TNDOBM 16

Chapter 16

[The Relief Ritual is coming up soon. The festival held among the commoners starts earlier than the official ceremony. So around this time, merchants tend to gather in various places.]

Cecilia recalled the geography of the empire she had recently studied.

The Weberdin territory was located at the southwestern tip of the continent. Also, befitting its past status as a strategic point with the holy land nearby, one side of it consisted of a waterway – in other words, the sea.

She heard that for the Relief Ritual, a large influx of merchants coming to make money via the waterways, and priests arriving from various regions to attend the event, would pour in.

“It’s a festival grand enough to rival the one held in the capital. I imagine it’s beyond your imagination?”

“Really?”

A festival in another world.

Actually, when she thought of festivals, she recalled the campus on the morning after a festival, reeking of alcohol and half-digested food smells from stomachs. But surely, in a world of dreams and fiction like this, it would be different!

However, the sprouting anticipation was soon mercilessly crushed.

“Since you, my lady, must attend the Relief Ritual, unfortunately, you won’t have time to sightsee if we’re to prepare everything.”

Putting aside the fact that going out had become even more difficult after the last accident, as a bloodline of Weberdin, she had to help prepare for the ‘Relief Ritual,’ so there was no way she’d be given time to enjoy the commoners’ festival.

*’If there were a prince who would sneak me out of here – ugh, no – an accomplice, it might be a different story.’*

Wait.

There is one person who would be perfect as an accomplice.

Cecilia easily recalled a certain robe-loving man who would willingly accept her request and become an excellent helper.

She decided to go threaten – no, ask him right away. That was the moment she made up her mind.

Sensing her mistress fidgeting, Melanie suddenly handed her a letter on a silver tray.

“This is…”

“A letter from the temple.”

An envelope so white it was almost unsettling.

The sender was none other than the Pope.

<To the Holy Maiden.>

She slowly read the neat handwriting, much like his upright and warm character.

The core content of the succinct letter, which filled less than half of the white paper, was this:

<As the representative who conveys God’s word, I wish to maintain a pious heart and a chaste body. I humbly request that you seek refuge in God at the end of the Month of Life.>

In short, there was a lot to prepare before the Relief Ritual started, so they were telling her to enlist – no, come to the main temple quickly.

*’I never received a draft notice even in 21st-century South Korea, and I’m getting one here? Is this for real?’*

It was a notice that made her heart feel petty rather than grand.

Cecilia finally reached the end of the letter.

<P.S. Unfortunately, all the ceremonial robes to be worn during the Relief Ritual ceremony have been tailored to my body measurements.>

Suddenly, a glint returned to her eyes.

*’Right, if I use this as an excuse to refuse the ceremony…!’*

But it was wishful thinking.

<However, you need not worry. I will send someone on the 20th of the Month of Life to have new robes made for you.>

With the glint gone from her eyes again, Cecilia asked weakly.

“When is the 20th of the Month of Life, again?”

“Today.”

“……”

Surely she was allowed to curse now, right?

Cecilia gazed at the vase with distant eyes.

As expected, it seemed like bashing her head with it would be better in many ways.

—

Unfortunately, Cecilia failed to bash her own head with the vase.

Moreover, she also failed to escape before the guest from the temple arrived.

Thus, Cecilia, the failure, came to receive her guest with a devastated yet calm demeanor.

“Lady Cecilia, the guest has arrived.”

“Show them in.”

As soon as permission was given, two stout men followed behind Melanie. Both were tall, so their faces were visible right above Melanie’s head.

*’Huh?’*

Somehow, a familiar face was among them.

“I greet the Holy Maiden.”

“It is an honor to meet you.”

The former belonged to Sir Miguel, and the latter belonged to an unfamiliar priest.

Cecilia scrutinized the priest, whose presence was as distinct as Sir Miguel’s.

*’Is he really a priest?’*

The man in the black clerical robe had curly black hair that covered his forehead and even poked at his eyes, and the area under his eyes was dark as if he hadn’t slept for three days straight.

Meanwhile, his skin was pale, like someone who had never been exposed to sunlight. Adding to that, his eyes were strangely unfocused.

Perhaps he was a priest serving a different god. For example, a god of death or curses.

However, the temple badge shining on the man’s chest was the same as Sir Miguel’s.

Correcting her narrowed eyes, Cecilia greeted him in return.

“I am Cecilia Weberdin. Thank you for coming all the way to the mansion.”

Come to think of it, it was a rather unexpected combination for people who were supposed to help with tailoring ceremonial robes.

Setting aside Sir Miguel, who occasionally visited the Weberdin mansion, the other man didn’t look like a tailor at all.

Instead of the man who didn’t seem willing to exchange greetings, Miguel spoke up.

“This person is a deacon—no, a priest from the main temple.”

“I am Kiar Ruchette, a slave of God. Just call me Kiar.”

*’……Don’t people usually say servant of God?’*

Instead of pointing out his peculiar self-introduction, Cecilia asked Melanie to prepare some cold tea and simple desserts.

Then, she guided them to the sofa, which had recently been re-covered with a summer cover.

Seated upright on the suitably rough and cool fabric, Miguel carefully opened his mouth.

“Have you had any health issues since then?”

“No. I wasn’t even injured in the first place.”

“So Nox’s words weren’t false, I see.”

Miguel’s eyes crinkled slightly as if smiling.

What on earth had that son of a Marquis said? She could bet Charles’s snacks that it was mostly nonsense.

“I’m a little afraid to hear what stories you’ve been told.”

Only after Melanie, who entered with perfect timing, placed teacups before them did Cecilia get to the main point.

“By the way, I heard from His Holiness the Pope that he would send people for the fitting of the ceremonial robes…”

Why hadn’t a tailor come, but rather a knight and a priest?

When she asked indirectly, Sir Miguel glanced sideways at the man beside him with an awkward look.

The man, Kiar, unlike the upright Miguel, was slouching with his waist and shoulders hunched.

Only after more than ten seconds did he realize that both were looking at him and answered slowly.

“I am the tailor.”

“Huh? But didn’t you just say you were a priest?”

“I am also a tailor. Though my skills are garbage.”

“…Pardon?”

*’Why did they send a tailor with garbage skills?’*

“You’re probably thinking right now, why did they send a priest with garbage skills?”

Cecilia flinched at the precise observation, but she tried her best not to show it and shook her head.

“That can’t be. He must be someone personally selected by His Holiness. I have no doubt he possesses excellent skills.”

“No, I can guarantee it. I will certainly ruin everything.”

The man said with conviction. It was a reaction that made it impossible to tell whether he was confident or not.

And Cecilia was also convinced. That this man was no simple tailor. That he was very, very crazy.

Her judgment was not wrong.

He must have made some other ridiculous fantasy in that head clearly filled with negative thoughts, because his face, already pale, turned even whiter.

“I seem to have upset the Holy Maiden. I knew I would ruin things before they even started.” “No, I’m not upset at all.”

“That’s not true. An idiot like me shouldn’t be given important tasks; I should atone with my life.”

The man, who had been running the gamut of denial, began rummaging through his sleeve. What emerged from his black clerical robe was a rope.

It looked extremely sturdy and perfect for hanging oneself.

*’What is he trying to do with that?’*

No, more importantly, why was he carrying something like that in the first place?

When he tried to put the rope around his neck, a startled Cecilia slapped the back of his hand.

*’There’s a limit to sudden outbursts!’*

She had slapped him hard enough to make her own palm throb, so his hand must have hurt as well.

However, Kiar didn’t widen his eyes in shock, clutching his hand, nor did he get angry at her.

He just stared blankly at the rope that had rolled onto the floor.

“God was calling me…”

“No, He wasn’t.”

“Yeeesss…”

Even to Cecilia’s disgusted response, Kiar answered weakly.

After scanning the high ceiling, the bright outside, and the shadows beneath his feet once each, Kiar slowly picked up the rope. Then he approached her.

*’W-what is it? He’s not going to tie me up and beat me for hitting him just now, is he?’*

Just as she clenched her cotton-like fist behind her back.

He straightened the rope and held it next to her arm. Then, he began scribbling numbers in a notebook he had pulled from his chest.

It seemed to be the length of her arm.

*’So that rope was meant to be a measuring tape.’*

Upon closer inspection, there were marks carved at regular intervals on the rope. Stunned, no, amazed at the sense, she was momentarily speechless.

But the man himself, with an expression of clear annoyance, was merely measuring the length of her legs.

“Your limbs are shorter than they look. Hmm, we’ll need to shorten the robes quite a bit.”

Muttering such things.

*’Should I just strangle him with that rope?’*

Cecilia, insulted to her face, glared at him with displeasure. The fact that there was no intention or ulterior motive made it even more infuriating.

Just then, Miguel, who had been watching the situation, quietly added.