Priestess Roberta
"Bound?"
Roberta asked reflexively.
"Why?"
"It's not just that I've lived a long time."
She was about to complain—There he goes again about his age—when a strong gust of wind blew from outside, rattling the door open. She turned her head and saw children peeking into the tent, their bright eyes watching curiously to see what the two were doing.
"The conversation has gone on long enough."
Ulrich smiled gently at the children.
"Alright, let's stop here and get up."
She stared at him for a moment before rising. At the same time, she shook her head as if to clear away the tangled thoughts filling her mind. Almost none of her questions had been resolved—if anything, they had only multiplied. Her head throbbed with irritation.
Still, she decided not to press further. It was difficult to accept, but there was no better option for now. Whether he was truly the lord or a stand-in, how he had performed a sacrament without ordination, what had happened to his predecessor—none of these questions seemed likely to yield clear answers.
'Fine. There's plenty of time.'
There was no need to rush. Hadn't Alonso said so himself?
Her duty was simply to fulfill her role as head priest.
She had only just arrived in Dithmarschen. Unless the Pantheon reassigned her, she would remain here for at least ten years. During that time, she could simply wait for the truth to reveal itself.
Ulrich stepped outside the tent and gathered the people who had been resting.
"We will resume the infant sacrament."
At his words, each person came forward, cradling their babies, surrounding him.
'Let's see… what exactly are you hiding.'
Roberta felt uneasy about entrusting a sacrament to someone who wasn't a priest, but she decided to observe quietly. She had already seen one ritual performed without issue—perhaps watching would give her a clue.
And even if something went wrong, she herself was a properly ordained priestess.
'Come to think of it…'
As she glanced around, something struck her.
There were proper rites that must be observed during a sacrament, weren't there?
"Are you going to proceed like this? With the sacrament?"
Even as she asked, she tried to recall. Earlier, when Ulrich performed the ritual—had there been a brazier? No. There hadn't been. Not even a wisp of smoke had been raised.
"That is my intention."
"At the very least, you should light incense and prepare sacred oil."
"Why?"
Why? She blinked in disbelief.
"Because that's the proper rite. It's to honor Lord Hestio and ensure the sacrament is carried out safely. If the proper rites aren't followed, the name might not be properly registered in the heavens."
Her voice trembled with confusion.
When the gods built their palaces in the heavens, Ganymea was among them. That god had an adopted child, whose name was Hestio.
One day, Hestio looked down upon the earth and saw a group of humans huddled inside a cave, sheltering from the rain. At that time, dwarves and fairies had already established sacred civilizations, but humans were little more than creatures that had only just come down from the trees.
Hairless apes who didn't even know how to make fire—when the cold came, they would simply freeze to death.
Hestio gave fire to the trembling humans so they could survive the cold, and after the rain stopped, he taught them various skills.
From that time on, whenever humans performed rites such as sacraments, they created certain rituals to honor Hestio and receive his blessing. The most representative was lighting a fire at the beginning of the ritual, then extinguishing it at the end to produce smoke.
"That's not quite right."
Ulrich shook his head.
"Pardon?"
"It's not 'honor'—it's 'call.' That's the correct word."
'There he goes again, saying something strange.'
Ignoring her thoughts, he continued.
"The reason you produce smoke—or rather, the reason you light a fire and then extinguish it—was originally to call Hestio. When the fire went out, Hestio would come down again and relight it. He did teach humans how to make fire, but it wasn't easy for them, was it?"
"..."
"He simply came each time so they wouldn't have to struggle. But humans misunderstood it. They thought, If we extinguish the fire, that being will come. So whenever they wanted to summon Hestio, they would extinguish the fire and raise smoke."
He added that it was inevitable, given how primitive human language had been at the time.
"I told Alonso the same thing."
She had never heard such a thing.
"Producing smoke, applying sacred oil, immersing oneself in water—every ritual practice was created in that way. But think about it. What meaning could there be in actions the gods themselves never instructed? Do you really think such things help in a sacrament?"
He continued, as if lecturing a student: that humans merely used the remnants left behind by the gods without understanding their principles, and thus clung to meaningless acts under the name of ritual.
She couldn't bring herself to interrupt him. Instead, she frowned slightly, trying to signal her displeasure—but he spoke until he had finished everything he wanted to say.
Narrowing her eyes, she asked:
"You haven't forgotten that I'm a priestess, have you?"
"I'm well aware."
"And you say such things knowing that?"
He scratched his chin with his thumb and looked down at her.
"So? Will you arrest me as a heretic?"
"..."
She pressed her lips together.
She couldn't argue.
Because she had no intention of doing anything to him.
To be honest, her curiosity outweighed her concern. A devout priest might recoil at his actions—but she was different.
After all, wasn't it common for people to pursue the path of priesthood while harboring worldly desires? She was simply one of them.
Just like Alonso, who had recommended her.
And Ulrich had seen right through that.
"Watch. See if I'm wrong."
He took a baby from another young man.
The child was fast asleep, unaware that it had even left its parents' arms. Ulrich gently stroked its head and pressed his forehead against it.
Light emerged.
Just like the previous child Roberta had seen, light radiated from the point of contact and spread throughout the body. Even seeing it for the second time, she was awed.
'If you ignore the lack of proper ritual… it's perfect.'
When she felt the baby's pulse, she could faintly sense the flow of mana within it. Just as blood circulates through veins, mana was flowing through the body—meaning the infant sacrament had been perfectly completed.
"Is there really no problem at all?"
Ulrich did not answer yes.
"Try it yourself."
Instead, he handed her a child who had not yet undergone the sacrament.
"Perform the rite on every child here—without the rituals. Afterward, check for yourself whether any child's name failed to be recorded. Then you might believe me, at least a little."
Looking down, the baby gazed up at her from her arms and burst into laughter. It was so adorable that it made her smile without realizing it. Like Ulrich had done, she gently stroked the child's head.
But she did not press her forehead against it.
For a fleeting moment, she hesitated—should she really attempt the sacrament without following the rites? A voice inside her mocked, What difference does it make now, when you didn't even stop someone unordained from performing it?
But it didn't move her to act.
Even if she had become a priestess for worldly reasons, a priestess was still a priestess. Her faith might not be deep, but she trusted the rites. And was it truly reasonable to abandon rituals that had endured for thousands of years without side effects, just because of the words of a strange man?
"That won't be necessary."
She spoke firmly and returned the child to its parents.
"I will follow the rites of the Pantheon. However, since you began this ceremony, I will leave it to you to finish. But from now on, I will officiate all sacraments."
"As you wish."
He accepted without hesitation.
"But remember—Alonso did the same."
Roberta frowned at that.
"Lord Alonso never taught me such methods."
She spoke with a hint of defiance. He smiled faintly. It was the first smile he had shown her—but it held no joy. Nor was it mocking. It felt… almost pitying.
"To live in a land of one-eyed people, one has no choice."
After the sacrament, there was a feast.
In a world where infant mortality was high, it was not uncommon for a family line to end even after having three children. In Dithmarschen, the environment was harsher than most places—even adults sometimes could not endure it.
Because of this, people often did not consider a child truly alive until it had survived long enough to receive the infant sacrament. But how could one think that way after carrying a child in the womb for a year?
The parents held their children close, unable to contain their joy, smiling as if overwhelmed.
The villagers gathered inside a large tent—ten times the size of the one where Roberta had spoken with Ulrich. A feast had been laid out inside, and with stoves installed, it was warm even in the corners.
As they sat around the stoves, adults dressed in comical outfits stood up and began to dance and sing, circling around. Children ran between them, adding to the lively chaos.
"Ugh…"
Roberta stuck out her tongue slightly after sipping the pine pollen tea and shuddered. No matter how much she drank, she couldn't get used to the taste. Even the locals, who must have been drinking it their whole lives, couldn't hide their grimaces.
'He's the strange one for drinking it so calmly.'
She glanced sideways at Ulrich.
Though there was no real "seat of honor," older individuals naturally sat on either side of him.
From a distance, he simply nodded and smiled occasionally at the elders chatting beside him, sipping the tea as if it were plain water.
She had wanted to continue their earlier conversation, but at this rate, there would be no opportunity today. Clicking her tongue softly, she hesitated before taking another sip. Her body shuddered again.
"Priestess."
A voice called out amid the noise.
"Are you tired?"
An old man approached her and bowed slightly. It was the same elder who had led her and Ulrich to the tent earlier—Brase, the elder of the tribe.
"Yes. The journey was long."
"Shall I prepare a place for you to rest?"
"No, it's not that bad."
At her refusal, the elder nodded and sat down.
"Is there something you wish to say?"
"Please do not press him too harshly."
As expected, she sighed inwardly.
"I haven't pressed him at all."
Her voice rose slightly without her realizing.
"My apologies if I offended you."
The elder lowered his head and handed her a cup. It was wine.
When she tasted it, she was startled—it had remarkable depth. It was of a quality difficult to find even in the Grand Temple.
"It was a gift from our lord long ago."
"Really?"
She took another sip. It made her lips tighten slightly, and she felt reluctant to drink it casually. In a place like this, proper brewing shouldn't even be possible. Where had he obtained it? How much would it be worth? And it had been given as a gift?
"I was sixteen at the time. I went hunting with the adults, but we were the ones hunted by a magical beast. I put the injured elders on a sled and fled. Lord Ulrich praised me and gave me this as a reward."
Brase's face was deeply lined with wrinkles. Even accounting for how nomads aged quickly, he had to be over sixty. That meant she was drinking wine that was at least fifty years old.
"You've preserved it well."
"Our lord preserved it for me. As you know, we are wanderers. We know little of wine—at best, we drink strong spirits sent from the south to keep us warm."
The elder refilled her cup.
"When I received this, I had a thought. Like seeing a wooden toy I rode as a child after becoming an adult… I decided I would drink it when my life neared its end."
She paused, mid-sip.
"And today, he returned it to me."
She understood the meaning immediately. As she looked at him, her smile fading, the elder chuckled softly, calling it merely reminiscing.
"To be honest, this old man had forgotten. It's been over fifty years, after all. I can barely remember what I did yesterday—let alone something from so long ago. But he remembered. When he handed me the bottle, I was so shocked! The moment I saw it, that day came back to me."
The elder's gaze shifted from her to Ulrich.
He was just getting up from his seat. Perhaps sensing their gaze, he glanced at them briefly before leaving.
"It is only natural for you to doubt him. You must have many thoughts—whether someone is impersonating the lord, how a human could remain so young, whether he is connected to an evil god. The priest before you, and the one before that, all doubted him as well. It cannot be helped. Priests are different from us."
"Different?"
"Yes. Different. You have only just arrived here as the head priest. This is your first time seeing him. But we… we have grown up seeing him, from the time we received the infant sacrament until now. That his time flows differently from ours—that is natural to us."
"Have you never thought it strange?"
"Before I answer that, let me ask you something."
Elder Brase looked at the empty seat where Ulrich had been.
"If a person could live for an extremely long time—if they were free from aging and death… if they possessed wisdom, patience, and virtue far beyond others… and if your ancestors had served that person for generations…"
He turned his gaze back to her.
"What do you think you would call such a being?"