Saint Dominic Monastery
Ignatius slowly began to read the letter.
Lawrence had no idea what the letter said.
Still, it had been written by Blackwell and vouched for by Lenard. He had no doubt there would be words of consideration for the boy in it.
“Since you’ve already been entered into the Order’s records as a pilgrim, you don’t need to ask my permission.”
“A pilgrim? May I take a look?”
“So you hadn’t heard.”
Ignatius handed the letter to Lawrence.
He skipped the introduction.
Blackwell’s letter began with a greeting to the Order’s well-being, then went on to a full introduction of Lawrence—his age, his background, and who he was as a person.
That wasn’t the important part.
Carefully avoiding the difficult words, he checked the body of the letter.
At the end, beneath the black cross seal, there was an addendum stating that in the name of Pilgrim Lenard, Lawrence was to be recognized as a pilgrim.
Lawrence understood perfectly well what that meant.
After all, they’d even refused the matter of his becoming an apprentice priest.
This was the same as skipping all the intermediate steps and recognizing him as a pilgrim outright.
His chest went warm.
Blackwell, yes, but Lenard too had been this worried about a boy setting out on the road.
Pilgrim.
Why hadn’t he thought of it?
Until now, all he’d wanted was to break free of the Order’s shadow.
But now he understood how childish that had been.
Lenard’s advice had been right.
Kids like you, the ones who think they’re clever on their own, are especially bad at that. Too proud to admit it, they keep tricking themselves with their own schemes.
This wasn’t just about standing on his own.
Lawrence was still weak and young.
He had to accept what needed to be accepted and take in what needed to be taken in.
He no longer resented borrowing the Order’s authority.
That didn’t mean he was giving up mercenary work.
From now on, he intended to act as both a mercenary and a pilgrim.
A pilgrim who had set out on the road was, by nature, one who went in search of a holy site.
What came to mind was the Lost Sanctuary in Spider Forest.
A place like that wouldn’t be enough if it was merely an ordinary sanctuary.
Unless it was a holy site like that, he’d never find the seam to the Spirit World.
There were only three Keys to the Spirit World.
He already had Lemegeton in his possession, so that left two more to find, and he had no idea how much time it would take.
Think slowly, but don’t dawdle.
The problem was that even if he recovered the Keys to the Spirit World, they wouldn’t become power overnight.
With Lemegeton alone, it was three years.
Acheron had said it would take three years before he could even open the first page.
He must have thought that without that much growth, the grimoire’s magic would swallow him whole instead.
“Fourteen. Or rather, even if you’ll turn fifteen next month, that’s still highly unusual.”
“Next month? What do you mean? It was still September, wasn’t it…?”
“You must have had a very hard journey. The Ulbazar Swamp is in the dry season now, so it may not feel very real to you, but it’s December. There’s only about a month left until the new year.”
December…?
December?
That made no sense.
He had spent only three months in Dragon Valley.
Since what happened in Horos Village was in June, by the calendar it should only have been September now.
Which meant…
The flow of time was different in the Spirit World.
Roughly twice as fast—or rather, twice as slow?
It was hard to believe.
That meant, for example, that Lawrence would turn fifteen next month.
“Priest. It’s almost time for the sacrament of baptism.”
The conversation ended when a sister called from behind him.
“Understood. I’ll be right there. I’d like to speak longer, but the timing isn’t favorable.”
“Not at all. I’m the one who should apologize for dropping by so suddenly. I hope you’ll continue to teach me while I’m staying at the monastery.”
Ignatius nodded.
“Then don’t worry. There have been countless pilgrims passing through our monastery for as long as the pilgrimage road has existed.”
“Thank you. And before I ask for instruction, there is a sin I must confess to the Goddess. If I may be so bold, I would like you to hear my confession.”
Before he could begin life as a pilgrim, there was something he needed to settle.
Just as Acheron had told him before he left Dragon Valley.
He intended to go about as a mage now.
And before that, reporting the truth to the Order was the least he owed them.
“I hadn’t realized. I’ll prepare the confessional for you. However, the timing is rather poor. I need to check the schedule, so would you mind waiting a little?”
“I’m sorry to take up your time, Priest.”
“Not at all. Sister Irene. Could you guide this brother to an empty room? And perhaps tell him the few rules he should keep in mind while staying at the monastery.”
The sister standing behind him bowed her head.
“I’ll do my best, Priest.”
After the greetings were done, Lawrence followed Irene out of the chapel.
* * *
“This is the room. As long as you don’t mind, brother, you may stay here as long as you like.”
Lawrence looked around the room Irene had shown him.
A bed and a table.
A piece of furniture for storing clothes.
There was also a wooden window by the bedside with a view of the outside.
It reminded him of the room he had stayed in at Saint Charmant Monastery.
“Thank you for your kindness, Sister.”
“Kindness? It’s the monastery’s duty to provide pilgrims with a place to rest. Though as you know, monastery life is something you’ll have to manage yourself.”
After listing a few precautions, Irene left the room behind her.
The door closed.
Left alone in the room, Lawrence pressed his ear to the door.
He could barely hear the sister’s footsteps.
Only after straining his ears did the sound finally recede into the distance.
Once he was sure she had gone, the boy began sorting through his belongings.
First, he checked Lemegeton.
The grimoire, bound in its seal clamp, seemed to be in no trouble.
He had heard that the seal clamp was a special magic tool made by Veles.
It not only kept Lemegeton's magic from leaking out, but was also said to be impossible for anyone unqualified to remove.
Thank goodness.
He had worried something might have gone wrong when crossing the seam. But unlike the vicious power it held, the thing itself had waited quietly.
The robe he had worn all the way on the road was now covered in so many wounds it looked pitiful.
It was so frayed and ragged it had practically become a bundle of rags, and it was safe to say it had already lost its function as clothing.
Looking at the robe hanging there like a battered washcloth, Lawrence let out a sigh.
It wasn’t in a state that could be fixed by simple mending anymore.
The robe Edith had woven for him was ready to be let go.
For now, he should wash up first.
Lawrence fetched water from the cloister well.
There wasn’t enough to soak his whole body in, but it was enough to wash off the dust and dirt caked over him to his satisfaction.
For today, he would rest. Tomorrow, he would begin moving.
First he needed information. He had to learn what kind of place the Ulbazar Swamp was, and he also planned to go down to the village and take on a request.
As for the holy site, he intended to ask Ignatius.
Given that there was a pilgrimage road nearby, there was a good chance there was also a holy site somewhere in the area.
It wasn’t a bad first step.
Now that he had decided what to prioritize, he felt much lighter.
After rising from the bed, the boy let out a short breath.
Rest was rest.
Practice was practice.
It had been a full three months since he last practiced magic.
Shadow Light was a newly acquired spell, so it was the exception.
His chest trembled with both anticipation and tension, wondering whether he could handle it properly.
The spells he could use indoors naturally narrowed down to three.
Shadow and Fire.
And Shadow Light, learned as he left Dragon Valley.
For now, he would start with the one he knew best: Shadow.
“Shadow.”
Something stirred in his chest, then quickly emerged along his shadow as a shape.
A small doll rising from the darkness.
There was no pain in his chest.
Nor was there any sign of that insect in his mind.
After confirming that nothing was wrong with his body, Lawrence controlled the Shadow.
He made it run in place.
Then climb up the leg of the table.
Then lift and lower the carefully stored Lemegeton.
Then creep toward the window and hang from the curtain.
He was a little surprised.
Not only had its movements become more precise than before, but its physical force had also grown beyond comparison.
At this rate, couldn’t it move just about any object he wanted?
But then pain rose inside his chest.
It wasn’t severe, but there was no need to push himself.
After dismissing the Shadow, Lawrence propped a hand under his chin.
It was still too early to reach a conclusion.
He should at least check whether Fire was all right too.
“Fire.”
Flame surged from his fingertips.
The dark red Fire illuminated the dim room.
Warmth. It was no different from before.
Because the heat did not harm the one using the magic, he could not make a proper judgment.
Testing its power directly here would be dangerous.
Given the nature of Fire, even the floor would likely bear scorch marks afterward.
That was out of the question. He knew better than anyone, after the Spider Forest pursuit, how dangerous traces could be.
That was precisely why he had made sure to lock the door firmly before practicing magic.
Fire was good enough for now.
Before casting Shadow Light, Lawrence recalled the conversation he had once had with Acheron.
“What do you think is the most important thing in learning magic?”
“Mana... maybe?”
“Not a wrong answer. Yes, without mana, you can’t use magic. But that’s an important matter in using magic. It isn’t the issue that determines whether you can learn it.”
Then was it talent?
The words that surged up to his throat never made it out.
He could already see that it wasn’t the right answer.
“The most important thing in learning magic is an image.”
“An image?”
“It’s simple. Whether it’s Shadow or Fire, whatever kind of magic it is—if you can see with your own eyes what form it takes and what effect it has, there is no easier way to learn it.”
The reason sight mattered so much, Acheron added, was this.
“Think about it. The magic you’ve learned is all closely tied to what you’ve seen and experienced yourself. Or perhaps a desperate wish is what becomes the path that pursues miracles and mysteries.”
“I understand what you mean. And that seeing matters, too. Come to think of it, I’ve been relying on my eyes for a lot.”
The first spell he ever learned was Shadow.
He wanted to help his fairy friends play in the fairy meadow.
That probably matched what Acheron had called a desperate wish.
The next spell he learned was Fire.
Like Acheron said, he had understood it just by seeing it.
Had the fairy queen’s magic been that perfect?
The third spell was Shadow Spear.
He had understood that one too by seeing the red-eyed entity use it.
And since that was around the time he was learning how to use a spear, shaping its form had not been difficult.
The fourth spell was Fire Tail.
The shape of the fire whip was exactly like the burning mountain where the fire salamanders climbed.
And the fifth spell he was about to handle now was, likewise….
A shadow floating in the air.
Light illuminating the darkness.
The orb that resembled the sun wore a mask called hope.
Lawrence voiced the image that had risen in his mind.
“Shadow Light.”
The black dot gathered into one place and turned into light.
And so the small star that had been shining inside his heart rose into the room.
Success.
With the undeniable light of magic achieved, the boy clenched his fist.
After sitting down and testing various things, he found that Shadow Light was more useful than he had expected.
First was duration.
Once cast, it lasted for about thirty minutes.
More surprisingly, he could still use other magic while it remained active.
That wasn’t its only effect.
“Shadow.”
The shadow cast by the window rose as Shadow.
Waddling down from the window, the Shadow looked different.
Facial features had begun to take shape.
There were no awkward bends in the hands or feet.
And it even wore something faintly resembling clothes.
To exaggerate a little, it looked similar to the neighbors of the Spirit World.
It wasn’t that he had become better at controlling Shadow.
It felt closer to Shadow being strengthened while Shadow Light was active.
Fire, on the other hand, didn’t seem to change at all.
In other words, it was Shadow that was affected by Shadow Light.
More precisely, it seemed to strengthen the quality of the void.
The problem was that the mana consumption was no joke.
Shadow used in this state required more mana than usual. If that was the case, then Shadow Spear as well….
His train of thought broke off.
For the first time in a while, a sound echoed from his stomach.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten anything since leaving the Spirit World.
After dismissing the two spells, Lawrence got to his feet.
He should eat first, then think.
At the thought of a meal after three months, the boy’s expression brightened.
* * *
The dining hall of Saint Dominic Monastery was located underground.
Compared to Saint Charmant Monastery, which could accommodate dozens of people, this dining hall was not very large.
It could barely fit about ten people at most.
Even though it was mealtime, only three clergy members sat at the tables. One of them was Sister Irene, who had been assisting Ignatius.
When their eyes met, she silently lowered her head.
Lawrence returned the greeting with a silent bow of his own.
At the serving station there was a large wooden tub filled with black bread and milk.
It wasn’t oat bread.
Judging by its dark color, it was rye bread, commonly called black bread.
No soup or stew was in sight.
The meal consisted of nothing more than rye bread and a cup of milk.
For an instant, disappointment flickered in Lawrence’s eyes before fading away.
But only for a moment.
He took his rye bread and milk, found a seat, and sat down.
With equal parts expectation and worry, he brought the rye bread to his mouth.
“…….”
Lawrence made a strange face.
It wasn’t bad, exactly, but somehow it had a sour note to it.
No, before that—the bread was incredibly hard.
It took several bites before it finally softened up.
Only when he washed it down with milk did he begin to taste a pleasant nuttiness.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.
Perhaps because it had been so long since his last meal, a satisfied, happy warmth quickly spread through his whole body.
People really did need to eat to live.
Taking an extra piece of rye bread for himself, Lawrence ate with gusto.
* * *
The Order’s confession took place in a confessional.
As the name suggested, it was a sacrament for confessing sins and receiving forgiveness.
Not only clergy, but plenty of believers came to knock on the confessional door.
The penitent confessed their sins through reflection, repentance, and contrition.
Then the priest granted absolution and assigned penance.
That was the usual process of confession.
Lawrence understood it in theory.
Still, this was the first time he had ever gone through confession like this.
The confessional was a neat wooden structure.
The door was carved with the same pattern he had seen throughout the monastery.
It resembled a window, serving as the door’s stand-in.
The inside was smaller than he had expected.
Because no light entered, the tones were dark, and there was only a seat large enough for a grown man to sit on with difficulty.
Across from the wooden chair, there was a partition with a small opening through which the voice could pass.
After sitting down, Lawrence let out a deep breath.
Today, he would confess everything.
Acheron had said it before.
Wherever he went, he should act with dignity.
Since words carried the power of command, the names of Veles and Acheron would always be with him, he had said.
No matter what, he couldn’t tell them about the Spirit World.
But at the very least, he had to tell the truth about being a mage.
That was the least he owed them, and it was also for the sake of the road ahead.
How much time had passed?
He sensed someone entering the confessional.
“O penitent who has entered the quiet sanctuary, your whispered confession is both witness and vessel of sin. May your sins be judged here in the sacred boundary not by condemnation, but by the Goddess’s mercy and forgiveness.”
Ignatius’s voice came from beyond the wall.
“Do not forget this: your confession is sacred, and the priest who hears it is bound by the Goddess’s love. May the Goddess lead us from the darkest lands to the holy land of light. Speak your sins, your remorse, before our Goddess.”
It was time.
After gathering the sins he would offer to the Goddess, Lawrence opened his mouth.
“Priest. Please forgive me. I have committed a grave sin. I confess my sins before the merciful Goddess. I have committed falsehood and deceit against the Order. I have taken a human life, even though my own life was threatened.”
Ignatius said nothing.
There was silence close enough to feel like stillness. He was simply listening to the penitent’s voice confessing sins from beyond the wall.
“My greater sin is that I may commit the same sins again on the pilgrimage road I am about to travel. My fault. My fault. Even knowing this, I must still betray the Goddess’s will, and I sincerely apologize for how great that sin is.”
How many mercenaries like those in Spider Forest were there, after all?
To survive, he had no choice but to kill.
Even if that was a sin in the eyes of doctrine.
In a situation where his life was being threatened, he could not follow the Goddess’s teachings.
“I, the lowly servant of the Goddess, confess my sin. I had been hiding one secret. I confess that I concealed the fact that I, a servant of the Goddess, can use magic, and acted selfishly. I ask for the Goddess’s mercy and forgiveness to set my path straight and guide me once more.”
With his hands folded together, Lawrence completed the confession.
“Penitent, understand that you have received the Goddess’s boundless love and mercy. Your sins have reached the Goddess’s ears, so may the Goddess’s forgiveness lead you from sin to salvation. Do not forget that on the pilgrimage road you walk, the Goddess’s mercy will always be with you. May the Goddess’s blessing be with you.”
“May the Goddess’s blessing be with you.”
The foundation of confession was secrecy.
The priest who heard it would not reveal the contents, no matter what happened.
It was one of the Order’s strictest rules.
It was also why believers came to the confessional door in the first place.
But confessing one’s sins did not make the punishment disappear.
There was penance.
After confession came atonement, and the penance given to Lawrence, as Ignatius had said, was to take to the pilgrimage road.
After finishing the sacrament of confession, he felt some corner of his heart grow light.
He knew it was self-satisfaction.
Still, perhaps the reason it gave him strength was that, one way or another, Lawrence respected the Order’s teachings.
When the boy rose from his seat, his steps were light.
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