Chapter 10: Chapter Nine: Pure Pragmatism

The Ice Sea, from the perspective of the Norse Kingdom, could also be called the North Sea. Departing from Wenden Port and heading northeast, one soon enters this sea.

As the name suggests, the Ice Sea is named for its floating shards of ice. The smaller pieces barely fill a barrel; the larger ones can barely be called icebergs. Meanwhile, because ships of this era have dismal speeds, by fortunate misfortune, no lovers will ever stand at the bow of a vessel shouting "You jump, I jump."

The worst case is merely colliding with a miniature iceberg at night, requiring wooden planks to patch the hull and buckets to bail out the water.

After thirty-plus days of smooth sailing, the medieval Gospel Warrior Frank successfully set foot on the ice plain.

In this brief span of over a month, this future priest endured trials unlike any in his past life: first severe seasickness, then violent diarrhea after eating fish caught by the crew. Finally, as they drew nearer to the north, temperatures plummeted, and he realized the clothes he'd imagined bringing were utterly insufficient against such cold.

Fortunately, William still had several furs left. He sold them to Frank and his attendants at a true friend's price—three kingdom silver coins per fur. The price was so honest it was hard to say it didn't carry a hint of guilt for sending someone to their death.

These experiences were decidedly unfriendly, but William soon realized he'd seriously underestimated the boy. This seemingly delicate missionary somehow endured—while his attendants clung to the mast vomiting and defecating, Frank still clutched his holy scripture tightly. William had even prepared a contingency plan: if Frank changed his mind halfway, he'd refund half the fare.

Had he not been liable to vomit at any moment, William believed Frank would have loudly chanted the classic passages of the saint's suffering—though his disheveled appearance made him far less saintly than when he'd set out.

The moment he stepped onto the ice plain, this missionary earned the basic respect of William and all other crew members; at least they'd witnessed his faith.

Out of respect for his faith, William decided once again to try changing his mind. After all, watching a decent man blindly throw himself into this unreasonable place was psychologically unbearable. The ticket money was already in hand; given this substantial income, it wouldn't hurt to work overtime—returning with another contact wouldn't hurt either.

With this thought, William personally supported Frank's unsteady steps as he disembarked, setting foot on the crude dock.

It was less a dock than a stone wall built along the coastline from scattered rocks, meant only to mark a relatively safe anchorage amid the vast shore. Large black stones were packed with smaller stones and soil; from afar, they looked shaped, but up close, you could believe it was nature's own artistry.

Dozens of furry figures had already waited on the dock. Their faces bore unrecognizable painted patterns, and their full-body fur suits, while made of material equivalent to plate armor, were stitched with near-zero craftsmanship—yet their practical value in this region earned a perfect score.

Seeing William's party disembark, they did not lower their weapons. One giant, noticeably taller than his companions, stepped forward and embraced William in a bear-hug with genuine bear-fur texture, greeting him in fluent Wenden Port Norse.

"Ah ha, William! What a surprise—you're two full days ahead of schedule."

"Of course," William said, waving to Frank behind him to come forward. The attendant, still weak from vomiting aboard ship, leaned on his sword and eyed the giant warily.

"Let me introduce you—this is Bjorn. His name means 'as strong as a bear.' All these dozen or so people answer to him," William told Frank. "By the way, did you learn the language of the snow plains before coming to preach? I should warn you—he's an exception."

"..."

Fine. The first step stalled. William hadn't expected Frank to have considered this at all. It made sense—he probably thought Norse was some universal language, or simply didn't consider coming to the ice plain as leaving home.

This was perfect—it had a striking deterrent effect. William turned his back on Frank and gave Bjorn the ice plain's fist-slam gesture, meant to intimidate, then continued: "This man wishes to introduce his god to you. Please explain the rules here."

Bjorn understood the gesture: "Simple. We ice plains folk have few rules—just complete our traditional ritual. Let's load the goods onto the sled and head back." He pulled a large sled made of rare ice plain wood and began unloading cargo from the ship.

…

…

Frank thought Bjorn made it sound simple—until they arrived and realized only the explanation of the process was simple.

From this coastal settlement, looking deeper into the ice plain, one saw barren, snow-covered land. At the horizon, abrupt mountains rose like crashing waves. This natural divide separated the true primitive ice plain from the relatively milder region beyond the mountains.

Their wall-building method resembled that of the Norse Kingdom, but omitted wooden structures, adopting instead snow-house-style arched roofs. One reason was the local vegetation—only low shrubs and moss. Another was that in a place perpetually below freezing, you didn't need to worry about clay binding stones crumbling, nor about rain loosening them—only blizzards existed.

Unloading the human-powered sled, Bjorn pointed to a black rock taller than the nearby houses: "See that big black rock over there? That's where the ritual begins."

Amid Frank and his attendant's puzzled stares, he suppressed a grin and explained the ice plain's religious tradition: It was common knowledge that survival on the ice plain had always been humanity's greatest challenge, and all religious practices revolved around it.

Naturally, to prove your god worthy of worship, you must show your god grants powerful survival ability. The old custom required departing from a tribe-designated starting point—naked, unarmed, without water or food—heading toward the distant mountains. Within those black-rock mountains lay countless caves; deep inside, you'd find "living stone." Bring back a piece as proof.

The entire process varied by tribe's distance to the mountains, lasting from several months to a year. Tribes would democratically select a few individuals to follow from afar as witnesses.

As for "living stone," according to Bjorn, it resembled most ice plain rocks. The stones used for building houses, the stones marking the starting point, and the stones forming the mountains were all the same black rock—except that living stone was instantly recognizable as "alive," found only deep within mountain caves, and the fragments broken off would die within days, requiring immediate verification by witnesses.

You enter a cave of your choice once you arrive. Your god will guide you. No one follows you down, because once inside, it's hard to get out.

You ask how one survives without clothes, tools, or food? The ice plain isn't without animals—use the power your god grants you to take from them.

If you complete this ritual and prove your god truly grants the power to survive, the tribe will build you the strongest house as a divine messenger. The living stone you bring back will be embedded in the wall as proof of the miracle. Thirty years ago, the old shaman received a revelation from the Stone God and completed this feat under the witness of several trusted warriors—thus the entire tribe converted to the Stone God.

When he died, his successor must undergo the same ritual. But since those truly touched by the divine are exceedingly rare, most tribes remain without faith.

…

…

Honestly, William had never heard this before. He glanced skeptically at Bjorn, signaling whether he was exaggerating too much.

"Don't look at me—I speak nothing but truth. We never joke about this." He gestured to the physical disparity between them and laughed. "Honestly, I never imagined a Norseman attempting this ritual—yet as far as I know, even among your priests, how many truly possess divine power like our old shaman?"