Saint Marcus's direct disciple?"
"Yes. I am Zoltin, disciple of Teranos and direct disciple of Saint Marcus."
Priest Zoltin crowed proudly.
Well? Impressed? I'm above you pathetic mages!
But unlike the puffed-up Zoltin...
Ian felt nothing. Saint Marcus's direct disciple? Impressive. So what?
I'm not a cleric. I'm a mage!
If he'd claimed to be Eredis's disciple, Ian would've bowed his head on the spot. That'd be master-level status in wuxia terms.
But clerics were different. Mages and clerics traditionally screwed each other over amicably.
"So?"
"...What?"
"No idea what you want. Does being Saint Marcus's direct disciple give you a free pass to talk shit? We deaf and brainless? The people you insulted are all Heavenly Faith believers, children of the Lord of Heaven?"
Ian laid it out bluntly. Peak mage behavior.
Belenca, who knew Ian well, watched with a satisfied smirk: Hah, that's my Ian!
Ian would never admit it, but to Belenca, he was a prickly mage. Hard to handle sometimes, but right now? Solid as rock!
See? That's our crazy bastard!
At Ian's unyielding mage antics, Zoltin's face turned beet red. He was, without doubt, a high-status priest. Direct disciple in Saint Marcus's line, serving Teranos himself—a top-tier cleric!
"Y-You...!"
Zoltin was already half-broken. He could barely speak.
The most shocked by Zoltin's odd behavior was none other than Monastery Head Renis.
"Y-You! Watch your words!"
He had no choice but to panic. Zoltin was like a prince among nobles!
"Do you not know what it means to be Saint Marcus's direct disciple?"
"Nope. No clue."
"He's the next archbishop!"
Ah, archbishop. Seen it in fantasy novels a few times. Some big religious shot, right?
Ian wasn't a priest, so not a religious expert. But during his time with the Saint Santiago Knights, he'd studied the scriptures properly—especially under the fervent lectures from clear-eyed zealot Brother Deektry. He had knowledge on par with a decent monk. Enough for a casual debate.
"All humans are equal under heaven. Why bow my head just 'cause he's Saint Marcus's disciple?"
"Even so..."
"What if I don't? What're you gonna do?"
Renis gaped at Ian's rough logic. That guy's totally insane!
The opponent was the future archbishop—the top religious authority around here. Pissing him off meant a grim future!
Common sense said bow your head. But at the same time, Renis felt chills of awe ripple through him.
Simple reason: Ian's logic was flawless...
"Uh... uh..."
Renis's brain froze.
In the Heavenly Faith, direct disciples of the 13 Saints are called archbishops. Naturally, they deserve respect and reverence.
But per Ian's logic, even an archbishop was just a mere human under the sacred heavens. Emperors, kings, nobles. Popes, archbishops, priests. Knights, farmers, slaves. All equal humans.
With the absolute Lord of Heaven watching, humans ranking each other was utter stupidity!
"What, gonna bring an army? Call knights?"
Ian grinned.
"Then what's an archbishop different from a lord? Not kneeling before the divine, but before swords and spears."
"Sh-Shut up!"
Zoltin's cry was pathetic. As a religious man, he vaguely knew Ian was right.
High clerics earn respect, not wield secular power. So Zoltin had to persuade Ian, not crush him with force.
But logically speaking... In reality, Zoltin was a powerholder. He could squash one arrogant mage with brute force if he wanted! As the near-certain next archbishop, he wielded church authority.
"How dare you babble before Saint Marcus's disciple! I'll convene a religious tribunal and judge your sins myself!"
Zoltin yelled at Renis.
"Monastery head! Bind this sinner at once!"
"Ah, no... He's the benefactor who brought the holy relic here..."
"Are you deaf? I'm commanding you!!!"
Reluctantly, the monks began slinking toward them, eyes on Zoltin.
At that moment, Belenca kicked the table and drew her sword!
"Whoa!"
Beer and sausages flew through the air. The monks yelped and backed away.
She fixed Zoltin with calm eyes. The mood was serene, but violence and rage burned like wildfire in her icy gaze.
A skin-prickling killing intent. Zoltin swallowed dryly without realizing.
"Touch Ian, and priest or not, I'll cut you down."
"H-How dare you...! Point a sword at the divine's servant!"
"What god's servant persecutes believers for his own authority? If such a 'servant' exists, I'll judge him myself."
Belenca's specialty: righteous fury (physical).
"Anyone who truly thinks Ian guilty, step forward! Defeat me! Prove his guilt!"
As Belenca drew her sword, Monastery Head Renis's vision went dark!
Aah! Now we're really done for—
"Damn it. So noisy I can't sleep! You lot!"
Then, an old man pushed through the monks.
The monks bowed in unison.
"Lady Isilla has arrived!"
"Yeah, yeah."
The old man burst out laughing at the chaotic dining hall.
"These guests are lively as hellions!"
Ian flinched at the old man's eyes. Sharp vigor. Or madness. A mystical aura.
What? A mage?
"Who'll explain this ruckus?"
"I'll explain."
Zoltin jumped in quickly, of course framing it in his favor. Ian's a bastard, I'm the good victim—something like that.
Ian was floored but waited silently for his turn.
After Zoltin's tale, the old man...
"Hm."
Nodded.
"You utter idiot!!!"
And smashed Zoltin's skull with a hand chop!
Ian let out a small gasp of admiration. Not your average old timer. Shaolin monk? Nah, martial artist.
Makes sense. Games prove monks are martial artists.
"Argh!"
Zoltin crumpled from the old man's strike (physical). He looked up in bewilderment.
"Why me?!"
"'Cause you crossed the line! Did Teranos teach you that? I'll go find that bastard right—"
"C-Calm down, elder!"
The old man boiled over and started pummeling Zoltin. After beating him enthusiastically, he sighed deeply and bowed to Ian.
"Sorry about that. My friend's dimwitted disciple caused trouble."
"Uh, who might you be...?"
"I'm Isilla. A humble servant of the heavens."
Ian awkwardly extended a hand. Coming from a Confucian culture, he wasn't used to elders bowing.
"Uh. Uh. You came to return the holy relic? Takarion got kidnapped by barbarians midway?"
"Yes, elder."
Monk Isilla sighed as if the ground might cave in.
"Could you step to my room for a chat?"