Chapter 249: Lost Branches

Indeed, not many people can enter the Church's vast library, and unrestricted access to consult documents is a privilege and an honor.

Perhaps because they are generally educated, they understand the scarcity and fragility of knowledge all the more. From the moment the first missionary stepped onto the kingdom's beaches to the hundred years since the Cathedral of the Holy Mother was completed, the organization and individuals have never ceased producing and collecting texts.

Many figures with a Church background share similar habits, devoting themselves to organizing and translating ancient texts or recording various contents. History, literature, poetry, drama, folk culture, medical remedies, even trivial matters—this depends on personal preference.

Because they lack a systematic structure, these things are vast and fragile, like a magnificent large glass vessel, easily lost in some accident or change of family fortune, scattered into the vast, valueless cultural vacuum where no one knows their worth.

But a portion is always collected, such as donations to the faith made by book owners on their deathbeds, or the purchasing achievements of certain monks; plus, the Church itself is a rich source of production, so the quantity becomes quite considerable.

Even many contents "likely to lead unsteady lambs astray" are archived for preservation, to be used when needed.

Of course, trickles do not always merge into rivers; more likely, poor drainage creates stagnant pools. Cell division does not necessarily mean body growth; disordered proliferation can only be called a tumor.

The Church's collection is closer to the latter, and a late-stage one at that. After all, it is difficult to allocate redundant staff for a long-term sorting and classification job with no guaranteed return; in fact, merely managing to maintain it is already no small feat.

Like a huge reservoir, the administrators only pour water in, neglecting to clean it, and may not even carefully check what they are pouring in; one can imagine the environment after so many years.

For those trying to dig out useful content from it, it cannot be called finding a needle in a haystack; it can only be called butterfly swimming in a cesspit.

And Green found himself to be the person standing on the shore holding a small raft.

"Here to return books?" the copying monk glanced at the person's arm, where he was tucking a condensed version of "Heraldry," then lowered his head again to transcribe the contents of an old book word by word.

"No, this is my own." Green hid the book a bit; it was something left over from when he was still pursuing a theology degree, and now it looked as good as new. "I am here to find books."

The part-time administrator monk naturally carried an aura that preferred communicating with books over people, with no intention of hindering or facilitating, "Please, go ahead."

Behind him was a space far larger than the Inquisition's evidence room, with rows of shelves placed against support pillars, various carriers of text arranged unevenly above.

If he wasn't mistaken, he saw woodblocks inside, not rubbings, but original objects taken from buildings or other items, just placed in an empty spot.

Before coming, he had thought it best to come and go quietly, find the relevant data, and leave; now he realized he had overestimated his own level.

With this book he had reviewed for two or three days, it didn't even count as a table of contents.

Forced by circumstances, the Inquisition priest gave up the idea of solving it himself and asked in a low voice, "May I ask where I should go to find books related to the early kingdom?"

The copying monk finished the last letter of the word, lifted his pen and rested it on the rim of the inkwell beside him, freed his hand and extended it backward; just as Green was about to thank him for pointing the way, he turned sideways and swept a half-circle, encompassing the entire library.

"I believe you can find content of interest on most shelves, just as every beach allows one to pick up seashells."

Yes, and then I would spend my whole life counting sand on the beach just like you. Green muttered to himself.

He should have realized earlier that those who appear here are the ones who have gone mad with learning, developing a twisted obsession with reading dusty texts and a superiority based on it, to the point of losing the ability to integrate into normal social interaction, which is why they were assigned here.

It solved the need for library management and also solved the employment trouble for these people, but it tortured those who came to find books.

In Green's view, these people were closer to the most obsessed scholars than monks, or perhaps the two had no clear boundary to begin with.

But he did not express his opinion, only timely interrupting the other's tendency to continue immersing himself in his own world. "I want to find some books about noble families, the earlier the better; do you have any recommendations?"

"The earlier the better?"

The copying monk touched the top of his head, where long-untended short hair had grown back with a greenish stubble, and shouted into the rows of Lin Li's bookshelves, "Hey, you there, someone wants to check a family tree, a very old one."

Another fellow, looking much the same and even more unkempt, crawled out from the depths of the library, waved at the newcomer, and then silently walked deeper inside.

Green paused for a moment before realizing that was probably an invitation to follow, then strode over the sheets of paper spread out on the ground to dry and chased after him.

In a corner of the library with a very private atmosphere, a simple desk enjoyed all the sunlight cast by a round window; a stack of paper drafts, a few old books were placed in a casual and somewhat unstable position, along with uncapped ink.

During a lull in his sorting, Green leaned in for a look; it was names and patterns strung together by tree-like lines, outlined with a fine brush and decorated with hand-drawn figures of people and animals, done very exquisitely.

Some parts had already been colored in, becoming a chart combining readability and aesthetics; the jingling of a full money bag indicated he had received considerable compensation from those who cared about such things.

"Just making a living," the monk's explanation was not very convincing. "Which family within the kingdom do you wish to know about?"

"I wouldn't dare say the whole kingdom, but at least those who own a piece of land and a surname by the Tem River, I can say a few words about."

"All of them?"

"Uh, not that exaggerated; at least they must have some fame, not some country farm owners whose coats of arms can't even be found."

"That's good." Green nodded, realizing that indeed professional matters should be left to professionals; keeping a group of people dedicated to studying a seemingly meaningless subject still had its meaning.

"Then which family do you wish to know about?"

"Not in a hurry yet; may I ask your name?"

"You may call me Ma Erke."

"Very well, Ma Erke. Now, in the name of the Inquisition, I require you to swear that the content of the following inquiry will be kept absolutely confidential; you are not allowed to leak a single word, intentionally or unintentionally, or your soul will fall into hell, forever burned by flames until the Day of Judgment arrives."

The priest stiffened his face; the tone of a verdict, bolstered by his status, reached a level that instilled fear. "This is to prevent enemies of God from exploiting us and plunging us into irreparable sin."

"Ah?" The monk was first startled by the sudden solemn atmosphere, then realized he had no right to refuse. "Yes, I swear; only we and the Heavenly Father will know what happened here."

"Very good. Please remember, today I only came to chat with you about some gossip and anecdotes regarding a certain family; nothing happened."

"Yes, yes." The monk, struck by this sudden misfortune, repeatedly agreed, hoping to get rid of this terrifying Inquisition figure sooner, while guessing which unlucky surname was being targeted.

"So which family's bloodline do you wish to know about?"

"The Royal Family."

"Ah?" The impatient, conflicted, and painful expression on his face, forced by circumstances to handle the matter, froze briefly for a moment, showing confusion, and finally turned into a solemn respect born of misunderstanding.

"I didn't expect you to be interested in this, but I'm afraid this is a question with no perfect answer."

"Why?"

"The Royal bloodline is extremely prolific; the most complex coat of arms at the very tips even requires dozens of divisions, and the branches connecting the main trunk and the canopy... to be ashamed, many have not been clearly depicted."

It seems the professor might have been right, at least partially. Green remained noncommittal, signaling the other to continue speaking.