Priestess Roberta
As she entered Dithmarschen, it was summer. However, since it bordered the polar region known as the Ice Peninsula, the feeling of summer was faint. Even when the sky was clear and sunlight poured down, the fierce northern winds drove away any warmth.
The center of the territory was a small city called Freiche. Long ago—back when the region's old name had been forgotten and it was considered part of the Ice Peninsula—it is said to have originated from a hill fortress built to block the descent of creatures of an evil god.
As the temperature rose and the snow melted, people naturally migrated there. The previous lord before Ulrich, Hilde, used the fortress as a base to develop the surrounding area, turning it into the central settlement.
Priestess Roberta gazed at the panoramic view of the hilltop city from afar.
"So the people here really do live like nomads… that much is true."
Below the hill, tents were spread out in formation.
They were the round tents commonly seen in nomadic cultures—called gers or yurts—designed to be easily assembled and dismantled by people who move their dwellings with the seasons.
Though the territory of Dithmarschen was vast, farming was difficult everywhere except the southernmost part. As a result, the people had no choice but to rely on livestock and hunting. The lord governed while residing in Freiche Castle, and the people lived like nomads.
"There aren't even any walls."
Only a small castle stood atop the hill. There were no outer walls whatsoever to protect the surrounding settlement. After all, when the weather changed, the entire settlement would simply move away.
"The temple must be inside the castle, right?"
A question tinged with unease suddenly arose.
If one of those scattered tents turned out to be the temple, wouldn't that mean she'd have to live like a wanderer for her entire assignment? A mobile temple… something she would inevitably experience as a military priest, but still—she had hoped her first post would at least be made of stone, even if small.
She let out a dry laugh at her own selfish thought and urged her horse forward.
"Where have you come from?"
When she arrived at the castle gate, a guard blocked her path.
"As one who serves Lady Ganymea, I have come to meet the lord."
Roberta removed her glove and held out her palm.
A blue pattern appeared on her bare hand. It symbolized Ganymea, one of the gods of the Pantheon, and proved that Roberta had been ordained as a priestess.
"Please wait a moment."
The guard entered the castle and soon returned with a middle-aged man. His brown skin and red eyes clearly marked him as a southerner.
"He's enormous."
He was also bald and extremely tall.
"Does he have giant's blood in him or something?"
Roberta herself was quite tall—so much so that men often avoided standing beside her during ceremonies—but this man was easily two heads taller than her.
"You said you are a priestess of Lady Ganymea?"
His voice was a deep, low rumble. A giant-like man looking down with red eyes and speaking in such a tone—how could it not be intimidating? She steadied her startled heart and forced an awkward smile.
"Yes. My name is Roberta. I was sent by Alonso, the bishop of the Grand Temple of Nua."
"By Alonso?"
The man raised his voice slightly.
"If it's not too rude to ask… what is your relationship with Lord Alonso?"
"He is the one who took me in."
"Ah, I see! He is still as kind as ever."
There was clear joy in his voice.
"Is Lord Alonso well?"
"Of course. He said he wished to come personally."
"That would have been wonderful. What a shame."
He kissed the back of her hand.
"My apologies for the late introduction. I am Bernhard Meyer. Please call me Bern. By Lord Ulrich's grace, I serve at his side."
Bern introduced himself as the steward of the Dithmarschen family.
"Lord Alonso came here before me. I remember he was just over thirty at the time… and now the day has come when someone who follows in his footsteps arrives."
He spoke as if reminiscing.
"Time passes so quickly. When I think of Lord Alonso, the memories are still vivid. He never shied away from hard work, and when he saw children struggling with small chores, he would sometimes give them snacks. He was truly a kind-hearted man."
Despite his imposing appearance, his tone was surprisingly gentle. Roberta thought he might be kinder than he looked, but noticing that his demeanor resembled Alonso when he sank deep into thought, she quickly spoke.
"I would like to meet the lord."
"He has stepped out for a while. It will take some time before he returns. If you don't mind, I can guide you to the temple in the meantime."
Roberta was about to agree when a question arose.
Considering the lord's age, shouldn't he be bedridden?
"May I ask what he went out for?"
"He went to perform a sacrament."
"A sacrament?"
A sacrament referred broadly to religious rites—rain prayers, funerals, priestly ordinations among them. Depending on the sect of the Pantheon, there could be anywhere from six to twenty-three types.
Such rites could only be officiated by a priest.
"Is there another priest here?"
For a moment, she wondered if the missing priest had returned. That couldn't be—after nearly a year without any sign, what reason could there be besides death?
Had they invited a priest from a neighboring territory? That was the usual solution when a sacrament couldn't be delayed and no responsible priest was present.
But Bern shook his head.
"No. The lord will perform it himself."
"What do you mean…?"
Her eyes widened.
"Has the lord been ordained as a priest?"
A flicker of alarm crossed Bern's face. He closed his mouth and subtly averted his gaze. Roberta's eyes widened even further.
What is this supposed to mean? she screamed inwardly.
"He's really performing a sacrament? The lord himself?"
"Yes."
Roberta felt her mouth go dry. Like someone who had fallen off a cliff and had to confirm what happened, she forced her stiff lips to move and asked:
"W-what kind of sacrament?"
"An infant sacrament."
She swallowed a scream and clutched her head with both hands.
"Of all things…!"
The infant sacrament was considered the most important of all rites.
In the beginning, it is said that the world was covered in fire. Before the land had taken shape, the gods came, drew water to extinguish the flames, raised the earth, and brought forth life.
But life was fragile and could not easily grow. So the gods scattered power throughout the world so that life could adapt to the harsh environment—and that power was mana.
The infant sacrament was the act of connecting a single life to the heavens so that mana could dwell within a person. Some described it as registering one's name in the celestial ledger.
Unless a newborn was too weak to survive or abandoned somewhere in the mountains, it was a rite that absolutely had to be performed. Only by receiving it was one truly recognized as human. Conversely, it also meant that those who had not undergone the infant sacrament were not treated as people.
That was the infant sacrament—and why it was the most important of all rites.
'What on earth is he thinking, performing an infant sacrament without even being a priest!'
What would happen if someone who had not been ordained performed the rite? Usually, nothing went wrong even if the ritual was carried out. But occasionally—very rarely—it could result in communion with an evil god.
Evil gods were beings who had been driven into hell after opposing the chief gods of the Pantheon over the direction of creation. There was no need to explain what it meant to become their servant.
"If someone who hasn't undergone ordination officiates a sacrament, they could be branded a heretic! You must know that, don't you? Ah—no, let's not get into that."
She mounted her horse again.
"Where is the lord? I need to see him immediately."
Roberta glared at Bern. He scratched his head awkwardly. He clearly knew something was wrong, yet unlike the heretics she had seen before, he neither panicked nor made excuses. Neither he nor the guard beside him showed much reaction.
'What is this…?'
If anything, their attitude left her more bewildered.
"He isn't far. Here, we gather the children born last summer and perform the sacrament all at once the following summer. If you head down from here for about half a day, you'll meet him."
Bern gestured with his chin to the guard. As the guard mounted his horse, Roberta quickly followed behind.
They retraced the path she had taken.
Whether it was bad timing or not, the ritual was being held a little east of the route she had come from. She spotted a group of people—and nearby, a flock grazing freely.
'That's not sheep… do they have monster blood mixed in?'
From afar, their fluffy white fur could easily be mistaken for sheep, but up close, they resembled cattle covered in wool. Having never seen such creatures before, she concluded they must carry the blood of magical beasts.
Dithmarschen, along with the uninhabited lands above it and the Ice Peninsula, was a region where the descendants of ancient magical beasts still lived. It wouldn't be unusual for livestock to breed with such creatures.
However, such offspring usually inherited the wild nature of magical beasts, making domestication impossible. She had never heard of them being tamed to the point of grazing like this.
'That must be the lord's doing as well.'
She frowned. Between the missing head priest, the unauthorized sacrament, and now magical beasts, she found it difficult to think well of the lord. If not for Alonso—whom she regarded like a father—having recommended her, she might have already rushed to the Pantheon and filed a report.
She spurred her horse forward.
A group of people had gathered some distance away from the herd. Even from afar, it was clear that some kind of ritual was taking place.
'If it's still in progress, I have to stop it.'
At the center of the group, a woman wrapped a baby in swaddling cloth and handed it to a young man. The baby struggled not to be separated from its mother, but as soon as it was placed in his arms, it burst into tears.
"—! ——!"
The cries were so loud that Roberta could hear them clearly. The man gently patted the baby, soothing it. As she drew closer, the baby's wailing gradually subsided.
"Where is the lord?"
Roberta shifted her gaze from the baby to the crowd. She had to find him—the three-hundred-year-old old man, the reckless fool who had performed a sacrament on his own.
But there was no elderly figure in the crowd who seemed to be the lord.
She slowly circled the outskirts on horseback, scanning carefully, but an inexplicable unease only grew within her. There was no one she could confidently point to and say, "That's him."
"He's right there."
There?
When she turned her head again, the same young man was lifting the baby and pressing his forehead against it. At a glance, it looked like he was simply playing with the child.
Roberta was about to ask the soldier guiding her what he meant—when suddenly, her eyes widened.
"What…?"
Red vein-like lines spread across the baby's face like a tattoo.
A soft light shimmered from the point where the young man's forehead touched the baby's, and that light seeped into the child, flowing through its veins. The crowd let out gasps. Roberta, too, unconsciously let out a sound.
Only the baby, unaware of what was happening to its body, giggled as if tickled, clapping its tiny hands against the man's cheeks.
'This can't be.'
Roberta couldn't believe it.
Mana does not settle within someone who has not undergone the sacrament. If someone tries to transfer the mana within themselves to another, it may temporarily reside there—but only briefly. Once the forcing power disappears, it naturally disperses.
But the baby before her was different. It was accepting the incoming mana as its own. Its tiny body could hold only a small amount, yet it did not reject it.
Why would that be?
Why would mana take root in the child?
Because its name had been inscribed in the celestial ledger—because it had been acknowledged by the heavens. In other words, the infant sacrament had been completed. And not through an evil god, but through a connection to the heavens.
"H-how…?"
How could someone who wasn't even a priest inscribe a name in the heavens?
It was impossible. She muttered the words without even thinking to close her gaping mouth. The suspicion that had been slowly rising in her heart began to turn into certainty.
'They said the lord went to perform a sacrament.'
Then who was the young man performing it among the crowd?
The old priest had once said that the oldest half-blood he had seen was three hundred years old—and that duke had looked like a mummy.
Roberta herself had seen half-bloods before, and they had looked similar. Half-bloods could not escape aging. Even if fairy blood did not contain aging, human blood did.
When the blood of the two races mixed, their descendants became beings subject to the passage of time.
'Then… what about the lord of Dithmarschen?'
The young man returned the baby to its mother and turned around. The crowd behind him stepped aside, opening a path. Roberta remained frozen in her saddle as he approached her.
"Did you come because you were worried? Looks like Bern let something slip again."
Suddenly, Roberta recalled her conversation with the old priest.
When she had referred to the lord as an old man, she now understood why the priest had tilted his head—and why he had called the lord strange.
No matter how she looked at him, he was far too young.
There was not the slightest trace of time upon him.
"…."
Roberta opened her mouth to say, "You…"—to ask if he was truly the lord of Dithmarschen. But the words caught in her throat and would not come out.
Looking up at her, he spoke.
"Yes. I am Ulrich, the lord of Dithmarschen."