"What happened?"
The Count hurried down the castle stairs.
"Is there so good news?"
"No, nothing like that, Lord Count. A woodcock was blinded by the bright sun, got disoriented, and flew right into the wall. That’s all," one of the Knights, a man with a thick beard, said to the Count, suppressing a laugh.
"Is that so? The poor little fellow is quite unlucky then. Good thing it isn’t sumr."
The Count glanced at Emma. He clearly knew what had just happened.
"Go ahead and cling to that stupid joke all Winter."
Emma placed the book back on a nearby shelf, left the great hall, and went down to the courtyard below.
She suddenly thought of Eric. After returning that day, she hadn’t seen him since. The guy had clamored for double pay the whole way here, only to leave without a word.
’Did he happen to find the conscience he sold off wholesale at the market?’
’It’s for the best. If that guy had actually stayed, he would have been a pain to deal with.’
’Wait, why am I even thinking about him?’
Not far from the courtyard was the stable. At this ti of day, a few attendants were already preparing fodder and grooming the horses.
"Aphra!"
She called out a na, but it wasn’t a person’s na. It belonged to her horse.
Aphra was her personal mount, a gift from her father on her 14th birthday—the sa age a male heir would beco an attendant.
Aphra was exceptionally gentle and intelligent, able to understand her commands. Every ti Emma called her na, she would always answer. However, the familiar neigh didn’t co.
"Huh?"
Emma’s heart sank.
"Aphra!"
Still nothing.
Her brow furrowed, and she hurried to the stable, taking two steps at a ti.
Her gaze swept across the group of horses, but she couldn’t find the familiar figure.
"Good morning, Miss Emma."
"Where’s Aphra?"
"I... I-I don’t know, milady. I wasn’t on duty that day."
"The day before yesterday, when I returned, didn’t you see Aphra?" She grabbed one of the attendants.
That attendant then called out to another who was chopping fodder.
"Beaufort, have you seen Miss Emma’s horse, Aphra? She’s gone. When Miss Emma ca back the other day, didn’t I tell you to look after Aphra?"
"Aphra..."
Beaufort stopped what he was doing.
"Oh, I rember now. It was a Priest."
"A Priest? Mr. Francis?"
"No, it was the Priest who returned with the young miss that day. He said he was a... a veterinarian, I think that was the word. I can’t quite rember. He said there was sothing wrong with Aphra’s coat, that she was possessed by a Demon, and he could consecrate her for free.
I didn’t think much of it at the ti and went to do sothing else. But I did see that he was empty-handed..."
Before Beaufort could finish, Emma cut him off with a gesture.
"What is it, miss?"
"I’m fine."
Emma took a long breath, turned, and made to leave.
As she walked, she suddenly started to laugh.
Unlike a joyous laugh, this one sent a chill down Beaufort’s spine.
.......
「anwhile, Eric was on the run.」
Unlike his journey to Xialing, this ti it wasn’t snowing. Sothing with more weight was falling—hail.
Eric wore his Monk’s hood, but the cloth wasn’t thick, so the hailstones still hurt a little when they struck his head.
But he couldn’t be bothered with such trivial matters right now.
"ACHOO!"
Sitting on his donkey, Eric suddenly sneezed, nearly sending the Red Agate Ring on his hand flying.
’Who’s thinking about ? It must be that bastard Bohemond. He probably used my na again while he was up to his usual mischief.’
He rubbed his nose.
Light struck the Red Agate, refracting into a magnificent hue. The sight pleased him greatly.
With a faint glimr, the agate ring vanished from his hand, placed into his storage space.
’This trip was really fruitful.’
The funds he had now, plus the loot he’d accumulated, should be enough to raise a rcenary company of about a hundred n, even if they were a ragtag bunch.
Eric was already prepared. If Robert failed in his bid for power, he would raise a rcenary force in Normandy, join the Holy War in Galicia, and if things went smoothly, he might even be able to launch a counter-attack on Apulia.
Suddenly, Eric noticed a distinctly unnatural rustling in the bushes.
"Salutations to the guardian of Heaven, masterpiece of the Father of Glory..."
Eric suddenly burst into a hymn. The abrupt action clearly startled the person in the bushes.
Perhaps realizing it was futile to hide any longer, the person stepped out.
His filthy feet were bare. His body was wrapped in rags. He wore a rusty iron war Helt that covered his face, and he carried a rust-eaten "Sword"—or perhaps "a strip of rusty iron" would be a more fitting description. A blood-stained cloth was tied around his upper arm, a clear sign of a recent injury. Maybe he was a deserter.
Looking at the pathetic state of this "villain," Eric couldn’t help but shake his head.
’Even if this guy offered up his own neck, I couldn’t be bothered to swing my sword. It’d be a waste of my stamina bar.’
He stood in the middle of the road, blocking Eric’s path. He looked less like a robber and more like a holess, destitute beggar.
"God bless you, my child."
Even though the man seed a little older than him.
"What kind of Priest are you?"
The robber was pointing at Eric’s hair. He didn’t have the classic hairstyle of the Clergy—the "diterranean Sea" cut, bald on top with a fringe of hair around the sides. This tonsure wasn’t mandatory for an ordinary Priest, though most would shave their heads to show Devotion.
Eric figured that since few of those shaven-headed Monks actually followed the rule of Saint Benedict anyway, there was no need to be obsessed with the haircut.
"I am a Monk from King’s Bridge Monastery."
"You’ve got a lot of nerve, walking through the Forest alone. Aren’t you afraid of being robbed?"
"No one can rob . What could a Monk possibly have? Everything a Monk possesses belongs to God. Only a fool would rob God. Your soul would be damned to eternal Hell."
This line of reasoning was persuasive in most situations, even in England.
[Persuasion Failed.]
"I don’t know if God gets His share, but I do know most of it ends up in the Priests’ pockets. You also have a donkey. I’ll take it."
The robber was relentless. Clearly, survival had trumped faith.
"Perhaps what you need more is food. Would you like so bread?" Eric took a loaf of bread from his pack.
[Persuasion Failed.]
"No, I need money, not bread. So I’m taking the donkey."
"Perhaps you should calm down. Soone might say, ’I know Monk Eric has a little donkey with a white Cross-shaped mark on its forehead, just like this one. Where did you get it?’
You should know that theft is punishable by having your hand chopped off."
[Persuasion Successful. Eloquence Experience 10.]
"You’re a clever one," the robber said, looking sowhat embarrassed.
"You’re clever too. No need to offend the Church over a donkey. You wouldn’t be able to sell it anywhere, anyway."
Eric breathed a sigh of relief. ’It’s always better to solve things with words instead of fists if possible.’
’After all, they’re just pitiful people. They wouldn’t be doing this if they had another way to survive.’
"Then I’ll take so bread."
"It would be my honor."
The man took the bread from Eric’s hand. Four more "robbers," just as ragged as the first, erged from the bushes carrying pitchforks, woodcutting knives, and other farm tools. Compared to them, the first robber looked downright presentable.
Eric took down his saddlebags and pulled out bread and cheese.
A Monk could not refuse such a request. Providing food for the hungry was a Monk’s sacred duty.
The Lord said, "Feed my lambs."
The other n seed embarrassed, covering their faces as they took the bread from Eric. They were clearly ashad of robbing a Monk.
One of the big n said to Eric, "Thank you, Monk. I was starving. I repent for this sinful act."
Before Eric could respond, the first robber cut him off. "No need to thank him. Thank ourselves. This is just our tithe money."
"It was an act of desperation. God will not punish you for it."
Eric climbed back onto his little donkey.
[Achievent Unlocked: God’s Blessing Upon the World (3/3)]
[Eloquence Experience 60, Devotion 100, Reputation 50]
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