Chapter 638 - Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint

The sky in the North is vast and desolate, unless the floating fortress descends. When the cold earth captures water droplets, the clouds and fog settle quietly. Weather is merely the whimsy of the Celestials, but in such a frigid land, even whims seem to shrink away. Celestials being men, too, tend to shrivel a bit in the cold. However, instead of the rare snowstorms or tempests, there descends an artificial phenomenon called the floating fortress. The tyranny of a magician occupying the sacred space of the sky for nearly a month. And the public tends to cheer for such tyranny toward stuffy authority. At the heart of the Celsius estate where it meets the floating fortress, this year's landing site was brimming with life. But. In a place far removed from there, across a land as distant as the moon is the floating fortress, it was of no concern whatsoever. "Housekeeper. Is this the outskirts?" "Yes. This is where that child headed. It's also the place I've traveled back and forth from, enduring the long journey." The housekeeper grumbled as she replied. I didn't care about her mood, but at least her struggles deserved some acknowledgment. The Kelvin River traverses the Celsius estate. Due to the estate's characteristic freezing point, the river's surface is solidly frozen, practically becoming a part of the land. However, since the ground is icy, the chill seeps up, and in summer, when the snow melts, building any permanent structure to live on it is impossible. It's unfit for settlement. Nevertheless, on this difficult icy ground, the outcasts construct portable huts and survive day by day with ice fishing. Around two hundred visible huts. Hundreds of igloos built with ice cut from the riverside. Without knowledge of magic or even decent magic tools, this was the dwelling of the outcasts who simply adapted to survive. "Show me the way." "Where to?" "To that child's home." "How would I know that?" "What? Didn't you follow along without discerning their residence or family situation, not even assessing their state? What are you doing exactly?" "Am I supposed to be a stalker?! Why should I need to know that?!" Aren't you essentially a stalker... Hm. The housekeeper whipped around, leading the way. "I'm just a mere housemaid sent on an errand!" "You did return the shoes, didn’t you?" "I entrusted them to someone reliable! Follow me, I’ll lead you to that person." The resolute housemaid directed me towards a building with a large cross hanging from it. It was a church fitting for the northern lands. Instead of glass, clear ice served as windows, and the prominent cross gleamed, shattering the transparent northern sunlight into brilliance. "It seems we have visitors." Upon entering through the door, a missionary in a black clerical outfit welcomed us with a smile. "Ah, you must be the kind soul who brought back Richard’s shoes last time. Richard was grateful too." "Was he truly?" "Though he didn't voice it, I'm sure from the depths of his heart, he was grateful." The priest, with a good-natured face, continued the conversation with the housemaid. He seemed to embody the transcendence and simplicity befitting a priest responsible for such a remote place. After finishing the talk with the housemaid, the priest acknowledged me. "You must be the one. The wizard said to have descended from the floating fortress to teach the children. Even amidst your busy pursuit of magical secrets, offering knowledge, the Celestials will surely bless your path." My reputation had spread even here. "I’m Hughes. And you are?" "Casas, a missionary affiliated with the Eastern Missionary Society, assigned to the Celsius parish." The missionary spoke, placing his hand on the closed Bible. Missionaries from the Eastern Missionary Society are those pious individuals who venture to share knowledge and teachings in lands deemed savage, choosing places virtually detached from worldly affairs, constantly pushing themselves through hardships. They are indeed madmen. It is a distant, untamed land. The potential dangers are incalculable. Most locals are wary of outsiders, and if that outsider suddenly interferes and starts spouting off nagging rebukes, displeasure is inevitable. The rulers of such lands would naturally feel fear and unease toward missionaries preaching foreign civilization. Such sentiments can easily turn into hostility, taking the missionary’s life. Their home country is far, leaving no one to rely on for help. It could end in a massacre, leaving not even a name in history, marked only by an 'x' on the outdated nameplates of the Eastern Missionary Society, with nothing else to commemorate their death. That self-inflicted madman, caught in endless hardship, spoke with a friendly demeanor, smiling warmly. "I heard you spoke harshly to Richard. I had a difficult time comforting the child who cried all night." "I didn't think it particularly harsh." "I told him the same. No words can be as harsh as cold reality, can they? Letting someone know that reality in advance is perhaps your kindness, Mr. Hughes." Kindness? I merely stated the reality. "Knowledge thrusts humans into endless suffering, a curse they bear, while ignorance wraps us gently in the sweet embrace of slumber. These we call life and death. I told Richard it was Mr. Hughes’ wish that he live on, in the known.” "Oh…." Facing him, I felt it. Indeed, the missionary was truly a madman. How could he discern goodwill from such cold words? Finding gold in a river would be easier. "And the fact that you have come here completes that truth." "What do you mean?" "If you were a heartless person, you wouldn’t have been bothered by your words enough to come all the way here." He’s genuinely nice. That's why he became a missionary, teaching letters and knowledge to the outcasts in the Celsius estate. If he thinks well of me, then all the better. He won’t resist the things I plan to do next. I neither added nor subtracted a word. Wearing my coat, I looked around the place. "Could I borrow this place for a moment?" "Of course. Originally, the mission serves as both a place of worship and education. Though it might sound irreverent, in the Celsius parish, education takes precedence over the service. We teach them to learn the words of God, but once they master writing, they leave for other schools. Ha ha." I looked around. The long wooden benches were arranged so that the backrest of the front one could be used as a desk. They were filled with crooked scribbles. Although the church was tidily maintained, evidence of study lingered everywhere. "It seems they know how to read and write, thanks to learning here. Aren't you teaching magic?" I questioned. The missionary burst into hearty laughter. "Ha ha, you're quite the tease. How could the church teach magic?" "Why not?" "Are you asking because you don't know?" Um, why? Am I not supposed to know? Was it wrong to ask here? Did I come off too ignorant? "...Well, the long-standing conflict between the Mage Federation and the Eastern Missionary Society may not pique the curiosity of someone as distinguished as Mr. Hughes." "I could learn now that I’m at the mission." "That's a valid point as well. Knowledge is better used than stored away. My old knowledge too was amassed for times such as this. Now, let me tell you." Waiting for me and the housekeeper to take a seat, the missionary opened the Bible and began. "Long ago, a group of refugees settled in this frigid northern land. There were only a few indigenous people living here, and in such harsh conditions, cooperation was crucial for survival rather than conflict, so the settlement went smoothly. However, survival remained a challenge. Every winter, they had to send off survivors who succumbed to the cold." "The Eastern Missionary Society, hearing about this dire situation, dispatched missionaries through various efforts. These missionaries established missions across the North and engaged in missionary and relief activities with the indigenous people and refugees. They particularly focused on gathering and systematizing survival methods amidst this cold." "The indigenous had survival know-how, but their knowledge was fragmented and ingrained in habits, making it difficult to access. The mission maintained long exchanges with them, documenting survival strategies on this harsh land. Settlers used to visit the mission to learn how to survive. The mission even constructed large buildings, lending rooms for years, teaching survival." So there's such a history. Well, the Mage Federation wouldn’t have wielded magic from the beginning either... Wait a minute. This form feels familiar. "It almost sounds as if the missions were the predecessors of the Mage Towers." Upon my pinpoint question, the missionary closed his eyes momentarily before answering. "...Back then, the influence of the missions in this region reportedly rivaled that of the current Mage Towers. The mission's help was indispensable for survival here. However, the mission didn’t forget its duties. It integrated the indigenous and settlers, sharing knowledge with both. However, there was some knowledge the mission kept hidden." Following this narrative, there's only one thing it could be. The missionary continued. "It was 'magic.' The rune magic passed down deep in the North, the shamanism the indigenous used by burning animal fat, the spirit-binding knots of invocation. They combined all knowledge into magic, but fearing its power, kept it hidden, sharing it only among missionaries." "Are you saying that the genesis of magic was in the mission?" "According to our records, yes. The Mage Federation would not acknowledge it." The missionary crossed himself before continued speaking. "Until Lord Rene drew the map, conflicts brewed between the mission and the magicians. Yet, knowledge is like the wind; even when confined, it escapes. Eventually, magic was unveiled to the world, and people no longer relied on the mission." Having heard the tale, I made a brief remark. "It's their own undoing." "I expected you would say so. It's not incorrect." The missionary nodded in agreement with a bitter smile and added. "Magic is a powerful and dangerous force, but in such harsh lands, such a force is necessary for survival. If more lives could be saved through knowledge, surely the Saint would look favorably upon it." "You have quite a progressive view for a priest." "Death is always the most tragic event. The more you witness it, the more deeply you realize it. What would a missionary from the Mage Federation conceal anyway?" "At any rate, I've learned well. I'll remember it." To think that magic originated with missionaries. That's a surprising revelation. I hadn't delved deeply into the history of magic back at the floating fortress. It's not a lie, nor is it likely incorrect. The fact that the Mage Federation was established on settled lands is well-known, and between the refugees and missionaries, the more erudite side was clearly the missionaries. Initially, the center of power and knowledge must have been with the missionaries. While we were having this conversation, the church doors opened. It was the outcast who had snuck into the school. Familiar with the place, the outcast closed the door behind him and walked inside, speaking as he approached. "Father. You called for me?" "Richard. Come here. We have a distinguished guest who has come to see you." "...!" Upon seeing me, the outcast quivered with fear. Really, making such a fuss over a bit of harsh words. This kind of scolding is commonplace in military nations, you know? I let my coat flutter as I addressed the outcast. "I have come to make a proposal to you, who expressed a desire to learn magic." 'Richard is a talented child. He may not have received proper education due to circumstances, but if he's taken under the wing of an excellent magician, he could accomplish great things.' The missionary watched with delight. He was a good man doing noble deeds. It's a pity I'll be betraying such good expectations. With genuine goodwill, I extended my hand to the outcast. "Would you be interested in learning formal magic?"