Reynard, with a hint of pride in his voice, spoke of his contribution to the construction here; after all, he was a part of Hamlet.
The Nun fell silent, her thoughts a jumble. Since she wasn’t the cunning type, it was difficult for her to discern whether Reynard’s words were true or false.
"But if the Church is as bad as you say, why do so many people still believe in it?"
On her journey, her identity as a Cleric of the Church had brought her great convenience. She could visit local churches to make Holy Water in exchange for supplies and rest. Additionally, she could use Divine Arts to heal ordinary people for so food and money, or take on bounties for blasphers and the Fallen.
Whether in villages or cities within the Empire, she encountered no obstruction in her travels. Even the bandits she passed by didn’t think to trouble her; she truly reaped the benefits brought by the Church.
Most threats she encountered ca from utterly mad refugees, and what awaited them was the baptism of Holy Light—in a literal sense.
It could be said that the Wizard mission was the most dangerous one she had ever faced, bar none.
Although she nearly sacrificed herself to the Holy Fla, she had survived.
When she opened her eyes to the sun, she had expected a warm welco from the townspeople. Instead, matters had progressed to this point, revealing a town that felt utterly bizarre to her.
She found it hard to tell whether these people were normal folks, heretics, or perhaps even Heretics?
A torrent of chaotic thoughts filled her mind, but she could find no clue to guide her, feeling only a throbbing at her temples and a surge of anxiety.
"My story is over. I know you’re confused; I was too, until I t Lord Lance. Soon after, I returned to my family. I could be with them, I had a stable job, and a peaceful life. My children could even go to school and wouldn’t be beaten by a Priest for failing to recite the Holy Canon.
"The reality is, even without the Church, people’s lives go on as usual—even better, in fact. They no longer have to go hungry while still being forced to offer their precious resources to those bloated maggots.
"I’ve also rediscovered what it ans to keep living: to protect Hamlet and offer my loyalty to Lord Lance!"
Reynard rose to his feet, feeling nothing more needed to be said, but he didn’t mind giving a warning to the nun who had appeared out of nowhere.
"I’ve been through war and seen battlefields. I will absolutely not allow Hamlet to beco such a place!"
The Nun panicked when Reynard ntioned not needing the Church. She started to object, but then it occurred to her that this village indeed might not need it, and she was forced to keep her words to herself.
At that mont, it seed as though a multitude of pressures descended upon her, making her chest feel heavy.
Dealing with this was even worse than facing the Wizard. At least there had been a clear target then, unlike this current tornt.
"Go find Lord Lance. He will guide you."
Reynard threw out the suggestion, and only then did the Nun co to her senses.
She rembered Lord Lance’s words when they parted; perhaps her doubts could find answers with him.
The Nun was quick to act. With a brief word, she turned and exited.
Reynard, however, paid no mind to the rash Nun, instead focusing his attention on his son, Ryan.
"I’ve spoken of these matters with your mother. When I left, it wasn’t to abandon you and her but to uphold justice and fight for the Holy Light. Your mother didn’t speak of it because she thought I had died on the battlefield..."
Ryan said nothing. Without waiting for Reynard to finish, he turned his head and continued his sword training.
He still couldn’t understand why his father would abandon him and his mother for so damned Holy Light.
Of course, if he knew that Reynard had sold off their family assets when he left, plunging them into poverty, his hatred would likely be even greater.
Hatred isn’t born in a day; it’s the accumulation of long-standing resentnt. It can’t be dismissed so easily.
Just as Reynard’s faith wasn’t established in a day, but was shaped by environntal influences, it also didn’t crumble in a day.
Everything requires a process...
But Tamara didn’t feel that way; she felt like she was about to be dood!
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