Chapter 331: The Holy Relic

“They’ve gone far away—did you really prepare a late-night snack?”

“Of course. I owe it to the generous Baron Pri Aier , who provided fresh ingredients untouched by local peculiar cooking methods.” Kraft brushed the dust off his robe, once again grateful for his habit of always wearing gloves.

Some say dust is the snow of time; this place ought to belong to Wenden Port in the realm of time, and a little farther still, it would fall beyond the edge of civilization, buried under snow.

In just one generation’s absence, the sturdy nests humans once painstakingly built became haunted grounds that made even them tremble.

“Quick, flip through and see if there’s anything special—let’s finish early, I’m starting to feel hungry.”

This place was only the size of a regular bedroom; the small miscellaneous items had long been cleared out. A swift inspection should still let us catch the hot soup.

“What do you think we’re looking for?” Brother Raymond glanced at the corridor, now returned to silence.

“I’m not sure. If it’s already left—or simply dissolved—that would be best. But if not, you might recognize it when you see it, like suddenly solving a difficult problem or understanding a text you’d never read before.”

“I suppose you mean words like ‘illumination,’ ‘revelation,’ or ‘enlightenment’—there are ready-made terms for those in the scriptures.”

“Thanks for the reminder, but there is a difference. Unlike something you figure out yourself, you can’t accurately describe that feeling to others afterward.” Kraft set down the ledger and pulled hard on the drawer of the holy relic cabinet; the mechanism seemed rusted somewhere.

“But there’s another possibility—you feel nothing at all, until much later, when you connect it to a new clue.”

“So what’s my point here?”

“Of course—you can help me keep accounts.” Kraft yanked the drawer up and down with force until it finally came free. As expected, it was empty. “Oh, well, don’t look at me like that—I’m joking.”

“Actually, I need you to identify specific symbols. I don’t recognize these flashy decorations—what if something inside requires a theology degree to understand?”

“There are plenty here with theological training, but only one is currently suitable to know the truth—there’s no second option.”

“Are the young ones ready for what they’ll face? Is this appropriate?” Raymond realized too late he had smoothly excluded the other from the category of “young ones,” placing him among Green’s generation.

“In truth, we’re not sure what we’ll encounter either—and we’ll remain in this state of ignorance for a long time. Explaining a storm to an inlander on his first voyage is too hard; you wait until thunder roars and point to the approaching wall of clouds and say, ‘That’s what you’re facing.’”

“What if someone is terrified out of his wits?”

“Then at least we can still send him back to shore.” Kraft turned the drawer over and over, inspecting every surface, then tossed it to the monk, who was stroking his short beard in thought.

“First, help me check these. Have a little faith in the young lads—if all else fails, they can go down to the farms to collect rents for the knightly order. At least they can count.”

“Don’t you dare tell them ahead of time, or you’ll end up with twelve farm owners.”

“Why not? Don’t they want to become true Church knights?”

“What’s the ultimate goal of a knight?”

“Land grants.”

“And what are land grants for?”

“Collecting rents…” Damn—it had jumped straight to the goal, skipping half a lifetime of detours.

The most comfortable option must never be laid out plainly. The two reached an unspoken agreement on this matter and returned to inventorying the knightly order’s assets.

As the inventory progressed, Kraft reluctantly abandoned the idea of selling off the precious metals directly. On one hand, the order’s finances were currently sound; on the other, these items held considerable artistic value—intact pieces were worth far more, though harder to sell.

He pried open every accessible compartment, felt the backs of drawers, tapped for hollow structures, searching for hidden objects.

The design of these items was quite clever: the drawers, once removed from the relic cabinet, could be fitted together atop pre-set slots to form a small display stand for close-up veneration.

The walnut wood body was deep and lustrous, edged with gold leaf and outlined with carved clamshell inlays forming swirling cloud patterns, making the surface appear as if suspended above a churning sea of clouds.

The rest of the decoration was simpler: graceful, fluid lines like rain or silk flowed downward to meet the legs, forming claw-ball shapes midway between avian talons and primate palms, gripping the spherical base of each leg.

The holy relics inside were, of course, gone—but judging by the drawer’s size, each relic must have been no larger than a fist, with at least three or four in total.

Raymond seemed puzzled by the object. “They actually had a holy relic cabinet.”

“What’s strange about that? I thought every monastery or church had one—even the church in Wenden Port had one. I saw it as a child. I heard it belonged to Saint Simon.” Back then, it was too far away, no guide, just a glimpse of an ornate cabinet—he hadn’t seen what was inside.

An academic had inadvertently revealed his frequency of church visits.

“Not that common,” Raymond examined the cabinet from near and far, trying to reconstruct what might have been stored inside.

“Generally, only places with some scale and history possess holy relics, and there are standards. The most exalted are relics that directly touched the Heavenly Father—the Mother Cathedral holds the cup He used when He descended in human form, occasionally displayed during rituals.”

“I’ve heard the Holy City still keeps the Crown of Thorns, but I doubt I’ll ever set foot on the continent’s kingdoms to see it with my own eyes.”

“That’s too far off. More often, relics are the belongings of famous figures or certain ‘miraculous’ objects—but these usually require a connection to the religious order.”

“They must be the important relics of the order’s founder or a canonized patron saint, or at least align with the order’s mission—education, evangelism, aiding the poor. For instance, our knightly order would suit relics tied to healing miracles—you really should consider acquiring such items.”

As he explained, Raymond subtly reprimanded the new, complacent Grand Master—it was time to acquire some items with no practical use, just for show.

“Sometimes, objects linked to the order’s history or major achievements are preserved as relics too. But these all share one common trait—they’re famous.”

The monk leaned close to the assembled display stand, searching for traces of pedestals or shadow impressions. “Not just famous—extremely famous. The churches and monasteries that hold them actively promote them to draw more pilgrims.”

“And these relics must undergo official verification and certification before recognition, receiving a certificate stamped and sealed—meaning, they’re registered in Dunling.”

As essential items for Church operations, the certification standards were far stricter than outsiders imagined. Approval required submission by the regional bishop, review by the Canonization Department, consultation with historians and theologians, public scrutiny by cardinals, and final confirmation of legal compliance—each step documented with records and signatories.

“But you’ve never seen one?” Kraft guessed the issue.

“No.”

“Could it be that bishops have issued so many relics in recent years that you’ve lost track?”

“This monastery was the former diocesan center. Before abandonment, it had been used for only a couple of decades—where would there be a historically significant order with famous figures nearby?” Logically, it made no sense.

“Another problem: where did they take the relic? Relocation requires reporting, approval, and notification to pilgrims—even in emergencies, a post-facto explanation is mandatory. This isn’t personal property…”

“Unless they never submitted it for certification in Dunling at all—so there’s no record, no relocation application, no trace of its destination.” Kraft supplied the rest.

“In other words, there’s now a highly probable item, deeply tied to this local order and extremely important, that was illegally moved somewhere unknown?”

Raymond nodded heavily.

“Is there any way to track it down?” This might be a clearer breakthrough.

“They couldn’t erase all past records of the diocese. If we search carefully, we’ll find traces somewhere. If we’re lucky, some of those half-rotted books might still hold answers.”