Chapter 11: Wendeng Port

"That's quite reasonable."

Kraft felt his cousin truly possessed some talent for being a bard in a tavern; the stories he heard from William were remembered with remarkable clarity, and the details about the sea and the ice plains that he had overheard were inserted into this story so reasonably that it seemed as if he had truly accompanied William as an observer on that ice plain journey.

Pity there was only Kraft as an audience on this trip. Had this been in a tavern, a story containing such currently hottest elements as sea voyages, exotic customs, and the stupidity of the Church, with some artistic additions regarding human primal instincts, would surely have had the entire audience buying him drinks; he could have performed a special show for a month without any problem.

But Cousin Ryan had not yet realized this business opportunity; he took out his waterskin, gulped down a large mouthful of water, and continued his tale.

……

……

In the cold wind, Frank stood frozen in place. In an era without televisions or Bear Grylls, probably no one except the ice plain people knew that humans could conquer the wilderness with bare hands.

Even many ice plain tribes that had not produced a shaman for several generations would soon become skeptical about whether anyone could complete the ritual, until another peerless tough man emerged to gather their simple faith.

However, there was now one person whose face was even worse than Frank's, and that was his attendant. Others might think Frank was about to give up, but he knew Frank well; silence did not necessarily mean returning home, it could also be that Frank was truly considering the feasibility of this matter.

Before coming, Mr. the attendant had already thought through many terrible possibilities, such as a terrible living environment, extremely unfriendly locals, and how to build a church from scratch. The worst of these was merely that Frank would emulate some hardcore ruthless figures in Church history and build his own church with his own hands—in that case, he could only accompany him to the end.

Reality was far more absurd than imagination; if Frank truly wanted to participate in this ritual, was it him going personally, or was it his attendant setting out on his behalf? There was no essential difference between the two; it was merely committing suicide after Frank's death, or freezing to death a bit earlier.

"The Holy Scripture records that Saint John walked barefoot over burning iron plates without the slightest injury; therefore, to spread the Lord's voice, I too will accept the Lord's trial." Frank raised his head and looked firmly at the stone serving as the starting point. "So when can we begin?"

William was stunned, the several sailors who came along were stunned, even Bjorn was shocked, and the ice plain people still unloading goods from the sledges looked utterly bewildered; they did not understand Norse and did not know what had happened over here.

Before William could react, Bjorn quickly reined in his casual smile, removed his fur hood, and gazed at Frank with a serious attitude. After receiving Frank's equally firm gaze in response, he slowed his speech, as if afraid Frank could not hear clearly, and spoke clearly in Norse, syllable by syllable: "This is no joke."

Frank nodded.

William nearby could clearly distinguish a respectful and solemn expression on Bjorn's face, which was covered in mineral dye, an expression he had never seen before, frightening him into not daring to speak. He adjusted his beard and reached his left hand behind his back toward the single-edged axe he carried; William almost thought he was going to use the axe to blood-sacrifice Frank to the Stone God.

But Bjorn did not reach for the axe handle. The notched axe blade sliced through his palm, and fresh blood dripped from his palm, yet he seemed unaware of it. He raised his bleeding hand high, spread his arms, and roared toward the distant mountain range: "Hellehus!"

At this, the ice plain people around understood; expressions indescribable appeared on their faces, and they unhesitatingly dropped whatever they were holding, not even noticing the wine barrels that were not securely fastened rolling far away.

"Hellehus!" All the ice plain people present emitted a deafening roar together. The huge sound opened every door in the settlement; ice plain people wearing different fur coats, whether male or female, young or old, put down what they were doing and walked toward this side, quickly forming a huge semi-circle around them.

One ice plain person, as tall as Bjorn, pushed through the crowd with his hand, making way for an old man behind him who was half a head taller. William recognized them: one was Bjorn's father, the leader of the entire tribe, and the old man with white beard and hair was the tribe's old shaman, the very person who had stood here thirty years ago.

The shaman walked slowly to Frank, who was surrounded by the crowd, said nothing more, raised no questions about his figure being half a head shorter than his own, and simply drew a stone knife from his rough fur clothing, similar to that of the other ice plain people.

Like Bjorn, the stone knife sliced across the left palm. The wound was deep, yet only a small amount of dark, viscous blood seeped from the wound. The old shaman reached out and smeared a black-red, oil-paint-like blood streak on Frank's face, who was barely holding himself upright, then turned to look at Bjorn.

"The old shaman recognizes your courage; we have also informed the mountains of your arrival. Once you strip away all external objects beneath the stone, you may set out." Fearing Frank might be uneasy, he added, "The warrior responsible for witnessing the ritual will be chosen shortly; whether you succeed or fail, you need not worry about your reputation."

……

……

"Ah, this..." Kraft was completely speechless. "So, does the snow plain side provide corpse collection?"

"I must say, he really is a true man." Ryan laughed with some schadenfreude. "But you guessed wrong; the next day, when William and the others went to find this fellow, they discovered he actually hadn't died."

"What?!"

"Not only did he not die, but they found the unconscious Frank in the snow exactly five kilometers away from the stone. When they found him, he looked like he had lost a whole layer of weight; his body temperature was so high it was scalding, as if he had burned through all the fat in his body overnight." Ryan touched his own face; his face shape was somewhat round, making it hard to imagine what it would look like if it happened to him. "Anyway, he just happened to survive; among the ice plain warriors responsible for witnessing, one was Bjorn, who mocked his god as not being very capable and then didn't stop them."

"I declare this the biggest flaw in this story; do you think you are rendering lard? Just throw it in the pot and it shrinks."

"But this is a true story." Ryan shrugged, expressing his contempt for his ignorant cousin.

Now Kraft could not accept this: "You probably heard William tell it while drunk; do you even have evidence?"

"There actually is. Don't you think the name Frank sounds familiar? Think about who in the Wendeng Port Academy is named Frank."

"Professor Frank from the Theological Academy? Impossible; his face is so wrinkled they seem to be hanging down; he must be at least sixty or older?" Kraft indeed knew this person; it was said that Teacher Anderson had a very poor relationship with him. While at the academy, this person, relying on the great power of the Theological Academy and his natural incompatibility, had excluded Anderson and others who liked to study abnormal phenomena quite often.

This person did not like people outside the academy stepping through the academy gates, especially looking down on "country nobles" like the Wood family who lacked culture; sometimes when Ryan and Kraft went to deliver letters to Anderson's acquaintances, they had to be careful to avoid him.

Ryan let out a laugh like a hiccup. "I had to treat William to three bottles of wine to learn his dark history; even Teacher Anderson might not be clear on it. Those are not wrinkles at all; they are skin that became too long after he grew thin and dry. Otherwise, how do you think he could still have golden hair at such an old age?"

"Alright, we are almost at Wendeng Port; you can find a student from the Theological Academy to ask when Frank came to the academy. I guess he became too ugly to return, so he stayed in Wendeng Port."

Thanks to the good weather, the two traveled much faster than on their way here. By the time the story was told intermittently over more than two days, some blurred buildings could be seen ahead, their scale far exceeding the villages where they had stopped to rest during these two days. Among them, a tall, slender building stood out particularly conspicuously; that was the academy's bell tower, built with funds from the Church to assist the academy, and naturally located within the territory of the Theological Academy.

A wind carrying a slight fishy smell, a slightly trembling bell sound. Kraft knew they had returned to this rare city in the northern region of the kingdom: Wendeng Port.