Chapter 4
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Priestess Roberta
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'Three hundred years.'
Priestess Roberta thought.
How could a human being stay young for so long?
She had pondered this while riding out to find Lord Ulrich. What should she ask first? Despite hearing many stories about the man named Ulrich, it was difficult to form a judgment of what kind of person he might be.
The only thing she was sure of was his appearance. A three-hundred-year-old man should be a frail elder, shivering in the cold wind. But when she finally met him, she was at a loss for words.
The man who identified himself as Ulrich looked no older than twenty, twenty-five at most. He was tall with broad shoulders, and his eyes and hair were as black as jet.
A three-hundred-year-old man was inside this body?
“...”
The gossip—that he was a vampire, the child of an elf, or had dwarven blood—was all baseless rumor. He stood perfectly fine in the sunlight to be a vampire, and he was far too tall to be a dwarf.
The possibility of him being an elven half-breed, a Gallua, was slightly more plausible, as some of them were known to have rounded ears. However, the assumption of him being a half-breed didn't fit in the first place. He was just too young. She might as well believe he was a pure-blooded elf with rounded ears.
These were the thoughts that had raced through her mind upon seeing him. The fleeting thoughts found no answer. And so, the words she uttered after much deliberation were the same ones many others had posed to him before her.
“Who are you?”
Ulrich offered a faint smile.
“You look cold. Let's talk over some tea.”
He informed the crowd waiting for the sacrament that he would have to postpone it for a short while. The crowd then dispersed, and an old man offered to prepare a place, guiding the two into a tent.
As they stepped inside, a wave of heat washed over them. A stove stood in the center of the tent, with a steel pipe serving as a chimney to vent the smoke outside.
Ulrich lifted the lid of the teapot on the stove and checked inside.
“The aroma is quite strong. Will that be all right?”
“Pardon? Oh, yes, it's fine.”
He filled a teacup to the brim and handed it to Roberta. Thinking, *'How strong can it be?'*, she brought the cup to her lips, only to flinch at the sharp, spicy scent. Just a small sip made her eyes water.
“Ugh... What is this?”
“The people here call it pine pollen tea.”
“It tastes nothing like it.”
“It's harvested from a variant species.”
Unlike her, he sipped the tea nonchalantly.
“You must have seen the flock of sheep outside.”
The image of cows covered in sheep's wool came to mind.
“Think of this pine pollen tea in the same way. It's made from the pollen of pine trees that grow under the influence of the ice peninsula, which humans call the Demon Realm. It's hard to say it tastes good, but it's the only native tea plant here, so you'd best get used to it. You'll be drinking it until you're sick of it, whether you like it or not.”
“Is that... so?”
She looked at the half-full cup and shuddered. She was already sick of it.
“It's a harsh land. We can't afford to be picky about our food.”
“It seems better than what I've heard.”
What had everyone said?
That there was no Demon Realm quite like this one. That monsters outnumbered people, and a deadly chill persisted year-round. But reality was different.
The weather was bearable if you wore layers, and they were raising monsters like livestock. In her opinion, it wasn't so bad as to be called a Demon Realm.
“It is now.”
“Are you saying it wasn't before?”
“Haven't you heard? It can snow all year long in Dithmarschen. Usually, it falls like dew, coming and going without accumulating, but every few years, it piles up as high as a person, and we can't even find grass to feed the livestock, let alone farm.”
He raised his hand above his head.
“The weather has only improved like this in the last few years. The temperature is rising regardless of the season. It seems to be a sign that the Little Ice Age is ending, but it's too soon to be certain.”
Roberta tilted her head at the word "Ice Age."
“Hmm, the elves also call this era the Little Ice Age.”
Ulrich poured another cup of tea and sat on the floor. There were no chairs, suggesting that a floor-sitting culture was common here. A carpet was laid out, but Roberta, unaccustomed to sitting on the floor, sat awkwardly cross-legged.
“You know how eras are divided, I presume.”
“An era is marked by the rise and fall of an empire.”
“Correct. That's the most common way humans divide history, and this is the third era. This means that humans have established three empires so far, and that two have fallen.”
“And the Little Ice Age?”
“Around the end of the second era, the temperature began to drop. At the time, I was with the elves, and we called it that because it was similar to the Ice Age of the distant past, but unlike then, there was no sharp drop in temperature.”
Roberta tore her gaze from her teacup and stared blankly at the lord. With a face so young, a face that showed no trace of time, a face that looked younger than her own, he spoke of a past that was 1,400 years ago.
Because this era, the third era, had lasted for about 1,400 years.
“You are—”
“You've been addressing me so formally. Call me by my name, Roberta.”
She flinched.
“You know me?”
“Alonso and I correspond from time to time. I was told that Marcello, that child, would ask him for a recommendation. In that case, you were the only person Alonso would send.”
Marcello was the name of the head of the Ecumenical Church, the order humans commonly called the Pantheon. Setting aside the fact that he was casually using the Pope's revered name in front of a priestess—a name even the king of a great nation wouldn't dare utter in private—he had called a man who had lived a hundred years a child.
“You're curious. No, you must be suspicious. Who is this person before you, how can he be so young, and so on. Right?”
She nodded.
“What did Alonso tell you about me?”
“He didn't tell me anything.”
“I see.”
“But the rumors said that you, my lord, were a three-hundred-year-old half-breed, and the records in the temple say you came here three hundred years ago as a live-in son-in-law.”
Three hundred years, he muttered to himself.
“I've been here a long time. I never intended to stay this long. I knew it, but I never truly felt how much time had passed. This place changes so slowly. It feels as if it's standing still.”
He gazed down at his teacup, lost in thought for a long while before snapping out of it.
“Right. First, to answer your question about being a half-breed, I am not.”
“Are you even human?”
“I am human. As hard as that may be to believe.”
A pure human, he added.
“The word 'pure' is a strange one. However, if 'pure' is defined as having no dwarves or elves among one's ancestors, then I can say I am the purest of humans.”
“How is that possible? That's—”
“Impossible? Just assume I was born before humans began to live intermingled with other races. I was born in the distant, distant past. So long ago that the records left under the name 'Ulrich' are but a fleeting moment.”
“...”
An incredulous laugh escaped her lips at the absurd claim.
“Your expression is quite something.”
She was about to reply, *Because it must be a lie*, but he spoke first.
“You're thinking I'm exaggerating.”
“If you had just said you age slowly, I would have believed you.”
“Why?”
“Because there is such a thing as common sense in this world.”
“Common sense... a vague term.”
Ulrich gestured with his chin for her to continue.
“According to the scriptures, even after receiving the gift of fire from Ganymea's chosen one and building their civilization, humans were ostracized and could not live among the other races. It is said they only began to mix blood after establishing the first human empire. Do you have any idea how long ago that was?”
“If I said I didn't know, that would make me a liar, wouldn't it?”
“Many records were lost in the chaos, so the exact time isn't specified, but it was long enough for several generations of elves to pass. Lord Ulrich, what you're saying is utterly absurd.”
He nodded.
“I suppose it sounds that way.”
That humans grow old and even other races eventually die—that is common sense. Countless people have sought immortality. Not one of them succeeded, and all met their end.
It was true that Ulrich had displayed miraculous deeds.
The fact that he was registered in the celestial records without being ordained, or that the Pope and the Bishop treated him with special deference—these things defied Roberta's common sense.
But it wasn't enough to make her believe everything Ulrich said. She could only conclude that there was something else at play, something not so preposterous, something she didn't know.
*'It might not be him. It could be an impostor.'*
She watched his every move.
“But the truth is the truth.”
He drained his teacup and said.
“I either say nothing at all, or I don't lie. Because it's a hassle. Think about it. If I've truly lived for so long, how many people like you do you think there have been? How many times do you think I've repeated the same words?”
“I don't know. That's hardly proof.”
“True. But Roberta, I have no intention of convincing you. This may sound offensive, but you are not valuable enough for me to lie to. Nor are you someone to whom I must reveal everything. I simply answered because you asked.”
Roberta almost let out another incredulous laugh but managed to hold it back. And she wondered what to say. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, repeating the motion several times.
“Then tell me about those times. You said you lived in the distant past, during the first era, my lord. You must have the history that scholars so desperately seek right inside your head. Don't you?”
He shook his head at her sarcastic tone.
“That would be difficult.”
“Why?”
“It was too long ago, so my memories aren't intact. It's the same for you, isn't it? Do you clearly remember your childhood experiences? Even yesterday's memories scatter like smoke if you don't recall them. What do you think happens to memories that are far older?”
“But surely you remember a few things?”
“Well, there are some memories like that. The problem is that most of them can't be trusted. Some memories surface vividly, but they are shattered like fragments, so they've become mixed with dreams or imagination. Someone once said that forgetting transforms memories into recollections. I cannot distinguish whether these transformed memories are true or false, so I will not speak of them.”
He's certainly eloquent, Roberta clicked her tongue inwardly.
*'He's avoiding it because it's all a bluff.'*
Continuing this conversation wouldn't get her the answers she wanted. The man was making claims she found hard to accept, and he had no evidence to back them up. And it wasn't as if she could intimidate him into spitting out the truth.
*'Did Lord Alonso know? That I would face a situation like this.'*
She believed he must have.
He was the one who had served as the head priest before her. Despite his amiable appearance, he was a cold and calculating man on the inside, which was how he had risen to the rank of Bishop. There was no way such a man wouldn't have foreseen this situation. It had been suspicious from the moment he sent her without telling her anything.
“Thinking too much isn't always a good thing.”
Ulrich said, tilting the teapot over his empty cup. When only a few drops fell from the empty pot, he set it down and rose to his feet.
“In times like these, just accept it. Don't overthink. Sometimes, if you stop worrying and just watch how things unfold, the answer will come to you on its own.”
The very person who had turned her mind upside down was saying that? *Is he mocking me?* Roberta frowned slightly and shook her head.
“My predecessor must have heard the same thing.”
“Yes.”
“Did you say that to Lord Alonso as well?”
Ulrich nodded, and Roberta sighed.
“I don't understand why Lord Alonso sent me.”
“Is that so? I think I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Has no one ever told you that you're like Alonso?”
Their eyes met. He was watching. He was smiling at her, and at the same time, he was seeing someone else within her.
*'Alonso.'*
Her intuition told her.
“I said it just a moment ago. That this place changes slowly, that it seems to be standing still. That's because it's a world crafted like an artificial garden. To preserve the way this land was when I first arrived. So that I will remain bound to it.”