Chapter 340: The Days That Won

"Captain, it's time for morning prayer."

"Mr. Kraft, breakfast has been kept warm for you. By the way, yesterday's missed lesson and last week's teaching references..."

"Captain, will you be guiding today's morning training?"

"Father, the night duty roster for next week is complete; please review."

"Your Grace, here are the costs for all repair materials and labor last month. Also, the carpenter says the oak from Priel's lands is insufficient—should we buy elsewhere, or substitute another wood? The effect might..."

"Respected Dean, Baron von Dern wishes to know if you have time soon for some spiritual guidance, and to discuss the land purchase we previously mentioned..."

"My brother, based on past experience, we should negotiate a wheat procurement plan with the freeholders before harvest, to prepare early for winter..."

"Captain, we've compiled a list of all damaged monastery structures—which should we prioritize for repair?"

"Teacher, uh... never mind, you go ahead and work."

"The stonemasons say they're short-handed; we should hire workers from below the mountain to help..."

"Captain, another letter arrived, addressed to you—but the title listed is 'Lecturer.' Could it have been misdelivered?"

"Captain, about that thing we mentioned earlier..."

"Captain!"

"Captain?"

"Mr. Kraft... sir? Your breakfast seems to have gone cold—should I bring you a fresh one?"

"Thank you, no need. Just return the bread slices to the kitchen stove to reheat—they can go with lunch." A stiff, lifeless face slowly lifted, meeting the visitor's gaze.

Though deeply unprofessional, Kup still instinctively recalled the rigid facial expression discussed days ago—commonly seen in severe neuropsychiatric disorders. The treatment section of that lecture had never been made up; he didn't know if it was omitted or simply forgotten.

"Are you alright?"

"Still alive—for now." Kraft swept aside the still-wet documents, leaned over the desk, and pulled the soup bowl toward him.

A thin layer of white fat floated on the surface, embedded with a few leaf fragments—like frozen sailboats trapped in ice, utterly killing any appetite.

"What is it?"

"Well, actually, yes." Kup wanted to say no, but he hadn't come just to chat—"They sent me to ask whether a tower should be added to the repair list."

"Which one? Didn't we already decide?" Kraft reviewed the blueprints; most of the towers attached to the main building were still structurally sound, and he recalled none needing major repairs.

"None of those. They found a new one—at the summit."

"Where would a tower come from there?" On the very day he arrived, the surroundings had been thoroughly explored; the summit was, in his memory, an undeveloped flat area.

"More precisely, there once was a tower. They don't know what it was used for, so they're asking."

"Sigh. Take me to see it." Decisions about funding repairs to buildings required the Dean's approval—he had to go, no matter what.

Like a demon imprisoned for twenty years within the monastery's high walls, Kraft drifted away from his chair, gliding past the watered, swept corridors and weeded courtyards, following the chilled Kup up to the summit.

Among the thickets and weeds, they saw what was called a "tower"—a...

Pool?

Near the cliff's edge, a square depression had been carved into the bedrock, filled with murky water and floating fragments of brick and rotting wood.

He'd noticed the place on his first visit, but assumed it was a reservoir for ritual bathing. There was even a drainage channel nearby to carry away excess water.

"Where's the tower?" Kraft nearly suspected someone was trying to scam him for funds.

"Your Grace, this is the tower's foundation." The stonemason from Dunling, whose expertise was exceptional, showed no fear under the Dean's scrutiny.

"I thought it was a pool at first too, but the stones are too precisely shaped—carving them would take enormous effort. For mere water storage, that's unnecessary. So I cleared the surrounding area." He pointed to holes exposed after brushing away weeds and soil. "These are anchor holes—for wooden stakes and pegs, to build scaffolding. They were removed after construction."

"Then these grooves aren't for drainage?"

"No, they are—stone foundations don't absorb water; too much pooling makes work difficult."

"..."

The stonemason grew tense. Though certain of his judgment, who knew if this answer might somehow offend something inexplicable?

He opened his mouth to say more—to admit he'd merely acted on past experience, lacking higher wisdom. But the Dean's attendant, standing silently beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head slightly: no need to elaborate.

Kraft didn't make them wait long. "Why assume it was a tower?"

"The foundation is narrow but deep—no other structure would require this."

"But where did it go? A tower of that size isn't a child's block—it doesn't just appear and vanish."

"Probably a center-of-gravity issue. The remaining wood is thick—likely vertical posts. It must have collapsed under its own weight. Otherwise, such large timber would've been reused for something else." The carpenter speculated, then added, almost as an afterthought, "If you rebuild, I recommend oak—denser, and insect-resistant."

"Understood. Thank you for your work. Return to your tasks. We'll notify you once we've decided on reconstruction."

Kraft nodded to the craftsmen, forcing a weak, professional smile to acknowledge their diligence. Kup understood and dispersed the crowd.

When he returned to Kraft's side, the latter was circling the foundation, his steps growing wider until he stopped at the cliff's edge, feet dangling above the valley still veiled in morning mist.

"Do you have an order?"

"Take two or three people tomorrow and search below. Not too many."

"Search for what?"

"The tower's remains—and other things, and signs of them. You know what I mean." The professor paused, then added, "Bring Yvonne. Give her some real work."

The overwhelmed guardian finally remembered he had a student: "By the way, what's she been doing lately?"

"Probably studying. Sometimes she helps clean the monastery—provided the monks trade her stories for it."

"Good. I always feel she holds biases against everyone. That won't help her future relationships."

"You're overthinking it. She gets along well with everyone, and she has her own ideas—don't treat her like a child." Kup thought Kraft should worry less about others' mental states and more about his own.

"By the way, what do you want for lunch?"

"Just bring whatever's available and set it on the table. I'll eat soon... no, I'll look a bit longer first."