Ch.487Episode 17 – The Blood-Drinking Tree

# The Laterano Grand Library is one of the world’s finest libraries.

Some might think of it as merely a vast repository of books and documents, but this is a misunderstanding born of ignorance.

Steeped in ecclesiastical tradition throughout, the moment one crosses its threshold, visitors are greeted by a living, breathing testament to tradition and history.

Light filtering through stained glass breaks into prismatic hexagons illuminating even the darkest corners, while corridors filled with gentle breezes whisper like recited poetry.

The journey through these serene corridors and between the bookshelves is one reason why Laterano’s Grand Library is considered the world’s finest.

And that’s not all.

The volumes densely packed on countless bookshelves lining both sides are not easily obtainable elsewhere.

They are ancient artifacts, fragments of faded glorious eras, and enigmas waiting thousands of years for interpretation.

The Grand Library of Laterano, known as the heart of the Church, is not merely a repository for books but a corridor of knowledge where history, tradition, theology, and science exist in balance and harmony.

And knowledge cannot be owned by individuals, and learning does not discriminate by status or age.

That is why the doors of the Laterano Grand Library are open to all, regardless of gender, age, nationality, religion, or social standing.

“Then why am I not allowed to enter?”

Except for just one person.

## Episode 17 – The Tree That Drinks Blood

At the time when the convoy carrying the Moritani continental government forces, clergy from the Church and Al-Yabd, the hero and his companions was heading to Timbuktu.

A small commotion was unfolding in the holy land of Laterano across the sea, where the Papal See was located.

-Bang!

A snow-white palm slammed against the desk. The woman who had brought her fist down forcefully lowered her voice.

“I said let me in!”

A pair of priests, a man and a woman, smiled awkwardly.

“Um, please calm down first…”

“No. Tell me why I can’t enter, Brother?”

“Please, if you could just lower your voice a little…”

Bookshelves filled with volumes could be seen throughout. On what appeared to be a reception desk lay a chart titled “Borrowing List.”

It wasn’t difficult to recognize this place as a library. It was also easy to deduce that the man and woman standing behind the reception desk were clergy doubling as librarians.

By common social etiquette, libraries are places where silence is always required. This means one should not cause disturbances by banging on desks and raising one’s voice.

Nevertheless, the librarians were struggling to restrain the woman.

“Please, silence…”

Considering that this was a library, and not just any library but the ‘Laterano Grand Library,’ the pride of the Papal See, this was clearly an unusual situation.

Far from expelling the disruptive woman, they were instead wringing their hands and pleading with her.

While sacred libraries have strict rules, why couldn’t these two librarians firmly turn away the disruptive visitor? And why was this woman so bold as to raise her voice against clergy in the middle of Laterano?

The answer to this question came through the librarian’s words.

“Saint, please… Could you please speak calmly…?”

The priest of the Laterano Grand Library pleaded quietly with his hands clasped as if in prayer. His expression was almost tearful.

“I’d like to, but the situation is making me angry.”

With her arms crossed diagonally, her eyebrows twitched up and down. Her breathing and even her irritated gaze openly expressed her discomfort.

The priests serving as librarians of the Grand Library cautiously bowed their heads.

But bowing alone was not enough to remove the dissatisfaction from the saint’s face.

“Fine. It seems there’s nothing more to discuss.”

Veronica, tilting her neck askew, commanded the priests.

“Brother and Sister, go fetch the old man.”

“You mean the Director…?”

“Yes. The old man who smells musty.”

The senior librarian priest blinked repeatedly. He felt dizzy.

To think that someone would refer to the Director of the Laterano Grand Library as ‘the musty-smelling old man.’

He had never imagined that a learned scholar who commanded the respect of countless clergy and renowned professors who had passed through theological colleges would be addressed in such a manner.

In contrast to the flustered librarians, the holy knights guarding Veronica maintained composed expressions.

As if they’d heard such things more than once or twice.

Wasn’t she the one who constantly called bishops and cardinals ‘old fogeys’?

When serving someone like that as your superior, you reach a point where such expressions merely elicit thoughts like, ‘Ah, the Saint seems to be in a decent mood today.’

“I really don’t understand… Why exactly can’t I enter?”

“Well…”

“Did the regulations change without my knowledge? Do I need a degree or something to enter now?”

In response to Veronica’s sarcastic question, the flustered librarian opened the book of regulations.

“There’s no such regulation. As you know, the doors of the Grand Library are open to all.”

“Gospel, Chapter 7, Verse 7.”

The saint’s lips parted. The scripture verse spread through the voice of the holy one.

“Ask, and it will be given to you. Seek, and you will find. What comes next, Brother?”

“Knock, and it will be opened to you… that’s it…”

“Right?”

A smile bloomed fully. Her lips curved upward to her ears.

Veronica, having quoted scripture, smiled broadly.

As the priest was distracted by her beautiful smile, a cold remark flew into his ear.

“Then why the hell aren’t you opening it?”

Like cherry blossoms falling, her smile faded as a fierce voice erupted. Veronica began to rage at the librarians blocking her way.

“You said knock and it will be opened! Isn’t the Grand Library supposed to be open to everyone? Am I not a person?”

“Ah, that’s not what we—”

“Why is everyone always giving me trouble!”

An indignant voice echoed through the library. Veronica was truly feeling wronged.

The reason was simple. She had recently been disciplined by the Pope.

All because she secretly took one item from a storage room.

Of course, the storage was a vault containing all sorts of holy relics.

And the item she took was a cursed weapon.

And she did use that cursed weapon in a foreign country under Al-Yabd’s vigilant watch.

And when questioned by a cardinal, she muttered, “Noisy old man… Do thorns grow in your mouth if you don’t nag?”

And she also smiled at the bishops holding the backs of their necks, asking, “Aren’t you all busy? Did you come all this way to see a pretty face?”

And she even brought punishment upon herself by telling Pope Raphael, who could only sigh while pressing his eyelids, “Please send an army to catch demons. Oh, and a few holy relics from the vault too.”

Anyway, she felt wronged.

Why should I be punished? I did nothing wrong.

Being punished for an offense not listed in scripture or church law is unjust.

If you’re a fundamentalist, bring evidence like one; what kind of law allows for such arbitrary sentencing?

You should have done a better job drafting church law.

Reform? Have you forgotten double jeopardy, Bishop? How did someone who was once a Chief Justice develop dementia…? I should brew you some medicinal tonic.

Because she had unleashed a torrent of remarks that the recording scribe couldn’t bring himself to transcribe verbatim, instead diplomatically noting “Saint Veronica protested with improper words.”

To a judgment that was about to be limited to probation due to lack of suitable charges, the crime of “contempt” was hastily added.

But Veronica still felt wronged and resentful.

Sincerely.

“How can this be right! This isn’t fair! I came to read books, books!”

As her voice grew increasingly louder, the librarians’ faces turned pale.

While the librarians sweated profusely and fumbled, and the holy knights accompanying the saint contemplated their lunch menu.

Veronica’s tantrum reached its climax.

“Get the person in charge out here!”

She looked ready to lie down in protest. Her whole body expressed the determination to do so at the slightest misstep.

It was at that moment.

“What disgraceful behavior is this.”

An old man’s voice resonated in everyone’s ears.

He was an elderly man with graying hair and deep wrinkles. His checkered top was an unusual garment in the religiously saturated Laterano, but it seemed natural in a library setting.

Ink stained his thin fingers. He appeared to have been writing something just before. Calluses on his fingers from holding writing instruments seemed to attest to his wisdom, and wrinkles covered the backs of his hands, symbolizing his years of experience.

The moment the old man appeared, the priests serving as librarians and the holy knights bowed their heads in respect.

“Director.”

“Oh, you’ve arrived…”

Joseph, the Director of the Laterano Grand Library.

The old man who managed this repository of living history and tradition stepped forward, leaning on his cane.

“Commotion in a sacred library is tantamount to disruption. It shows disrespect to those seeking answers and to the sleeping volumes.”

“We apologize, Director. Please forgive our rudeness.”

The old man, leaning on his cane, gave a gentle smile to the holy knight asking for forgiveness.

“You need not apologize. The source of the disturbance seems to be elsewhere…”

His wrinkled eyes narrowed as his pupils moved from side to side. As if searching for someone, Joseph, the Director of the Grand Library, scanned the gathering.

After surveying the holy knights and librarians, his eyes finally found the person he was looking for. At that moment, the wrinkles on his forehead deepened.

With a frown, Joseph looked at the saint with disapproving eyes.

“I thought I heard a familiar voice. I’ve warned you repeatedly not to cause disturbances in the library, Veronica.”

“Hmph.”

Veronica lightly snorted.

Even as the holy knights and priests showed respect, she continued to behave as usual. It wasn’t that she looked down on others because of her higher position.

All humans are creatures molded by the Father in Heaven. Therefore, all humans are equal without exception.

However, since the saint’s concept of equality was slightly distorted, it sometimes manifested in behavior that deviated from social norms.

The real reason she treated Joseph, the Director of the Grand Library, so lightly was different.

“You’re so consistent, old man. How long are you going to play teacher? Do you still have something to teach a grown lady?”

“Learning knows no age. It seems you need to relearn respect and courtesy toward others, Veronica.”

“Ugh…”

Veronica shuddered as if thoroughly disgusted.

“I really hate this. Teaching morality at my age.”

When news first arrived that a child who might become a saint was born in the Kyen Empire, the clergy of the Church held great expectations.

They knew nobility isn’t determined by bloodline.

But proper character is built on the foundation of environment and education, so a child raised in a good environment with quality education has a somewhat higher chance of growing into an excellent adult.

That’s why the young girl born into a baronial family received the expectations of the clergy.

Social status didn’t matter. There’s no law forbidding those of humble birth from becoming clergy.

Anyone in the world can become clergy with faith and a good heart.

Moreover, with the Inquisition’s confirmation that “despite an unfortunate accident, she was raised in a harmonious family,” everyone firmly believed the young girl would possess proper character.

She did not.

They thought they had brought in a somewhat grown horse, but it turned out to be a wild foal. How could a child not even ten years old be so stubborn?

If not for the imperial diplomat and the priest from the Petrograd diocese accompanying the child, they might have thought they brought the wrong person and sent her back.

After confirming the state of this unruly child, the Papal See decided, after much deliberation, to place their hope in education. They believed education could bring about change in the child.

If a year wasn’t enough, they were willing to teach for three or five years.

The child’s qualifications had been thoroughly verified. At such a young age, she had summoned the Holy Spirit, which had only appeared in scripture, so she would surely be canonized soon. The only issue was her slightly lacking character.

Still, if they could raise her properly until she became a saint, she would grow into a good saint. The Papal See believed unquestioningly in the power of education and the efficacy of guidance.

It didn’t work.

Even after a year of teaching, she remained unruly.

The nun who tried to raise her with love and care, like a mother caring for her child, fled before completing ten months.

When they investigated why the nun had fled, it was identified that trying to act as a parent was the cause. Specifically, asking the child to think of her as a mother had upset her.

In the third year, there seemed to be some progress.

Following a bishop’s suggestion, when they paired the child with peers, her temperament began to soften.

However, it’s the nature of children to get along well but then separate over minor disputes, and after a severe argument, the child reverted to her former self.

By the fifth year, patience was reaching its limit.

Some advocated for discipline, while others suggested sending her to a monastery school. They proposed that beating her or making her copy scriptures for about a year might bring about some change.

However, the Pope rejected all these proposals.

Instead of the rod or punishment writing, he appointed a new teacher skilled in education.

That teacher who was responsible for Veronica’s childhood was Joseph, the Director of the Laterano Grand Library.

Incidentally, Joseph was the embodiment of the “old fogey” image that Veronica constantly proclaimed, even surpassing it to become the prototype of that image.

In fact, the saint began using the term “old fogey” after meeting Joseph.

“You must not overlook the importance of morality. Religion is a principle that embraces morality. Morality and religion are in a set relationship, so I have repeatedly emphasized that religious people should lead in practicing virtue, haven’t I?”

“Ah- so noisy, really.”

The textbook nagging began. It had been quite a while since she’d heard such nagging.

Veronica had already begun to cover her ears and ignore Joseph’s words, but Joseph did not hesitate.

“I believe you still have much to learn. With such a long way to go, you refuse to listen.”

“Then you should have taught me properly from the beginning… I don’t know why you left me with so much homework.”

“Some might evaluate my education as a failure, but while I may not have achieved the goals set by the Papal See, I believe I succeeded in bringing about change in you. Specifically, the evaluation varies depending on where one sets the standard.”

“We agreed to call that a failure, Joseph.”

In response to his former pupil’s pouty retort, the old man who had once been her teacher began to nod steadily.

It wasn’t a gesture of agreement. To the old soldier who had been responsible for Veronica’s education for nearly ten years, this was not even a minor complaint.

“Perhaps. However, isn’t it true that you changed after meeting me? At least you don’t act as recklessly as before.”

“No, I don’t?”

Veronica maintained her shamelessness as she gave a non-answer. Joseph then placed his hand on his cane and calmly began to refute.

“I heard about the private hearing at the Medius Cathedral a week ago. There was talk even among the bishops and cardinals.”

A hearing held to examine the saint’s misconduct in stealing (she claimed it was a loan that bypassed unnecessary administrative procedures, but the Papal See did not accept this) the Catastrophe’s rifle from the vault.

When Joseph mentioned the hearing, Veronica raised her eyebrows indifferently. As if to say, so what?

Was he going to lecture her that ‘stealing is wrong’?

“Are you going to scold me for taking something?”

“No.”

However, Joseph firmly denied Veronica’s thought.

Not only that, but he also gave an unexpected answer that she hadn’t anticipated.

“I don’t know exactly what you took. Personally, I think it’s rather fortunate.”

“…What strange thing are you about to say.”

“Because in the past, you might have been subjected to an Inquisition rather than a hearing.”

Don’t you remember?

Joseph continued as if to say, surely you don’t forget.

“When you were 13, I assigned you to research a historical event. You investigated the ‘Iconoclasm’ and then, claiming to recreate it, threw an icon into a furnace…”

“Wah! Wah! Waaah-!”

A sudden outcry cut off Joseph’s words.

The librarians and holy knights who had been concentrating on the professor-like, measured voice were startled.

Veronica interrupted with an expression of evident embarrassment.

“W-why is that story coming up now!”

Regardless, Joseph continued his explanation in a calm tone.

“This was relatively mild. When you turned 17, you tore pages from scripture to roll cigarettes because you had no thin paper, which I found quite disconcerting at the moment.”

“Aah! Waah! Waaaah!”

Veronica began to thrash about wildly.

Her face flushed red, turning her snow-white skin crimson, and heat radiated from her flushed skin.

No, that’s a misunderstanding! I only tore out the table of contents! Whether it’s the table of contents or not, do you think tearing pages from the Bible to roll cigarettes is proper behavior?

It’s just scraps of paper, even if it contains God’s words! My goodness, if tearing that is considered blasphemy, what about theology students who drool and fall asleep on the scriptures during worship? There are degrees of irreverence.

That’s idolatry and heresy! I’m not a religious person, so I wouldn’t know. That’s why I was so shocked.

Why are you shocked, Joseph! You’re not even religious! That’s precisely why I was shocked. But, Veronica, you shouldn’t do that, should you?

A desperate struggle ensued as the disciple tried to win over her teacher at all costs. The disciple fought to not concede a single word, but it was in vain.

The holy knights and librarians said nothing as they watched the saint confronting the library director. Firstly, they couldn’t tell if this was a joke or real, and secondly, even if it was a joke, it was shocking.

“…Sigh.”

As with all teacher-disciple disputes, Veronica was the first to give up. She cleared her disheveled hair and pressed her forehead.

“This is exhausting…”

“Do you now understand a little why morality is necessary?”

“Ah, enough! Just give me an entry pass so I can get into the library!”

Veronica boldly demanded an entry pass. As if she needed to get what she came for, even if it was embarrassing.

Her attitude was as bold and shameless as if she had come to collect money that had been entrusted to her.

“No.”

Naturally, Joseph refused her request. The reason was simple.

“Your entry privileges have been suspended for five years.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since you caused a disturbance in the Grand Library last May, it has been that way.”

What did I do to have my entry suspended? Veronica was about to protest, but Joseph was quicker.

As if he knew what she was going to say, the Director of the Grand Library carefully pulled out a list of disciplinary actions. Adjusting his monocle carefully, Joseph began to read the record methodically.

“Last May 11th, you ate chocolate in Section C-3. As you know, consumption of food and beverages, except water, is strictly prohibited throughout the library. Then, about five days later, around the 16th, you came in an intoxicated state. Similarly, the library prohibits entry to those under the influence.”

“I didn’t even enter. I turned back at the entrance, so what’s the—”

“Yes, but before you left, you made a mess of the flower bed. The monks had a hard time cleaning it up.”

The record didn’t end there.

Two years ago in March, she climbed onto a statue in the corridor and fell, damaging it; numerous complaints about her napping on benches; habitual consumption of food; damage to books with underlines and scribbles; sneaking into the forbidden book repository and triggering an alarm that summoned inquisitors; gathering visitors and priests in the library for secret drinking sessions, and so on.

At this point, it seemed she shouldn’t just be suspended for five years but banned from entry altogether.

It was even more so considering she had the audacity to come and make unreasonable demands despite her impressive record of incidents.

After removing his monocle and placing it in his pocket, Joseph began to roll up Veronica’s disciplinary record, which stretched to the floor.

“Despite repeated warnings, there was no sign of improvement, so your entry privileges were suspended.”

“……”

“Do you have any objections?”

Tsk. Veronica awkwardly smacked her lips.

It meant she had nothing to say, even by her own admission.

“Then please leave now. I came out urgently while in the middle of important work.”

“…Joseph.”

“Yes, Veronica.”

“I really need to find some records urgently. Couldn’t I just look at that and go?”

“……”

The eyes of the holy knights listening to the conversation suddenly widened like chestnuts. As if thinking, did I just hear that correctly?

The very Saint, who mocked even the Pope as an old fogey, who sneaked over the wall despite orders to reflect until she repented, was now asking permission in an unusually respectful manner.

Veronica asked Joseph with a fairly respectful attitude. Even to the old man, this seemed sufficiently polite.

That is, only when using Veronica as the standard.

Which makes it a very satisfactory standard.

“How urgent is your business that you ask this way?”

“Very urgent.”

“Specifically, how urgent?”

“Well… someone might die?”

Veronica threw out the comment with a grin. It was half in jest.

Which also meant it was half serious.

“……”

Joseph stared at Veronica intently. His gaze seemed to reproach her for making such a tasteless joke in this situation.

But when Veronica’s lips parted again, Joseph’s gaze changed somewhat.

“I need records about angels.”

“……”

“Someone told me to come to the Laterano Grand Library.”

After a moment of silence, Joseph’s lips parted.

“Who told you there are records about angels here?”

A small envelope emerged from his pocket. Between his slender fingers was a letter.

Veronica showed the letter and answered Joseph’s question.

“The Elder told me.”

A brief grumbling followed. Why make her look for something, why not just tell her in the letter, how annoying.

Veronica was busy criticizing the High Priest, but no one minded. They didn’t know who the “Elder” she referred to was. If anyone present had known she was criticizing the High Priest, they might have had to elect a new Pope as soon as possible.

Because Raphael would have fainted upon hearing the news.

“……”

The letter between Veronica’s fingers swayed. Joseph took out his monocle and carefully examined the envelope’s exterior, then began to speak.

“How much do you need?”

A simple, short question followed.

“As much as possible.”

“Such a classification doesn’t exist in any library in the world. Please specify the era and period.”

“Everything from ancient documents to modern research.”

“Do you have any sources in mind?”

“I don’t care if it’s foreign or from other religions.”

Veronica cut her complex and lengthy requirements into simple statements.

“I want to examine all the records stored here.”

“……”

“You must have that much, right?”

Joseph answered.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

The Director of the Laterano Grand Library turned around, leaning on his cane. And without turning his head, he spoke to Veronica.

“Follow me.”

*

-…Smack.

When the lips opened, an indescribable stench emerged.

It seemed perceptible even with the nose pinched, unbearable even while holding one’s breath.

How to describe it? Like the flame of a welding torch burning hair. It was difficult to find a comparison, but the smell was that foul.

Perhaps even fouler.

-…Smack.

On a street shrouded in darkness. A man crouched in an alley, covering his mouth.

He wasn’t even breathing properly. Like a character in a movie hiding from a murderer, he was holding his breath in terror.

What had reduced him to this state?

Even he didn’t know exactly.

It might be the unpleasant sound coming from nearby. It might be the nauseating stench that made him want to vomit just from the lingering scent in his nostrils.

One thing was certain,

He shouldn’t move carelessly now.

“……”

The man covered his mouth with both hands. His expression was almost tearful. From his tightly closed eyes, droplets that could be either sweat or tears were flowing down.

How did it come to this? Regret suddenly washed over him. He shouldn’t have come here. Why did he do it?

-…Smack.

The world may regard the Moritani continent as a den of conflict, epidemics, monsters, and corruption, but this is a typical misunderstanding.

Even in rebel-controlled areas, massacres don’t occur daily. The same goes for territories recovered by government forces.

Unless you’re armed with a different tribal affiliation, a heretic with a different faith, or an entire village that has sided with one faction and collaborated, the average citizen’s life isn’t disrupted regardless of who controls the region.

Of course, if you encounter an extremist fundamentalist who firmly believes in living according to Al-Yabd’s ancient laws and regulations, as they claim, you might die.

But even such a person would suddenly become magnanimous and pretend not to see you if you slip them a little money, despite initially acting as if they would kill you on the spot.

To those living in a corrupt world, the law is like a distant mirage.

The law is distant, but fists are close.

Closer than fists are knives.

Guns are close enough to surpass all of the above, but nothing is as useless as a bribed gun. Because regardless of whose hands it’s in, it’s always a person who pulls the trigger.

And no one dislikes bribes.

-…Smack.

Therefore, the man’s preference for money over law was a struggle to survive.

Of course, he didn’t earn money cleanly. He was a professional smuggler.

His specialty was making fake magic stones. He had the remarkable skill of mixing coal and alchemical drugs with magic stone residue from rifts to disguise them as unprocessed magic stones. Additionally, he had the technique to distribute these fake magic stones across the border through abandoned sewage pipes.

Of course, it’s illegal.

It’s a crime explicitly prohibited by law, and considering what “law” means in the Moritani continent, it was a universally acknowledged truth that this was a lucrative business.

So he did it.

He earned like a dog and saved a lot.

There’s a saying about earning like a dog and spending like a nobleman, but the man didn’t spend his dog-earned money like a nobleman. After all, spending that way wouldn’t make him a nobleman. Instead, he sent his dog-earned money to noblemen.

To military police who would stop random passersby, to warlords who controlled the mountains near the border and filled their bellies with camels and alcohol.

He would visit civil servants at every opportunity to slip them money, and he also paid the taxi company owner who provided delivery means. Sometimes he would visit the market, and sometimes they would come to him first.

And very occasionally, he had encountered dangerous individuals.

Today was no exception.

-…Smack.

Ephua had said there was a mine in the east with quite a lot of magic stones buried. It had been occupied by goblins who raised red flags long ago, but now the area was vacant, unclaimed land—an added bonus.

The reason a national mining company executive would give information to a smuggler of fake magic stones was obvious.

Because providing information would bring benefits.

Specifically, to Ephua, not the company.

Ephua, with whom he had been dealing for several years, had approached with a “really good business” proposal. He said that if this succeeded, they could buy a mansion in the capital’s wealthy district and live a second life completely detached from the tiresome civil war in this backwater.

It was certainly an enticing business, as Ephua had said.

Although it was a flaw that there wasn’t much left in a developed mine, profitability wasn’t an obstacle. For a man who could transform residue into magic stones, the place was as good as a gold mine.

The fact that it was an empty mine without an owner made it even more attractive.

How attractive was this business? His business partner didn’t lose his smile even at the moment of death. Even as his fat, greasy face was being crushed.

-…Smack.

The man was the same.

He couldn’t stop smiling even until the moment he loaded the sack onto the taxi sent by the taxi company owner.

Red droplets dripped from the sack, which was as large as a small elephant. But the taxi driver, who locked the trunk, didn’t ask any questions as usual. Anyone would do the same if a single delivery earned them five months’ worth of salary.

-…Smack.

After disposing of the sack in a place no one would find.

The man contacted his business partners. He asked if they knew any strong friends because he wanted to acquire some land.

He didn’t mention the mine.

If he had, there would have been one more sack.

It was a wise move.

-…Smack.

Fortunately, his business partners didn’t ask for details. Instead, they introduced various groups they were friendly with, only requesting a small commission.

At that moment, he received interesting news from a warehouse operator he had met at a gambling arena: “Shamans are looking for work.”

Since many people had seen them use shamanism, they didn’t seem like frauds. And they handled jobs quite neatly. However, there was a caveat that they seemed a bit suspicious due to their unclear identities.

But the cost was too reasonable to ignore because they seemed suspicious.

The opportunity to employ shamans at such a price didn’t come easily. He thought it wouldn’t be too late to decide after meeting them.

He shouldn’t have done that.

-Smack.

An unpleasant sound came from above.

The man who had been holding his breath looked up. An upside-down face was smiling broadly.

The smiling face swayed gently from side to side. Pushed by the wind, it momentarily went to the left, then returned to the right.

“Ah.”

Smack. A flower-like smile bloomed on the flower-like face.

Like a fully bloomed flower, the smile spread, and the whole world was tinged with green. Smack. Nerves extended like the stamens of mountain azaleas, and the face was covered with leaves.

A flower had bloomed.

The returned season, the forgotten life sprouted and flowered.

-Smack.

The fully bloomed face smiled brightly. A smile bloomed on the flower-like face.

In the most beautiful and splendid way.

It bloomed toward the sky and earth.

A flower that would never wither again had bloomed.

*

A traveler walking through the desert turned his head. As the Arab-style cloak concealing his massive body was disturbed by the wind, the armor hidden beneath was revealed.

While grasping the flowing cloak with his gauntlet, the knight’s gaze remained fixed on a distant place.

It was then that Akande, who had been walking down the sand dune ahead, looked back.

“Hey. Something. Happened?”

Akande asked the two angels who weren’t following. He looked comical with a huge backpack like a peddler, and another backpack on top of that.

But no one would dare laugh at him. With a volume like carrying an adult man on his back and bearing a weight exceeding 100kg, Akande was closer to a bear than a human.

The helmet that had been staring into the distance slowly began to face forward.

“No.”

“Road. To Timbuktu. Very far. Walk very long. Want rest?”

When Ramiel waved his hand dismissively, Akande nodded. As if he had expected it.

As Ramiel, who had wrapped his cloak, slowly descended the hill, Nathaniel, who had been walking ahead of the knight, cast a glance.

The angel, who had been looking meaningfully at his companion, muttered while pulling his cloak down deeply.

“…We must hurry.”

Three shadows fell across the pilgrimage road.

The destination was Timbuktu.

It was 40 minutes before the two parties, traveling separately, would meet.