Chapter 391: Promise

In the end, Kraft stepped out of the room.

He assured everyone present that everything was under control, the patient's condition was stable, the source of the injury had been properly dealt with, and he thanked the Heavenly Father's protection and everyone's selfless efforts—the incident was essentially concluded.

For this, the monastery will issue all participants a substantial, irresistible special field allowance, and provide dedicated recuperation facilities, hoping all may rest peacefully over the next two weeks until confirmed free of any physical or mental aftereffects.

The monster, rapidly fading from memory, was classified as a beast shaped by some ancient evil influence, possessing minor special powers during its long life—perhaps partial invisibility—and through rumor and exaggeration, became a folk tale.

As the saying goes, faith overcomes all difficulties; such petty tricks are no match for the devout.

The Holy Scripture clearly records that when the Sage Yeger discovered King Pendrala, he was barely over ten years old—one day tending sheep on the hillside, the next slaying the lake monster.

Once the evil entity's concealment technique was broken, even the girl's ordinary iron hammer could shatter it with a single blow—undoubtedly proof of the Heavenly Father's protection.

Of course, for mountain folk with limited exposure, the monster's actual existence was too horrifying to believe, so the gag order was entirely understandable.

As a monastery abbot with responsibility, faith, and conscience, I must humbly ask you all to bury this act of bravery in your hearts rather than flaunt it publicly—at the cost of honor and fame.

After all, victory over evil stems from the Lord's power and will; boasting of merit violates the Holy Word's teachings.

The Lord's reward shall be borne by His most faithful servant, the Abbot and Grand Master of the Knight Order.

Participants may submit one reasonable, morally unobjectionable request—money, favors, letters of recommendation, etc. —and theoretically, the latter may be delivered before the bishops of Dunling; should they have even a passing awareness of our situation, they would not mind lending a small hand—they'd better not mind.

This is a weighty promise; even those unaware of Kraft's connections understand the monastery's financial strength. It carries the meaning of hush money and partial apology to those drawn into the affair.

Undoubtedly, having walked through the gates of Heaven, one should not return empty-handed.

Brother Canser was deeply moved, tongue-tied, feeling he had missed the most thrilling part—merely guarding the chapel had earned him allowance and leave, so he felt ashamed to speak first.

Kup made no hesitation, immediately stating the experience had been too traumatic, causing severe damage to both his psyche and his ulna.

With another full two weeks of recuperation ahead, and considering Brother Lei Mengde's workload, he should not occupy the position without performing duties; he humbly requests that the honorable title of Chief Night Duty Resident be temporarily transferred to a capable individual.

For any medical tasks, just call him; paperwork and clerical work can be spared.

With hopeful eyes, Kraft empathetically affirmed, then turned to Yvonne.

The girl… perhaps she shouldn't be called that; even the most indulgent northerners rarely regard someone who can reach the stirrup as a child.

Though young, her upright posture and hand resting on the hammer's haft made her appear half a head taller than her peers—like a squire, youthful, bold, and fearless.

After a moment's thought, she shook her head, making no request.

Perhaps this experience itself was her reward—like a knight's first ride atop a warhorse, loving the danger and novelty more than anything else.

Some even grow addicted to it, until a cruel enough lesson arrives to end their career with a comma or a period.

Or perhaps she felt such opportunities weren't rare; Kraft had made similar promises more than once, and she had accepted some, declined others; the current outcome satisfied her, and future opportunities would be even greater.

But then again, she was happy to hold onto this opportunity, keeping it on standby.

Then came the last one. Knight Beni hesitated repeatedly, his expression torn. While Kup swiftly settled his terms, Beni was still pondering the boundaries of Kraft's promise.

His family's fortress was long-neglected, lacking a watermill by the river, and this year's harvest was poor—he needed grain aid.

Trapped in that godforsaken place, his domain's poverty stretched as long as his family tree; suddenly, he realized he was the one who needed this promise most.

Money might be a good choice, solving problems for several years, but in the long term, it wasn't the optimal option, nor the most urgent need.

There was his heir's health, the future safety of his domain—too many concerns to burden Kraft with a full solution.

As he looked up at the monks, priests, and abbot in the room, a sudden insight struck him—a solution that might resolve most of his problems emerged.

"Thank you for your generosity," Beni said sincerely, yet did not immediately state his request, "but I need time to deliberate—I may visit within a few days to trouble you."

"No need to rush," Kraft replied, surprised by his swift decision but unafraid of any unreasonable demand—this knight was the second most trustworthy.

A devout, tradition-bound, old-fashioned knight, a moral exemplar of the age—he surely wouldn't make things difficult.

It would merely involve helping resolve some local difficulties; further investigating the "Serpent" required engaging with local families anyway—a natural step.

Kraft locked the clinic's doors and windows, had Kup bring a carriage to transport the group back to the monastery, and upon disembarking, immediately slipped inside, following the windowless dark corridor into the laboratory.

He felt a tingling itch in his hands. Glass petri dishes stood neatly arranged on shelves, waiting to be brought back into the light.

He set up a large cauldron, simmered a gelatinous broth, added the solidified contents of each petri dish one by one, then introduced green mold spores collected from various locations.

In the repetitive labor, his restlessness gradually subsided. He couldn't say whether it was for the patients or simply because he needed to do something orderly, purposeful.

As long as he did this, he remained within an environment built of logic and order, fueled by familiarity and monotony, kindling a warm, rational flame.

Those chaotic, unordered ideal entities were barred outside, pounding against the membrane of his consciousness like rain against glass, reminding him this was the true majority of the world.

Let them stay outside for now—I can think of them later, he thought.

Yet the calming of his restlessness and the ache in his arms did not suppress the itching.

On the contrary, the itch—once thought to be psychological—grew stronger, sinking into his bones, until it drowned his entire left arm.