Chapter 95: Rejection

Kup tried for the fourth time today to turn and look at Yin Feng; on the unshock-absorbed carriage, this motion nearly shook him off. The unhusked grains in the sack beneath his buttocks were somewhat prickly, hindering his movement.

It was not that he had developed an interest in this inexplicably appearing little girl, but rather that he could always feel a gaze cast from beneath the hood of the small cloak at the carriage's rear, observing him from time to time.

When he returned the gaze, it quickly vanished, shifting toward the dust-covered shrubbery along the roadside, observing the unchanging scenery of the journey.

After the initial freshness of arriving in a foreign land dissipated, the grayish small leaves and the similar hillsides began to bore people; the winding, uneven roads confused their sense of direction, creating the illusion of circling in place.

Because there were no dedicated animal-drawn vehicles for passengers, they spent a little money at Hegang to board two partially loaded grain carts, traveling along a dirt road that looked more naturally formed than artificially paved, heading toward the so-called "Gravel Town."

These small carts pulled by single mules were merely to satisfy basic transport needs; slow and Clumsy and heavy, it was unknown how long it would take to reach the destination.

The journey, doubly uncomfortable both mentally and physically, was tedious; Kup wanted to shout loudly to vent and see if this annoying valley would even give an echo, but Kraft was sitting on the same cart, leaning against a sack beside the driver, and as a squire, he had to restrain himself.

Hundred Alliance Book

Fortunately, this journey finally came to an end around noon. Turning another familiar-looking large bend, he heard Kraft speaking.

"Is it over there?"

"Yes," the driver replied in a thick local accent; his voice was muffled and drawn out, as if the words had turned a circle in his chest before finding an exit.

Kup tried to use the speech he had heard from Kraft, learning it on the spot; roughly, this accent was related to long-term life in dusty places, damaging delicate lungs, and the unsmooth breathing affected them.

Jumping off the carriage, yellow dust rose; Kup pulled the collar of his cloak over his mouth and nose, squinting forward. The mountain valley was no different from before; on the narrow flatland cleared of shrubs, human buildings appeared before them.

Kraft patted his black cloak, walked over, and pulled up the front hem for him, covering the page-weight hooked onto the fabric. "Mind your image; no one will like a foreigner who looks unfriendly, especially in a place like this... village?"

Calling it a town might not be quite appropriate; it was merely a small cluster of mud-brick houses arranged along the valley, visible at a glance, with at most thirty or forty households.

Several people, covered in dust like everything else here, waited at the crossroads; seeing strangers, they curiously wanted to strike up a conversation.

William and the three sailors followed up from the rear cart; however, they seemed less likable. After glancing at them, those locals moved to the other side of the carriage, unloaded the grain sacks in silence, and left.

"They seem rather unfriendly?" William leaned close to Kraft's ear, avoiding the driver, and spoke in a lowered voice.

"I don't know; keep your people in check carefully; I'm afraid we might accidentally violate some taboo." Kraft pondered their attire; they all wore cloaks, showing no great difference. "Speaking of which, Yin Feng, remember to stay close to us and don't get lost."

The girl hurried to catch up; as she passed Kup, the latter noticed she was holding a small booklet made of rough paper used for practice writing, which she had stuffed into her cloak's inner pocket to hide.

Yin Feng, whose presence had diminished for two days, became somewhat active again. Kup roughly guessed her thoughts but didn't care. After all, he never intended to compete with a child in these matters; once he learned to read, he would focus on developing his martial abilities, preparing for the possibility of becoming a knight, and striving to fulfill his guard duties as soon as possible.

Blowing the dust off his shoulders and adjusting the hem of his cloak, he also followed in Kraft's footsteps, walking toward the town.

Among the low earthen and stone houses, a pointed roof emerged at the foot of the mountain on the town's edge; this small place even had a small church.

The team, hesitant due to the locals' attitude, immediately decided to seek lodging at this most familiar place here; at least the priest would surely believe in the same things they knew, belonging to a knowable line of thought.

But it was indeed rather shabby; a mosaic-style holy symbol made of differently colored stones was embedded above the single door, marking the building's identity. The only commendable aspect was the faith bonus gained from being built by hand.

With few footprints on the dust-covered doorstep, William pushed the door open first and entered the main hall of the church.

Three poorly handmade chairs were lined up in a row; a wooden holy symbol hung in the center of the wall, its paint peeling and mottled. The wood surface was still relatively smooth, showing it was often wiped; it was the cleanest thing here, but it could not resist the erosion of climate and time.

A person in a yellow-white robe sat with their back to them on one of the chairs, hair hanging loose.

When Kraft walked around to face him, he discovered the robe was embroidered with a winged circle; it was a clerical robe lacking cleaning and discolored.

Only three chairs placed, and he occupies one himself? This church also seems to be doing poorly; clearly, remote and barren lands are where the church finds it easier to take root.

"Priest, are you awake?" William gently shook his shoulder.

"Peter, let me sleep a bit longer." He wiped away his sleepy eyes, stretched, and suddenly realized the newcomers were unfamiliar faces. "Ah! Welcome, believers of the Lord."

The priest moved aside to invite the visitors to sit, his eyes lingering on their chests. The winged circle amulet that sailors habitually wore allowed him to recognize them as "one of their own." "It is not often that outsiders come here."

"Indeed, it is truly wonderful to find a fellow church member; outside, there is almost no information about this place." William pulled a chair over and sat down, immediately regretting it. When entering the church, he had habitually taken off his outer robe; the dry, rough texture told him this chair was no cleaner than the outer layer of his cloak after a long journey.

"We wish to spend one night under the protection of the Heavenly Father."

"I have no reason to refuse, as long as you do not mind the humble conditions here." The priest seemed already accustomed to the simplest church any of those present had ever seen, showing no sign of embarrassment.

One could imagine; those who could come to Gravel Town to build a church themselves valued faith far more than worldly material possessions.

"That is truly most grateful; we need a guide. Do you have any recommendations for locals?"

"I can ask Peter; this is not easy to find." The priest's influence here was as pitiful as the church itself; Kraft strongly doubted he had any other reliable candidates besides this name.

This was a reminder. Recalling the locals met at the village entrance, Kraft realized they might not have been looking at the people themselves; that gaze was directed at the sailors' chests, at the winged circle amulets.

Locals do not like the church much; according to past experience, this is rarely seen in remote settlements lacking spiritual life. A systematic religion would easily attract them as an answer to problems and a source of help.

If the church failed, what other similar product occupied this ecological niche?