Chapter 28: The People of the Monastery

“No such thing exists—”

“Most alchemical potions with healing effects work only when the injury’s fresh. Something to fix a healed wound? Never heard of it.”

“You should ask the Church.”

At the Adventurers’ Guild, an alchemist, referred by the old clerk, gave me those words.

I’d left the Guild and returned to the surface.

Dawn was breaking, and diligent workshop workers trickled onto the streets.

Kritiya hadn’t woken yet.

“So… there’s still time to visit the Church,” I thought.

I stepped forward, but time was tight—Kritiya could wake any moment.

Cathedrals are usually in the city center—too far?

Then I recalled the bell from the port yesterday; there’s a church nearby.

I gauged the route back to the house.

A detour via the port wouldn’t stray much.

I headed that way, moving faster since I’d walked these roads before.

At the port district, I heard the church’s morning bell.

Following the sound, I found a garden enclosed by iron railings in this crowded city corner.

“Here?”

I double-checked my memory—the bell did come from here.

The garden’s edges were lush with evergreens, neatly trimmed, clearly tended.

I hesitated, then cast the cloaking spell again.

The iron railings were tricky.

I shed my thick-heeled boots and climbed over.

My socks touched soil, passing through the dim dawn woods.

I realized this wasn’t a public cathedral but a monastery, with gray-white brick walls and a black spire.

Nuns in black-and-white habits descended from the bell tower.

“A monastery… should be close enough. I’ll sneak in and ask,” I thought.

Thanks to Scribe Berly, I had a decent impression of local Radiant priests.

As the nuns opened the gate, sweeping the courtyard, I planned to slip in with magic—

But Kritiya woke up.

“Don’t panic, check the note in your sleeve!”

I urged in my mind, but my intent didn’t convey clearly.

She only felt my anxiety.

My urging backfired.

She stood abruptly from the bushes, clueless about her situation.

The rustling alerted the sweeping nuns.

In a secluded monastery, a cloaked figure was impossible to ignore.

“Someone’s here!”

“There!”

“An outsider!”

The nuns shrieked like sparrows on a summer morning, grating my nerves.

A stern female voice cut through.

“Servants of God, such clamor is unbecoming!”

The nuns fell silent.

I saw an older nun, perhaps in her forties or fifties, emerge from the monastery’s door.

She wore a wide monk’s robe with a shawl, holding an ivory-inlaid staff despite her spry steps.

No—that wasn’t a staff, but a scepter.

The senior nun approached Kritiya, frowning.

“Child, remove your hood.”

Kritiya complied, lowering her hood to reveal her youthful face.

Seeing a girl, the nuns visibly relaxed.

I’d heard such monasteries forbid romantic love, dedicating body and soul to God, guarding against men entering and women escaping.

“Child, I’m the abbess here. This isn’t a place for you. Return to your parents.”

The abbess studied Kritiya, her stern expression softening.

Kritiya’s green eyes shifted from the monastery’s brick walls to the nuns, the abbess, and the scepter.

She seemed to grasp her situation and the abbess’s authority.

“Bless the Light of Dawn.”

She stepped back, tracing a semicircle with her toe, then curtsied as trained countless times in etiquette lessons.

The abbess, surprised, paused, then tapped her scepter and returned a slight bow.

“Bless the Light of Dawn.”

After the ritual, the abbess spoke.

“Your grace is refined. You must have a reason for coming. Join me inside for tea to warm yourself.”

Kritiya nodded slightly.

The abbess led her toward the monastery.

I pieced it together.

Kritiya’s ducal etiquette training, rigid and outdated by capital standards, was a flaw in the novel, isolating her and leading to tragedy.

But this older abbess likely appreciated such formal, “outdated” manners.

It’s about playing to her tastes.

Inside the monastery, Kritiya followed the abbess, bypassing the main hall through a narrow side corridor to a reception room.

A plush carpet covered the floor, and a roaring fireplace thawed my body’s chill.

The abbess guided Kritiya to a seat, then sat in a wicker chair nearby.

“Miss Elyria—please bring tea.”

The abbess called out.

A cute girl in a black-and-white nun’s habit, her dark hair in a single braid, entered with a tray of fine ceramic tea ware.

“Madam Abbess, peace be with you… who’s this?”

She stopped at the doorway, eyeing Kritiya.

Kritiya looked back at the girl.

“Miss Elyria, don’t dawdle. Serve the tea, then take a cup for yourself.”

“Yes, Madam Abbess.”

Elyria’s cheerful voice seemed to melt the monastery’s solemnity.

She set the tea on the table, casually asking.

“Madam Abbess, is this sister here to join our devotions? To keep Elyria company?”

“This lady is just a guest, free to leave anytime,” the abbess said, shaking her head.

She noticed Kritiya’s hesitant look.

“Is something troubling you?”

“A child this age…”

Kritiya glanced at Elyria, saying.

“Sent to a monastery?”

I understood her doubt.

A nun’s vows—celibacy, renouncing the world—seem harsh for a young, naive girl.

“No, not quite,” the abbess replied.

“Miss Elyria is here temporarily to refine her character. She was reckless, playing runaway games, so Baron Noron sent her here for discipline.”

“Ehe.”

Elyria stuck out her tongue playfully.

It hit me—she’s the baron’s daughter, rumored to have run away from Lotte Village.

Her disappearance caused us plenty of trouble, but it’s hard to blame her directly.

She was found, then—good thing, or Baron Noron would’ve kept stirring trouble.

Elyria poured tea for the three, then sat with her own cup.

Kritiya sipped silently while the dark-haired girl chattered, asking questions, met only with nods and quiet.

At some point, I felt the Seed of the Evil God stir faintly, like when we faced the jackal-man in Lotte Village, but far milder, almost an illusion.

“What’s this? Another hunt?”

I thought.

Kritiya finished her tea, stood, and bowed slightly.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll take my leave.”

“Safe travels,” the abbess said, nodding without further questions, though my sudden arrival and departure felt suspicious even to me.

“Sister, you dropped something.”

As Kritiya stepped toward the door, Elyria’s voice called out.

She turned, seeing a rolled-up paper on the floor—the note I’d written for her.

Kritiya paused, about to crouch for it, but Elyria swiftly picked it up.

“Sister… your thing. Wouldn’t want to lose it.”

She smiled, holding it out palm-up.