Chapter 79: Chapter 79

Human eyes are poor at hiding emotion. Unlike other parts of the body, it's hard to overcome this even through training. Showing emotion becomes a weakness. That's why inquisitors wear masks.

The Pontiff's once-empty eyes flashed with emotion for an instant.

Ragna's trembling voice shook Ran awake.

Ran flinched. She felt the hot warmth on her back where she carried Sigurd.

Sweat dripped from Ran's chin. Rev was flustered, not knowing what to do.

The Pontiff did not conceal his blatant stare. He even tilted his head as he stared, then finally began to walk slowly toward the group.

The black-clad Priests flanked him, following a half-step behind.

The distance between them steadily closed.

Still, Ran did not retreat. To show any sign of panic now would simply invite unnecessary suspicion.

"R-Ran. Th-that person, h-he's really coming toward us, r-right??"

"Please stay calm, Rev."

Ran murmured quietly.

Unless they attacked first, fighting the Pontiff's party with their own group was tantamount to suicide. Ran deliberately subdued her gaze.

The limping Pontiff halted.

Now only about five steps separated them. The pale features of the Pontiff's face could be seen in detail.

Before anyone knew it, the surroundings fell eerily quiet.

"The woman does not look well."

"If you're willing, we would like to help."

Ragna and Rev edged up beside Ran, unable to conceal their anxiety. Sigurd was sweating coldly.

The Pontiff quietly studied them with his murky eyes.

'Sigurd is in danger.'

Ran swallowed hard. Her mind reeled at Sigurd's sudden hemorrhaging. Ran was nearly ignorant in medicine—there were no medical books in the Quersa library.

Regardless, now was not the time to contemplate another strategy.

"? We're looking for a physician. We're unfamiliar with this place, having come from a distant land."

"There is no decent physician in Aburota. Instead, why not let us—?"

The Pontiff trailed off, suddenly catching his breath. His expression, indifferent until now, twisted in shock. Blood drops were falling at Sigurd's feet.

"H-Hakon! Quickly, assist the woman!"

One black Priest approached, trying to take Sigurd from Ran's back.

Ran dodged the Priest's grasp.

"Just show me the way! I'll follow."

The Priest smirked. Within the deep cowl, a chin crisscrossed with scars twitched.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

"Are you rejecting His Holiness's grace?"

"I'll bring the woman myself."

Ran spoke in a low mutter. She knew now was not the time for such a standoff. But she refused to let a single momentary mistake become an eternal regret. It was a kind of defense mechanism formed from similar experience.

"Both of you! This isn't the time for this! Hodin! Guide these people at once! Hakon, escort our new members here slowly!"

As he barked out the order, the Pontiff tore the robe he wore over his undergarments.

The Pontiff brought the long, torn fabric and wrapped it around Sigurd's waist.

The Pontiff was right in front of her. Ran swallowed nervously.

Bowing his head, the Pontiff only focused on tying the robe around Ran and Sigurd's waist.

A chill swept over Ran's body. The faint words were spoken in the Imperial tongue.

Ran slowly lowered her gaze. As the Pontiff raised his own, their eyes met. She could see faint freckles blooming on his pale, almost white cheeks.

The Pontiff offered a gentle smile.

There were more of the Pontiff's party at the outskirts of Aburota. Along with two black Priests, he had brought three horses and an empty wagon for slaves.

The Pontiff hurriedly beckoned to Ragna and Rev.

"You two, ride behind me. Hodin, guide the woman and the brother. Hakon, lead our newcomers here slowly."

Ran did her best to make the saddle soft before mounting with Sigurd on her back.

The horses, even larger than Imperial warhorses, stamped the ground fiercely and sped off.

Ran forced herself to concentrate, checking on Sigurd first.

"Sigurd, can you stay conscious?"

Ran felt Sigurd's ragged breath on her shoulder.

She gave a breath of relief, thinking they'd managed to avoid the worst-case scenario.

'We've somehow ended up heading right into the enemy's camp.'

If Ran had been alone, things would have been easier. Traveling with a group brought restrictions, and variables had to be considered.

Ran shot a glance at the Pontiff in the lead, with Rev and Ragna behind.

'This is no barbarian pretending to be a Holy Church follower. He's truly an Imperial.'

His accent, his face up close—nothing unusual. He was an ordinary Imperial.

'He does look somehow familiar...'

Ran quickly dismissed the passing thought.

What mattered was, after revealing his identity first, the Pontiff had also recognized Ran as an Imperial.

At that moment, hodin glanced back and spoke.

"Did you think braiding a few strands of hair would make you look like a Northman?"

Ran stared at the back of Hodin's neck.

If he meant them harm, he wouldn't so freely show his defenseless back.

"So, you already knew about me?"

"Not exactly. Serving His Holiness, I picked up a sense for all things Imperial."

"'His Holiness' is a title for the Pontiff?"

"Imperial, mind your tongue. You don't get to speak to him so lightly. Then again, things would be different if you really are the 'Guide'. Heh."

"? The Guide? What's that supposed to mean?"

"His Holiness, or rather—we've all been waiting for you, dearly. Heh. Don't worry, you'll understand soon enough."

As Ran's doubts deepened, the group finally reached the village.

It was a quiet place surrounded by mist and lake.

It didn't feel far from Aburota. It was also quite close to the safe zone's camp.

There was no time to appreciate the view. The Pontiff urgently barked orders.

"Hodin! Bring the brother to Shairach at once!"

Once again, hodin nodded silently, gesturing his chin at Ran.

Hodin ran ahead, while Ran, carrying Sigurd, went right after.

The noise broke the silence, drawing the Northmen from their homes one by one. As Ran ran, she glanced at them. Like the thick fog cloaking the village, these people were gloomy. All their eyes were void of vitality.

Soon, hodin stopped running and pointed to a house set alone on a low hill.

Ran hesitated briefly. The isolated house wasn't much different from the others, built in the round, dugout style typical of Northland. But the straw ropes around the house, from which scraps of colored cloth hung, gave it an eerie feeling.

"Shairach is the finest healer in Northland, imperial."

Hodin opened the old door. Inside, the cave-like darkness was cluttered with books and knick-knacks. A chilling draft and the strange scent of herbs assaulted the senses.

"Shairach. His Holiness commands you to care for this patient."

Standing at the entrance, hodin called into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Rev and Ragna arrived late. Both frowned at the off-putting atmosphere.

"Heheheh. Is it an Imperial?"

The thick, croaking laugh that answered did not sound human.

A hunchbacked old woman appeared.

Ran's brow furrowed at the sight.

Shairach had plastered her face with white powder, but her eyes and mouth were painted black, making her look grotesque. Her greasy, matted hair was so filthy it was hard to tell if it was human hair or torn rags.

Shairach extended a finger. Blackened and caked with filth, her finger circled around Ran and Sigurd, then pointed inside.

"Heh, lay her over there."

It was unpleasant, but there was no better option. Ran gently carried Sigurd into a back room. Sigurd, lips pale and cracked, gasped for breath.

Shairach pointed at Ragna.

"Everyone but blood kin, out."

Ran did not have time to wonder how Shairach recognized Ragna as Sigurd's son.

Ran bit her lower lip as she turned away.

A voice called from behind.

"You—we'll meet again. Heh."

The witch spoke in the Imperial tongue.

Ran paused, glancing back, but Shairach had already vanished behind a hanging animal foot.

"She'll be alright, won't she, Ran?"

As soon as they were outside, Rev asked. Ran let out a soft sigh.

"I've heard Northmen heal illness through rituals and prayers. Their herbal remedies are nearly as advanced as Imperial medicine. And Sigurd is Northland, so it should be alright."

It was better to reassure them. Reluctantly, Rev turned away from Shairach's house.

From afar, hodin approached. He was already waiting for Ran.

"Imperial. His Holiness is expecting you."

Ran nodded meekly, already resigned. She began to plan her next moves in her head.

As they walked, hodin asked lightly,

"By the way, how did you learn the language of warriors? I heard Imperials think it's a barbaric tongue and scoff at it. As if they have any right to."

"None of your business."

"Heh. I look forward to seeing how long you keep your chin up."

Along the way, Ran got another look at the village's landscape.

'Is this the Pontiff's stronghold?'

To Ran, everything looked strange and foreign—it was hard to discern how this differed from other Northland villages.

A dark blue lake and a mist blanketing the whole village.

Those were the two things that caught the eye.

"Did Shairach say anything particular to you?"

Hodin asked, as if recalling something. Ran answered shortly again. The rıghtful source is novel✶fire.net

"She said we'd meet again. She spoke Imperial."

"Heh. The old woman's always been curious about the Empire. Rumor is her only son was a barbarian who defected to the Empire. Ever heard of anyone like that?"

Someone did come to mind, but Ran saw no need to mention it.

Keeping the fragments of information about the old woman in mind, Ran again surveyed their surroundings.

As they neared the village center, faint voices could be heard—a chorus, not just one, but many at once.

Ran's forehead broke out in a cold sweat.

She recognized the melody.

A famous hymn known in both Quersa and the mainland was being sung in Northlandic. The a cappella harmony echoed hauntingly.

Ran glanced to the side.

Rev was visibly shaking, white as a sheet.

Ran whispered to him,

"Rev, if it's too much, you can return to Shairach's house."

Rev looked up, clenching his fists.

"? No. We've come this far—I can't run now."

He gritted his teeth. Passing by Ran, he kept closely behind Hodin.

The mist slowly parted. The reality of the mournful hymn, echoing as if it wandered through the skies, revealed itself.

"You comfort all my sorrows—"

"O Lord of Creation, be with us—"

People gathered together, eyes closed, singing hymns.

"With faith, give glory to our Savior—"

"Cast away all your desires—"

"With faith, give glory to our Savior—"

They knelt toward the altar.

"Though the Lord judges the world—"

"My soul will know no fear—"

Just as when they first met, Ran and the Pontiff atop the altar exchanged silent, tranquil gazes once again.