Not Even Pythia
Apart from that minor commotion, the journey to Serpine passed without incident.
“It’s nice to be back home……”
The only pity was watching the priests’ eyes grow more sunken with each passing day.
Truthfully, Hamilcar—more precisely, the area around the Mount of Light—had a strong voice among serfs and freemen alike. Nobles rarely visited, after all.
That was why even the overseers were chosen from among the serfs. In central or highly profitable estates, such a thing would have been impossible.
But who would want to live as a knight or lower noble beneath the Mount of Light?
Scribes? They hated it even more. Those people needed to stay close to nobles if they wanted any chance at advancement.
Because of that, the inns catered mostly to the lower classes.
On top of everything, a major epidemic had once swept through the Mount of Light.
Illnesses came and went everywhere, but the Mount of Light held special meaning. When word spread that plague had struck there, even the king was alarmed, Hamilcar was alarmed, and even distant Serpine was shocked.
People who claimed magic was supreme and temples were outdated still understood that temples were essential for upholding morality. If plague had reached the Mount of Light, did that mean the gods had truly abandoned the world?
They applied enormous pressure on Hamilcar while pouring in support.
Thanks to that, the area around the Mount of Light quickly returned to normal. Unable to resist the king’s urging, the Count of Hamilcar implemented several measures to prevent future outbreaks. One of them was a ban on more than five people sharing a single room in public lodgings.
Other regions had no such rules. That was why the priests of the Demia Temple had to share one room.
It was a large room with a single fireplace. In the center stood a decent-sized bed with curtains around it—that was for Anselm, the high priest.
Along the walls were two-tiered sleeping platforms. They looked like bunk beds at first glance, but they were nothing of the sort. More like storage shelves you could lie on.
They came with only a single thin blanket, and no one could tell when it had last been washed.
The lower tier felt like sleeping as a pile of luggage. The upper tier felt like sleeping as a stack of books. Just like luggage and books, you couldn’t sleep alone. The rule was that at least two people had to share each platform.
When there were more people, three had to squeeze onto the narrow shelf together.
Oh, and only two people were allowed on the upper tier. Any more and it would collapse.
These platforms lined both walls. The side pressed against the wall was always reserved for those lowest in rank.
No one liked the wall side. In winter, wind blew through. In summer, bugs swarmed. The walls were made of wooden frames plastered with a mixture of soil, straw, and water that had hardened over time.
So most people preferred the benches near the fireplace over these sleeping platforms. You could sleep alone, and it was warm in winter.
Those at the very bottom of the hierarchy couldn’t even claim those spots. They slept on straw spread across the floor. That was how ordinary inn common rooms worked.
Of course, the room Pythia and I stayed in was far better. It was on the third floor, and if you paid extra for premium bedding, you could even have the bed to yourself.
They provided sheets, a mattress topper, and a feather quilt. Everything was freshly laundered, which was the best way to avoid fleas.
I wanted to get the priests better rooms too, but it wasn’t a matter of money.
Innkeepers generally had a sharp eye for judging someone’s rank at a single glance.
They had no desire to give private beds and fine bedding to rural priests. They didn’t want to hand over precious furniture and linens to lowly people who wouldn’t know how to use them properly.
In this world, disrupting the class order was itself considered a sin.
All it would have taken was three fairy tales……
The wall of class was truly difficult to overcome.
By the time my mood had turned bitter and the priests’ eyes had grown dark with exhaustion, we finally arrived in Serpine.
“Who’s here?”
Pierre, the scribe of the Count of Serpine, lifted his head from the mountain of documents and asked.
His eighteen-year-old assistant answered with an equally haggard face.
“They say it’s the Saintess.”
“Are you insane? Who would impersonate a saintess just because they have nothing better to do?”
What kind of lunatic would dare impersonate a saintess in front of the Count of Serpine’s estate? Did they need their tongue cut out to come to their senses?
When Pierre’s brow furrowed deeply, the assistant began sorting through the documents Pierre had scribbled on and tossed aside, one sheet at a time.
“Ah, so it is an impersonation?”
I thought it was real for a moment.
At the assistant’s sullen tone, Pierre snorted.
“She’s someone who’s been holed up in the Mount of Light for over twenty years. Why would she suddenly appear in Serpine?”
“It’s because of the young count’s wedding!”
“She pretended not to know about the coronation either.”
The assistant tilted his head.
“Serpine might be better for her. Honestly, if you just look at the territory, Serpine is superior, isn’t it?”
“You really think so?”
“Of course! We’re close to the Amein Empire, so it’s far more prosperous than Lid!”
Pierre hummed and looked at the assistant. To him, already over thirty, the young man seemed remarkably innocent.
Still, he was already eighteen. With such dull political instincts, could he really make it as a scribe?
Wait a second—had this guy really turned eighteen?
“You’re definitely eighteen this year, right?”
“No, I turned nineteen this year. I was eighteen last year.”
“You definitely started working as my assistant when you were eight—or was it nine?”
“I started when I was seven!”
Pierre stared at the assistant.
So he’s been working under me for twelve years, yet he’s still this naive, he almost said, but held his tongue.
The only flaw was his lack of subtlety when observing his surroundings. Objectively speaking, the assistant was a capable person.
He handled difficult tasks without complaint, was fluent in Morihan, Amein, and the ancient tongue, and even had beautiful handwriting. He had the makings of an excellent scribe.
Once this assistant turned twenty and became an independent scribe, the documents he produced would earn high praise from his superiors.
That would reflect well on Pierre himself. Being recognized as someone who had trained a good subordinate might open new doors for him.
‘It’s about time I started treating him like an adult.’
Pierre buried himself in his documents again. Work was the best way to swallow the scolding that threatened to spill out.
He had no idea at the time.
That there existed a twelve-year-old who must never be made an enemy.
Hah, ignoring my message?
Meeting the Count of Serpine was difficult. In novels, everyone seemed to meet nobles so easily, but I lacked that ability.
Even in those stories, most encounters happened by chance. I had no luck for creating such coincidences.
Hah, life. They say among looks, ability, and parents, luck is the greatest. I came all the way to Serpine, yet that count nobody doesn’t even show up.
“Ah, seriously, the more I think about it, the more ridiculous it is.”
He read it and ignored it?
I couldn’t even reach the count, let alone his secretary. (Of course, I could have used the Hamilcar name or my father’s name, but dealing with the aftermath would have been troublesome.) So I approached the scribe’s assistant and bribed him with ten fairy tales, only for it to amount to nothing. It was absurd.
Not only did he not ignore it—he read it and ignored it? And he even swallowed the money? How dare he take my money?
You’re not even Pythia!
Between reading and ignoring versus not reading at all, which was worse?
This dilemma had long been debated by many, but I firmly believed reading and ignoring was worse.
If you didn’t read it, at least there was room for understanding.
Of course, if you weren’t going to read it, why install the messenger in the first place? There were arguments that selective reading was worse, and that pretending not to have read something you’d already seen in the preview was especially irritating. I understood all of that.
But at least there was the excuse that maybe you hadn’t read it! Once you’ve read it, you’ve read it! And this guy took a bribe and washed his mouth clean! He stole my money.
Let me say it again: there’s no way some brat who isn’t even Pythia can swallow my money and get away with it.
“Ah, say ah.”
“What?”
Damien told me to open my mouth, so I looked at him like he was crazy, but he was serious.
When he coaxed me with “Right now,” I opened my mouth without thinking, and he tossed a piece of cheese topped with honey and walnuts into it like a basketball player making a shot.
“Chew.”
“Why?”
Why was he doing this?
—I asked while chewing anyway. Ah, it was delicious.
This sweet cheese was a luxury I had rarely tasted even when I lived in Danier Castle.
But we had come from the Mount of Light. Shepherds were everywhere there. And I had my sub-space, so we could eat fresh cheese topped with the famous wild honey from the Mount of Light and crushed walnuts grown there. It tasted heavenly.
The anger melted away so completely that I let out a long “Mmm,” and Damien passed the plate to Pythia.
Pythia put one piece in her own mouth first, then picked up another and held it out.
“Good girl, Arian.”
She urged me to open my mouth.
“I brought that for the temple head to eat.”
When I grumbled, Pythia smiled benevolently.
“Yes, yes. I’ll eat some, and you’ll eat some too. Let’s eat first and calm down, okay?”
After I accepted another piece, she beckoned Damien over and placed a piece of cheese in his mouth as well.
Damien hesitated when Pythia tried to feed him, but after glancing at me, he opened his mouth with a resigned expression and accepted the cheese she offered.
Once the sweetness entered my system, my head spun properly again.
That scribe’s assistant had taken my money and run. I would definitely make him pay.
—But for now, I should take one step back.
It seemed I needed to make them come to me instead.