Late at night. The Monastery.
The massive dining hall at the center of the monastery had once accommodated hundreds of people dining simultaneously during its peak. It had been a place of immense clamor and life. However, due to years of continuous warfare and other reasons, the people within this once-glorious sanctuary had either perished or departed.
As time flowed, the number of people eating here dwindled until only Mikhail remained. Every day, he prepared three meals for himself and consumed them in this lonely hall to sustain his life.
Year after year, day after day, Father Mikhail followed the same rigid routine. He woke in his small private room, went to the hall for breakfast, and then headed to the monastery's fields to work.
At noon, the old priest would return to the hall for a simple lunch before going back to the fields until the sun set and the sky darkened. Only then would he return to the monastery buildings for his final meal of the day. Afterward, he would light a candle and begin his daily duties as a monk—praying for the villagers and praising the name of God until the dead of night, when he finally went to bed.
Such were Mikhail's solitary and monotonous days before Perturabo's arrival. Although local villagers would visit for various reasons, they were guests who stayed a few days at most before returning to their own lives. Afterward, Mikhail would be alone again, continuing his quiet, ascetic journey.
After Perturabo came to the monastery, the great dining hall regained a bit of life. This "bit of life" meant that the number of people dining moved from one to two. Yet, this seemingly negligible increase was enough to change everything.
For Mikhail, Perturabo's arrival provided not just a successor to inherit the monastery, but more importantly, a companion. This was one of the reasons Mikhail unhesitatingly believed that God, moved by his piety, had sent an angel to oversee his virtue.
Consequently, Mikhail prayed even more fervently, thanking God for this grace—even if Perturabo himself was not particularly pleased with such a notion.
Now, following the successful trial of the steam engine, Perturabo had become famous throughout the surrounding countryside. People from several nearby villages had heard that the apprentice of the old monk Mikhail had developed a machine more powerful than an ox, and they flocked to the monastery to see for themselves.
In the days that followed, the number of visitors increased significantly. Many came to witness the steam engine that could plow an acre in half an hour; others hoped to see the legendary monk Perturabo, whose stature was far greater than that of an ordinary man.
At this moment, Father Mikhail and Perturabo sat before a roaring fireplace. The recent events had put both of them in high spirits.
"Perturabo, though I always believed in you and knew your machine would open everyone's eyes, I truly did not expect this. Your machine has become a star. It has attracted so many visitors; I even saw villagers who traveled from dozens of kilometers away!"
The old priest held a glass of vodka. As an ascetic monk, Mikhail rarely consumed spirits, drinking only with extreme moderation during festivals. On ordinary days, he mostly drank light beer or water drawn from the well.
His voice now carried a slight hint of drunkenness, a stark departure from his usual rational and disciplined demeanor.
Today, because of Perturabo's grand success, Mikhail felt a deep, heartfelt joy for his apprentice and foster son. Thus, the old priest had relaxed his self-restraint and brought out the vodka stored in the cellar to celebrate.
"Mr. Mikhail, this is only a small beginning. I can feel that there is an ocean of vast knowledge in my mind, like a library just waiting for me to use it."
"Trust me, Mr. Mikhail. Given time, I can completely transform this world. I can turn it from this backward realm of villages and fields into a paradise of science, civilization, and elegance."
Hearing Mikhail's drunken words, Perturabo gave a huff and replied with pride.
"Change the whole world? Abo, that is a power reserved for the divine. Are you perhaps... overreaching?"
"And Abo, those words... you are bordering on blasphemy!"
Mikhail's mind cleared slightly at Perturabo's grand declaration. A trace of worry appeared in his eyes; his voice contained both the irritation of a religious man hearing sacrilege and the concern of a father for his son.
"Heh. What gods? Mikhail, I simply do not believe in the deities you worship."
"I only believe in my own two hands."
Perturabo sneered at his mentor's worried inquiry and responded coldly.
Mikhail fell silent at that blunt statement. After a long pause, he spoke slowly.
"Abo, you say you don't believe in God, but look at yourself. Do you truly think you are merely flesh and blood? When you first appeared before me, you were a boy knocking on the monastery gate in a blizzard. You were alone, you did not know your parents, and no one followed you."
"Now, look at yourself. You are taller and broader than any grown farmer. I couldn't even find a monk's robe in this entire monastery that fit you. I had to use my connections and favors to bring tailors and craftsmen from all the nearby villages just to sew this robe for you."
"Is this not the sign of an angel sent by God to watch over me? The profound knowledge you possess—which you yourself cannot explain the origin of—and your massive, majestic stature... everything proves you are no mortal."
"And who else but an omniscient, omnipotent God could create a being like you?"
"Perhaps one day, the supreme, all-knowing Lord will appear in person to grant me salvation and reward my piety and loyalty."
Facing his apprentice's blunt words, Father Mikhail did not lecture him directly. Instead, he calmly and gently presented the facts to Perturabo—facts that the boy himself could not deny.