Chapter 325

After several days of travel, the convoy halted at a narrow pass for a brief rest.

The young men from the Church barely rested at all, eagerly unloading brand-new full plate armor from their mules and donning it with the help of attendants, transforming themselves into gleaming, polished tin cans.

These fifteen sets of the latest full plate armor could not be obtained merely with money, especially since they included custom-fitted components featuring the uncommon beak-faced visors, inspired by the well-known physician’s mask.

This initial practical investment effectively won the new captain widespread support; the recruits soon discovered their superior was a relaxed and generous man.

They had received these expensive gifts in Dunling, but the grueling mountain march made adding extra weight impractical, and no clever bandits in the hills bothered to appear and offer a chance to test them.

Now, at last, the convoy had reached its destination, and a bold, conspicuous outfit was needed to display the knightly order’s spirit, show respect to the land’s lord, and, if necessary, serve as a deterrent to those harboring hidden malice.

Of course, they could not simply ride straight to the manor’s gate—that would invite unnecessary misunderstandings and panic.

The correct procedure was to send their most steady and reliable member ahead with the Church’s letter, to announce the visitors’ identity and purpose, and to grant the lord ample time to prepare.

Since both parties theoretically belonged to the Church’s system, some redundant formalities could be waived, but a proper welcoming ceremony and subsequent banquet were still required.

Brother Raymond accepted the mission to deliver the letter. While waiting idly, Kraft began observing the unfamiliar territory before him, preparing mentally for the upcoming meeting.

It was a long, narrow mountain plateau, split into three sections by branching streams, making what was already visually cramped feel even more confined.

Almost the entire visible flat area was covered in wheat fields, leaving little open space even around the small castle at the confluence of the streams.

The low castle towers looked even more financially strained than the Wood family’s, and the fence had never been replaced by stone walls—but it did include a building that appeared to be a small chapel, revealing the builder’s conviction that the Heavenly Father would protect him during a siege.

A few trees, seemingly old, dotted the fields; perhaps they were spared because their broad canopies provided shade for gatherings, and also served as convenient sources of timber for siege engines during wartime.

The messenger’s glinting figure grew smaller and smaller, like a silver coin rolling across a yellow-green silk ribbon, already more than halfway to his destination.

Kraft still saw no sentry on the tower.

Perhaps there was another way to greet them: mount these eager newcomers directly, charge forward at full speed, and within ten minutes they could be dragging the castle lord’s ear, asking him why his beloved Heavenly Father hadn’t been watching more closely.

This impolite thought lasted only an instant—truly, only an instant.

As the knightly order’s captain, a compassionate and devout man, he could never do such a thing to a believer of the Lord—but that didn’t stop him from allowing a faint, genuine smile to cross his face.

The plump, defenseless sheep indicated no beasts posed a constant threat—at least not on the surface.

Towering, rugged mountains encircled this outdoor paradise; the pass they currently occupied was actually better suited for building a castle—half the labor would suffice to seal off the inside, at the cost of the castle’s lord being deprived of most daylight due to the enclosing slopes.

The twelve knightly members were now fully armed and mounted in formation. In Kraft’s view, their horsemanship still needed improvement, but the rough terrain had clearly trained them well since departure—they no longer risked falling off their saddles during acceleration.

The riders were even more restless than their horses, their occasional fidgets revealing they were far less composed than they appeared, though Church-trained discipline kept the formation orderly.

Never doubt the desire of a young novice to gallop forth with sword in hand.

They did not wait long; Raymond soon returned with the Priyel family’s steward and a formal invitation.

“Whoever accidentally steps into the wheat field pays for the next team dinner,” Kraft called over his shoulder, as the cheering, jubilant group surged with him through the pass.

They encountered no one worth boasting about—only occasional farmers lifting their heads from the wheat, staring in astonishment at the strange procession and their double-winged ouroboros crest.

This wave of armored knights, nearly overwhelming in its metallic grandeur, slowed to a halt before the fence, eliciting a cold sweat from the approaching castle lord.

On him, Kraft could still detect traces of past training, though most had been buried beneath a layer of soft fat from years of comfort; his loose garments bore embroidered patterns of wings and angels, and his movements exuded an enviable casualness.

“Welcome, honored guests brought by the Heavenly Father,” Baron Priyel’s demeanor was better than expected—a familiar, almost familial warmth typical of fellow believers meeting, like encountering a distant relative you can’t quite remember during the New Year.

“I never imagined this place would be remembered by the Holy Seat again. Please, come in quickly.”

The convoy’s support staff were settled in the castle courtyard, where servants dragged out the long-unused dining table, rinsed it briefly, and served food directly upon it.

The knightly order’s official members followed inside, exchanging pleasantries with the lord about the terrible roads and the capricious mountain weather.

The baron warmly invited the young captain to sit beside him and share his favorite main course—a few dishes made from unidentified small animals, seasoned with spicy spices, clearly not from domesticated stock.

The other dishes were essentially the same as those outside: slightly better-made breads and flatbreads, hastily prepared vegetable stews, cured meats, and a small amount of dairy products with a faint gamy odor.

Kraft tasted a bit politely, praised the local cuisine for its rustic simplicity and natural sourcing, and skillfully shifted the topic away from food just before the mushroom dishes arrived.

Regarding the transfer of the monastery and surrounding lands, the baron showed no sign of reluctance—on the contrary, he seemed almost eager, despite these properties having belonged to the Priyel family for most of his life.

“When I was a boy, the domain was far livelier. The monastery would purchase daily supplies from us—vegetables and fruits they couldn’t grow, and wheat for storage and brewing.”

“Priests and monks came and went, various caravans passed through, even traveling merchants were drawn here annually for Church-organized markets.”

The portly baron was restrained with alcohol, adhering to his family’s religious atmosphere, drinking only a few sips of light homemade wheat wine—but his complaints soon drifted into the distant past, the kind one only speaks of after downing a full flask of Father Adrian’s special brew.

Perhaps it had been too long since he’d spoken with outsiders; he spoke of the prosperity the Church once brought, memories that, with time, had grown sharper rather than faded.

It was clear that the deepening relationship between the Priyel domain and the Church had been a long process.

“Then—snap—suddenly, one year.” He clapped his hands helplessly, spreading them wide like a bursting bubble. “Everything vanished. The abbot told my father they were leaving this place.”

Though over twenty years had passed, his expression still bore unmistakable disbelief. “They just left—abandoning the monastery, the surrounding lands, even the half-harvested wheat—to us. They didn’t even bother with regular maintenance, probably fearing some unscrupulous soul might steal something.”

“You understand, our family are devout believers of the Heavenly Father, so we kept watch, never letting anyone in. We assumed everything would return to normal within a few months.”

“And then?”

“Then the matter passed to me, along with the title.”

Fortunately, this generation of Baron Priyel was truly devout, treating it as some kind of trial and holding on to it ever since. He had been curious, but since he didn’t need to guard it personally, there was no need to dig deeper.

“It seems the Heavenly Father has not forgotten His faithful servant—the Holy Seat has finally sent you.” The knightly order’s arrival reignited the baron’s hope for the domain’s future; in his eyes, this was clearly a turning point.

Without needing to ask further, those fifteen sets of armor clearly signaled they were here for serious business, and they carried personal letters signed by the archbishop and multiple bishops.

In truth, this wasn’t wrong—the knightly order needed to procure supplies locally, hire locals to repair buildings and cultivate Fushu land, and construct many facilities. For the region, this meant substantial tax revenue and a cascade of associated benefits.

Kraft could sense the baron’s emotions were genuine; he was glad his new neighbor was easy to get along with—but he wanted to know far more than this.

While the banquet was in full swing, the new owner of the monastery asked about its condition: “Thank you for the hospitality. By the way, we’ll soon have to begin managing this old building that hasn’t opened in over twenty years—it won’t be easy, surely. Do you have any advice?”

“It will indeed take some time,” the baron set down his cup and popped the last piece of dark meat into his mouth with a bite of bread. “If you don’t mind the humble conditions, I’d be delighted to invite you to stay at the castle.”

“I’ll assign the men who’ve been guarding it to accompany you—they know the place better than anyone. You may ask them anything you wish to know.”

“Thank you for your help,” Kraft quietly pushed the food slightly farther from himself, then added casually, “By the way, do you know why the monastery was sealed all those years ago?”

“Er… I hadn’t yet taken over family duties then, so I’m not entirely clear.” The baron’s face flickered with embarrassment at his ignorance of his own domain, rummaging through his sparse memories for something to keep the conversation going.

“I recall hearing of a few minor accidents before that time, but they probably weren’t related.”

“Minor accidents?”

“Something like the spire collapsing, someone dying as a result, a monk suddenly falling gravely ill and passing away, and a traveling merchant stumbling and vanishing on a path he’d walked countless times—later, no body was found down in the valley…”

“I know of three or four such incidents, but similar accidents happened every year—just a bit more frequent than usual.” The baron shook his head helplessly; these events were far from sufficient to explain why the Church had abandoned the monastery.

“Perhaps building a monastery so close to the Heavenly Father always comes at a cost. You should be careful on your ascent—watch for aging structures, and wait until repairs are complete before moving in.”

“Understood. Thank you for the warning.”