Priestess Roberta
"Do you know of Dithmarschen?"
At Bishop Alonso's question, Priestess Roberta blinked.
"Pardon?"
"You don't?"
Dithmarschen.
She searched for the place name in her mind.
"If you mean the place at the northernmost edge of the Kingdom of Osnover, I've heard it's the entrance to the Ice Peninsula—extremely cold and full of monsters."
"That's right. I once served there as the head priest."
Alonso gave a small nod, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was a habit of his whenever he fell deep into thought, and Roberta, knowing this well, let out a quiet sigh and turned her gaze away.
It was a day in late spring.
Sunlight streamed through the mosaic windows, warming the body and bringing on drowsiness—it was around lunchtime.
Roberta, a young priestess of twenty-three, had been assigned to copy scriptures in a scriptorium set aside in one corner of the Grand Temple of Nua. Until just moments ago, she had been working sluggishly, yawning repeatedly, when she suddenly received a summons from the bishop.
Is he going to send me somewhere?
She didn't think much of it.
Since the Grand Temple of Nua was where the bishop resided and conducted his duties, there were plenty of hands to help with work—but among the priests, she was the youngest. So whenever a task unsuitable for apprentices arose, she was often called upon.
Such as hunting monsters, exploring ruins, or serving as an observer.
"I would like to entrust that place to you."
However, what came out of the bishop's mouth was unexpected.
"I mean to recommend you as the head priest."
Roberta was handed a letter.
Its contents stated that the head priest of Dithmarschen had gone missing, leaving a vacancy that required immediate replacement. At the bottom was stamped the seal of the Pope of the Pantheon.
"Pardon?"
Her reaction was the same as before—just that one word.
She couldn't even think to close her open mouth as she reread the letter several times. It was only natural. She had received her ordination just two years ago. And now they were entrusting her with an entire temple?
"For your reference, this position is directly appointed by His Holiness."
Alonso pointed at the seal with his index finger.
"Is there even a grand temple in Dithmarschen…?"
"Of course not. It's a remote region among remote regions. Its location alone is near the edge of the world. While it's larger in area than our jurisdiction, less than a tenth of its land is suitable for farming. And the population is even smaller."
"There's only one temple there as well—small and modest," Alonso added.
"And yet the head priest there is directly appointed by His Holiness?"
"Well, the previous one was personally selected by His Holiness too. Though it seems something unfortunate happened, and he went missing."
Missing?
"It seems His Holiness does not wish to experience failure twice. Since I know the conditions there well, he entrusted it to me—"
"W-wait a moment!"
Roberta nearly dropped the letter as she placed it on the table and raised both hands to interrupt Alonso. She had no idea where to even begin processing this situation.
"I'm sorry for interrupting, but let me go over this step by step. You're saying the position of head priest in Dithmarschen is vacant, and you're recommending me?"
Alonso nodded.
"And the reason the position is vacant is because the previous priest went missing?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
He frowned.
"And that previous priest was appointed directly by His Holiness?"
"Yes. That's correct. Isn't it a simple matter?"
"No, it's not simple at all…"
Roberta trailed off, her lips twitching slightly.
Earlier, he had phrased it as something "unfortunate," but she could already guess. Recently, as the authority of the Pantheon had weakened, secular rulers had begun coveting the temples.
Confiscating temple assets, exercising the right to appoint clergy—things that would have been unimaginable when Roberta first entered the faith were now happening openly.
And in such a situation, a priest had gone missing?
It was obvious. He had been killed.
And they want to send me there?
She thought of it as nothing less than a poisoned chalice.
"Shouldn't finding the missing priest come first?"
"Don't concern yourself with that. His Holiness would likely prefer it forgotten."
"But—"
Alonso cut her off.
"Roberta. What you must do is go to your assigned post immediately and fulfill your duties as head priest. The matter of your predecessor is not your concern."
The two met each other's gaze. As Roberta opened her mouth to press further, Alonso shook his head. It meant: ask no more. It also meant: accept it quietly.
She wanted to say I refuse and storm out.
But she couldn't. How could a mere ordinary priest defy an order from a bishop? And she knew Alonso's personality well.
He's already named me as the successor.
Her consent was merely a formality. The only resistance she could offer was a heavy sigh and a single question.
"Why me, of all people?"
"Because you resemble me."
She made a strange expression.
"Ah, I don't mean your appearance. I mean your temperament."
Alonso smiled as he stood up. Then he turned his back and looked up at a wooden panel hanging above the window.
On the long horizontal panel, the left side depicted a woman discovering a baby lying on the ground, while the right side showed that same baby grown into an adult, handing a torch to a group resembling monkeys.
It was an engraved depiction of two passages from the scriptures.
"As you know, my faith is not particularly deep."
Roberta quickly glanced behind her. What if the door was open and someone overheard? Her face filled with alarm.
"Lord Alonso."
Her voice carried a note of reproach, but he merely shrugged.
"It's the truth, isn't it? How many people today become priests out of genuine faith? Most have worldly ambitions and simply wear the guise of faith as a means to an end. You as well."
Roberta coughed awkwardly and looked away.
She couldn't deny it—her conscience wouldn't allow her to.
"Though I wouldn't say it's your nature."
"..."
"Roberta, I am the one who took you in when you were abandoned. I am also the one who ordained you as a priest. Even if I am not your biological father, I raised you—so it is only natural that you resemble me. Wouldn't you agree?"
Feeling awkward, she scratched the back of her neck and averted her gaze.
"In my youth, I believe I did fairly well as the head priest of Dithmarschen. So someone like you, who resembles me, will do just fine."
After that conversation, Roberta set out for Dithmarschen. The journey alone took a full four months.
She had no companions. Alonso insisted that only one person was necessary and ordered her to go alone, giving her only travel money and a single horse.
"Take care of whatever else you need yourself. You're old enough, aren't you?"
That included information as well. Alonso told her nothing. Though he must have known a great deal from his more than ten years as head priest there, he did not share a single detail with her.
Now that I think about it, that's strange.
Alonso had raised her, telling her all sorts of stories from his life as if they were fairy tales—yet he had deliberately omitted any mention of the period he had spent the longest time in.
And recommending her simply because their personalities were similar? Though she had grown up under his care and naturally come to resemble him in many ways, could that really justify recommending her for such an official position?
There's something more to this.
With that suspicion, she left the Grand Temple.
She wanted to learn what Alonso had not told her.
At the time she departed, all she knew was that the previous priest—appointed by the Pope—had died at the post she was being sent to. Because of this, she asked about Dithmarschen everywhere she stopped along the way.
As a priest, she naturally stayed at temples, and her sources of information were other clergy. However, for three months, she received nothing but vague replies like, "Isn't it somewhere up north?" Even she had barely known about what was practically her adoptive father's former post—so how could strangers know?
It was only upon reaching the Kingdom of Osnover that she finally received a proper answer.
"He's said to be of fairy blood."
An old priest spoke.
"You mean a Galua?"
Galua referred to those of mixed human and fairy blood. A similar term was Mannium, referring to those of mixed human and dwarf heritage.
"It's only a rumor. But there aren't many reasons for someone to live that long."
"If he's lived long, how long are we talking?"
"Well? I don't know his exact age. I've spoken with him a few times, but you can't guess his age from his appearance. What we do know is from records—when a lord named Hilde died long ago, he succeeded her. That was about three hundred years ago."
Roberta narrowed her eyes.
"He certainly has lived a long time. He's no ordinary human."
"Perhaps he's of royal blood, or the result of some chance union."
Back when dwarven and fairy civilizations coexisted with human civilization, humans frequently interacted with them, so mixed blood was not uncommon.
There were even records of entire kingdoms composed of such mixed peoples. Names like Galua and Mannium originally referred to those kingdoms, but today they had become general terms for such bloodlines. That era, however, was far removed from the present—an ancient past.
Even so, mixed-blood individuals, though long-lived, were not immortal. Over time, their independent civilizations had faded, and they had assimilated into human society. Now, they were as rare as pure-blooded dwarves and fairies.
"And his name?"
"Ulrich. He has no family name. To be precise, he is Ulrich of Dithmarschen—but that name comes from marrying into the family. There are no records of him before that."
"That's surprising. For someone who has lived so long, I would have expected him to be famous."
"Hm, he is famous. Within this country, there's no one who doesn't know the name Ulrich. The lack of records isn't because people don't care—it's because there simply are none."
"Is that so?"
"If there were a lord who lived for three hundred years, it would be stranger if he weren't of interest. Besides, this country was in civil war until just a few years ago."
It had lasted a staggering thirty-two years.
It began when the crown prince died of a plague. His siblings fought among themselves, killing one another, until it escalated into a war involving all the people of Osnover.
Since they fought over the throne—not mere profit—there was no mercy for rivals. There was even a time when ten severed heads were worth less than a single coin.
The chaos seemed to end when some fool, supported by mercenaries from a neighboring country, emerged victorious. The kingdom had grown so weak that it was easily conquered by a man too foolish to even realize he was a puppet.
And then, that fool invaded Dithmarschen.
No one knew why he targeted such a barren land. Some even said, "Perhaps he couldn't stand watching from afar while others bled in battle."
As for the outcome—it hardly needs to be said.
"The fool lost. No one knows how—just like no one knows the details of the lord's life. What is certain is that the fool's head was sent to the old capital, and the count who controlled him had his head sent back to his master."
"And then?"
"The wicked neighbor withdrew, and we realized we had failed to recognize a beast."
If a fox riding a wolf's back ruled the animal kingdom, only to be devoured by a lion—how would the weaker animals respond? Naturally, they would wish to crown the lion as king.
The great noble houses, proud of their histories, had all been wiped out during the civil war. What remained were only upstarts whose lineage was shorter than the reign of Ulrich himself. They crafted a new crown to replace the one they had lost—and offered it to him.
But Ulrich chose a member of his late wife's clan, crowned them, and sent them forth as king. That was four years ago.
"What an unambitious old man."
For nobles, even the smallest opportunity for gain was something to seize—and yet he refused a throne that others would desperately desire?
"Old man? Well… in any case, he is a noble soul."
His actions afterward were just as unusual.
After installing the new king, the only thing he did was arrange marriages between the Hilderson clan and the newly risen noble families.
Through that, kinship ties were formed among the nobles, and the civil war came to an abrupt end. Yet the man who orchestrated it all never appeared in public. He did not attend the weddings, nor did he leave his territory even during the coronation.
"At first, we thought he might be wielding power from behind the scenes—but not even that. It was as though he had no interest in worldly affairs, as though he did not wish to step outside his own garden."
"Could there be another motive we don't know about?"
Roberta found it hard to believe.
A priest appointed by the Pope had died. Even if she couldn't be certain the lord was responsible, there must have been some event that led to such a situation. And someone truly detached from the world wouldn't become entangled in such matters—or so she thought.
"I once served at a grand temple like you, Sister, and I met many of mixed blood. The oldest among them was a duke of some nation—he had lived over three hundred and twenty years due to dwarf blood."
The duke, he said, had grown so frail that his body resembled a mummy. He could not walk, could barely lift an arm—anyone could see that death lingered close by. And yet, until his final breath, he refused to share anything he possessed—not even with his own kin.
"Greed—that is the nature of mankind, as the sages of old have said. Time may dull one's character, but desire only grows sharper. That is what I learned from observing those of mixed blood."
"..."
"But he was different. He seemed to have no desire at all."
"Like a monk?"
"Different from a monk. A monk suppresses or forgets desire—they cannot erase it entirely. That is why they sometimes fall to evil gods, or even go so far as to mutilate their own minds to prevent it. But Ulrich… his desires seemed to have burned away into ash."
The old priest hesitated for a moment before adding,
"I cannot understand how that is possible. I knew he was a strange man—but perhaps he has lived even longer than the records say, and time has worn away even his greed."
Roberta found that hard to believe.
"Could you tell me more?"
As the duke's story showed, even those of mixed blood had lifespans limited to a few centuries. As with the duke who had lived three hundred years and become a living corpse, even if they continued to live beyond that, it would be little more than clinging to life.
She believed the lord of Dithmarschen would be no different.