Chapter 371: The Abbey Is Also an Institution

“Phew! Thank heaven, it’s done.”

Kraft burst into the office, used his last strength to fling himself into the chair, and collapsed like a sack of bones into a puddle of a man.

“Rarely do you get to whisper a few kind words about heaven to the Father yourself?”

Raymond pushed his cold breakfast slightly forward, but the nominal abbot lacked even the strength to lift a finger, utterly lost in the softness of the cushion, clearly not planning to rise until the next proper meal.

Still, he pushed the tray forward mostly as a gesture, making room for the scribe—he didn’t expect the other to bother eating, just as he’d never expected anyone to voluntarily get up and work.

Since those two unlucky kids were exiled to the foothills and returned, Kraft has been constantly shuttling between the operating room, the lab, and the wards, occasionally showing up for meals or morning prayers, but almost never appearing in the abbot’s office.

Life is often like this: choose one thing, and you must lose something else.

Only after losing it do you realize how precious a superior like Green—someone with a disciplined routine, always reachable when trouble strikes—really is.

As for Kraft, you can’t say he isn’t doing real work; you can only say his definition of “real work” might differ slightly from others’.

He gets drawn in by sudden curiosity or duty, devoting himself utterly to new problems and solving them.

Either the problem is fully resolved, or it proves an irredeemable dead end. In fact, even when facing the latter, he still makes earnest attempts.

As a colleague and collaborator, his character is worthy of everyone’s trust; as the leader of a loose organization, his ability drives the group’s technological progress; as a mentor, his scholarly vision and academic attitude are worth emulating.

But if this man is your direct superior, then damn it all.

“There’s been a lot going on lately,” Raymond opened a new document, bringing up the abbey’s recent affairs.

Had you not handled it yourself, no one would have believed a mere thirty-person abbey could generate so much work—nearly every decision triggered a cascade of follow-ups.

“This year’s autumn floods lasted longer than usual; grain procurement may face resistance—we need to prepare in advance.”

“The villagers seem to hold the abbey in good regard; we must consider restoring regular masses and confessions. If so, we’ll need to arrange personnel, venues, and funding ahead of time.”

“The manor’s construction will involve land with unclear boundaries—we must communicate in advance with neighboring landowners to avoid unnecessary disputes.”

“We’ve established letter contact with two nearby village churches; they mentioned they used to send people here for training, but we no longer have the capacity, so…”

Some matters concern winter rations, others are unavoidable abbey duties, still others are land disputes—just listening made your head ache.

Kraft shifted his posture, frowning slightly as if deep in thought—he clearly hadn’t anticipated so many trivial tasks, nor that he’d have to handle them.

Eyes surrounded by dark circles were tightly shut; hard to say whether he was resting or simply refusing to face reality.

He wasn’t incapable of handling them—just that most of these tasks were tedious, time-consuming, and required specific experience. Grain procurement and land division were manageable, but training fellow believers? That hardly seemed his responsibility at all.

Failing to train them was minor; training them wrongly was catastrophic.

Besides, if he poured energy into these matters, who would treat patients? Who would perform surgeries? Who would develop medicines? Who would handle anomalies?

He couldn’t afford to chase after trifles and neglect the essentials!

Kraft grew ever more aware of the importance of talent—recruiting Raymond, even if he’d tricked him into it, had been the wisest decision he’d ever made. Too bad one senior monk was still too few.

“Raymond, as the holy scripture says, our greatest king, while waging wars across the land, spent years on the front lines fighting enemies, yet still had to maintain his armor and sharpen his weapons at night, leaving no time for anything else.”

Raymond had a bad feeling—the man’s attitude toward scripture and theology was well known; he rarely cited it, but whenever he did, it was always with a hidden agenda.

“Does this mean our king was unfaithful or negligent in governance? Of course not—he entrusted his authority entirely to Saint Yeger, who faithfully wielded the Lord’s power and mercy for the people.”

“This proves everyone has their strengths, and no one can attend to everything. You understand doctrine deeply and excel in administration—you are precisely the kind of man like Saint Yeger, fit to serve as Grand Master of the Knightly Order and Abbey Supervisor.”

“Handle these matters as you see fit. I will devote myself entirely to medicine.”

Before Raymond could react and stop that mouth from speaking further, the promotion had already landed on his head—in a blink, he’d become the diocese’s second-in-command.

It sounded wonderful—but Raymond felt as if struck by a bolt from the blue.

His workload had permanently doubled; he suspected he was now only one step away from sainthood’s prerequisites.

Still, Kraft’s conscience and reason made him realize one person couldn’t shoulder everything—he needed someone else equally capable to share the burden.

Yes, with the abbey’s growing foot traffic, increasing administrative complexity, difficulty in training specialists, and rising demands for shifts and emergency response, they urgently needed a new position to solve these problems.

The person in this role must possess sufficient educational and training background to handle the following duties:

Allocate resources and maintain a broad overview; manage administrative documents and compile statistics; coordinate communication between departments; instruct and supervise other monks in their required studies; and ensure constant availability to respond to emergencies and summon superiors when necessary.

So familiar… this ultimate overworked grunt… no, this diversified talent—surely there must be a grand title for it?

“Abbey Supervisor Raymond, don’t worry—we’ll appoint two Chief Residents to share your workload.”

“?”

“Ah, you’ve never heard of it before—Chief Resident on duty, a miraculous figure who works seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Everything you do can be delegated to them—though, given our current workload, we’re nowhere near that intensity yet.”

The more Kraft spoke, the more reasonable it sounded: hospitals are institutions, and so is the abbey.

After all, this wasn’t the stagnant, rut-bound Dunling Church, where promotions stalled and everyone waited for empty slots—it was a rising new knightly order.

It would ease the abbey’s burden, rapidly train versatile talent, and allow rotation into independent roles afterward—a brilliant three-way win: Chief Residents gained experience and new positions, Raymond reduced his workload, and Kraft gained freedom.

Perhaps this was the original intent of the Chief Resident system.

“I’ve already considered candidates. Since there are no surgeries requiring assistants right now, Kup will be assigned to you—he’ll learn medical and logistical duties.”

“The second will be Field. I’ve noticed this boy has a strong sense of responsibility—he’ll learn from you how to handle ecclesiastical affairs. Better than him sitting beside Dominic all day sighing and worrying.”

“And what about you?” Raymond glared at the architect of his new burden.

“Me? I need to find out what killed the previous occupant—before it sends us all to meet the Father too.”