Priestess Roberta
'Three hundred years.'
Priestess Roberta thought to herself.
How could a human maintain youth for such a long time?
As she rode toward Lord Ulrich, she had been pondering what she should ask first. She had heard many things about him, yet it had been difficult to form any clear picture of what kind of person he might be.
The only thing she had been certain of was his appearance. If he was truly three hundred years old, he should have been a frail old man, barely able to withstand the cold wind.
But when she actually faced him, she found herself at a loss for words.
The man who introduced himself as Ulrich looked no more than twenty—twenty-five at most. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with jet-black eyes and hair.
And inside that appearance… was a three-hundred-year-old man?
"..."
Rumors that he was a vampire, a child of fairies, or mixed with dwarf blood—all of them were nonsense. If he were a vampire, he wouldn't be standing perfectly fine under the sun. And he was far too tall to be a dwarf.
Among fairy half-bloods—Galua—there were occasionally those with rounded ears, so that possibility remained. But even that didn't quite fit. He looked too young. If anything, it would be more believable to think he was a pure-blooded fairy with rounded ears.
That was as far as her thoughts had gone when she first saw him. In that brief moment, she found no answer.
And so, after much deliberation, the words she finally spoke were the same question many before her had likely asked him.
"Who are you?"
Ulrich gave a faint smile.
"You look cold. Let's talk over some tea."
He informed the group waiting for the sacrament that it would be delayed briefly. The crowd dispersed, and an elderly man led the two of them into a tent, saying he would prepare a place.
As soon as they stepped inside, warmth enveloped her. A stove stood in the center of the tent, with a metal pipe serving as a chimney to vent the smoke outside.
Ulrich lifted the lid of the teapot resting on the stove and checked inside.
"The aroma is quite strong—will that be alright?"
"Huh? Ah… it's fine."
He filled a teacup and handed it to Roberta. Thinking, "How strong could it be?" she was about to drink it immediately—but flinched at the sharp scent. Even a small sip made her eyes water.
"Ugh… what is this?"
"The people here call it pine pollen tea."
"But it tastes completely different."
"It's gathered from a mutated variety."
Unlike her, he drank it calmly.
"You saw the flock outside, didn't you?"
The image of creatures that looked like cattle covered in sheep's wool came to her mind.
"Think of this tea the same way. It's made from the pollen of pine trees that grew under the influence of the Ice Peninsula—the place humans call a demonic realm. It's hard to say it tastes good, but since it's the only tea that grows naturally here, you'd best get used to it. Whether you like it or not, you'll be drinking it endlessly from now on."
"I… see."
She glanced at the half-full cup and shuddered. She was already tired of it.
"It's a barren land. You can't afford to be picky about food."
"It looks better than what I've heard."
What had people said again?
That it was a demonic land beyond compare. That there were more monsters than humans, and that freezing cold lasted all year round.
But reality was different.
The weather was tolerable if you layered your clothes, and the monsters were being raised as livestock. To her, it didn't seem like a place worthy of such dramatic descriptions.
"For now, yes."
"So it wasn't like this before?"
"Haven't you heard? Dithmarschen sometimes has snow falling all year round. Usually it falls like dew and melts repeatedly, so it doesn't accumulate—but once every few years, it piles up to a person's height. When that happens, you can't farm, and you can't even find grass to feed the livestock."
He raised his hand higher than his head.
"It's only been the last few years that the weather has improved like this. The temperature has been rising regardless of the season. It may be a sign that the Little Ice Age is coming to an end—but it's too early to be certain."
Roberta tilted her head at the term "Ice Age."
"Hmm… the fairies call this period the Little Ice Age."
Ulrich poured himself another cup of tea and sat down on the floor. It seemed that floor seating was the norm here, as there were no chairs. A carpet was laid out, but unfamiliar with sitting like this, Roberta awkwardly folded her legs.
"You know how eras are divided, don't you?"
"By the rise and fall of empires."
"Exactly. That's the most common way humans divide history. This is the third era. It means humanity has established three empires—and that two have already fallen."
"And the term 'Little Ice Age'?"
"Toward the end of the second era, temperatures began to drop. At the time, I, along with the fairies, determined that it resembled the Ice Age of ancient times—but without the drastic temperature plunge. So we called it that."
Roberta slowly lifted her gaze from the teacup and stared at him.
Such a young face. A face without a trace of time. A face that looked younger than hers—yet speaking of experiences from the past… from 1,400 years ago.
Because this third era had already lasted about 1,400 years.
"You—"
"You've been calling me that for a while now. Use my name, Roberta."
She flinched.
"You know me?"
"I've been in contact with Alonso from time to time. Marcello mentioned that he might ask for a recommendation. And if that were the case, there's no one Alonso would send but you."
Marcello was the head of the religious order commonly called the Pantheon by humans—the leader of the universal church. Even kings of great nations would not dare speak his name casually, yet here he was mentioning it freely before a priest—and even referring to a man over a hundred years old as "that child."
"You're curious. No—suspicious, aren't you? Who is the person before you? How can he be so young? Isn't that right?"
She nodded.
"What did Alonso tell you about me?"
"He didn't tell me anything."
"I see."
"But the rumors say the lord is a three-hundred-year-old half-blood. And the temple records say you came here as a son-in-law three hundred years ago."
"Three hundred years…"
He murmured to himself.
"It really has been a long time. I never intended to stay this long. I knew it, of course—but I never truly felt how much time had passed. This is a place where change is slow. It feels as though everything is standing still."
He stared down at his teacup, lost in thought for a long moment—before finally coming back to himself.
"Right. First, regarding the matter of being a half-blood—I am not one."
"Then… are you even human?"
"I am human. Hard as that may be to believe."
He added that he was a pure human.
"The word 'pure' is quite a strange one. But if purity is defined as having no dwarven or fairy blood among one's ancestors, then I could be called the most pure human."
"How is that possible? That's—"
"Impossible? Then simply assume I was born before humans began to intermingle with other races. I was born in a time so distant that the records under the name 'Ulrich' are but a fleeting moment."
"..."
At such an absurd claim, a dry laugh slipped out of her.
"That expression of yours is quite something."
She was about to say, Because it's obviously a lie, but he spoke first.
"You think I'm exaggerating, don't you?"
"If you had just said you age slowly, I might have believed you."
"Why?"
"Because there's such a thing as common sense in this world."
"Common sense… what a vague term."
Ulrich gestured for her to continue.
"According to the scriptures, humans received fire from Ganymea's adopted son and built civilization, yet they were still rejected by other races and couldn't live among them. It was only after establishing the first human empire that they began to intermix. Do you even know when that was?"
"If I say I don't, wouldn't that make me a liar?"
"Many records were lost in the chaos, so the exact time isn't specified—but it was far enough in the past for even the fairies to have gone through several generations. Lord Ulrich, what you're saying is absurd."
He nodded.
"That's how it would sound."
It was common sense that humans age, and that even other races eventually die. Countless individuals had sought immortality, yet none had succeeded.
It was true that Ulrich had demonstrated something extraordinary.
That he could inscribe a name in the heavens without ordination, that both the Pope and the bishop treated him with special regard—these were all things that defied Roberta's understanding.
But none of that was enough to make her believe everything he said. At most, it suggested there was something—something beyond her knowledge.
'It might not even be him. He could be a stand-in.'
She carefully observed his behavior.
"But the truth is still the truth."
He drained his teacup completely and spoke.
"I may choose not to speak, but I do not lie. It's too troublesome. Think about it—if I truly lived such a long life, how many people like you do you think I've met? How many times do you think I've repeated the same words?"
"I don't know. That's hardly proof."
"True. But I have no intention of persuading you, Roberta. It may sound unpleasant, but you are not someone valuable enough for me to bother lying to. Nor are you someone to whom I must reveal everything. I simply answered because you asked."
Roberta nearly let out another dry laugh but managed to hold it in. She hesitated, opening and closing her mouth as she searched for what to say.
"Then tell me about that era. You said you lived in the distant past—and that it was the first era. Scholars have spent their lives searching for that history. You must have it all in your head, don't you?"
At her sarcastic tone, he shook his head.
"That would be difficult."
"Why?"
"Because it's too long ago. My memories are not intact. Aren't you the same? Can you clearly recall your childhood? Even yesterday's memories fade like smoke if you don't revisit them. What do you think happens to memories far older than that?"
"Still, don't you remember at least some things?"
"Well… there are such memories. The problem is that most of them can't be trusted. Some appear vivid, but they're fragmented—mixed with dreams or imagination. Someone once said that memories turn into recollections because of forgetting. I can't distinguish whether those recollections are truth or falsehood, so I choose not to speak of them."
He certainly talks well, Roberta clicked her tongue inwardly.
'He's avoiding the question because it's all nonsense.'
Even if she continued the conversation, she wouldn't get the answers she wanted. He was making claims she couldn't accept, and he had no evidence to support them. And it wasn't as if she could force the truth out of him.
'Did Alonso know? That I'd end up in a situation like this?'
She believed he did.
He had served here before as the head priest. Though he appeared kind, he was a sharp-minded man—that was how he had risen to become a bishop. There was no way someone like him hadn't anticipated this. It had been suspicious from the moment he sent her here without telling her anything.
"Thinking too much isn't always a good thing."
Ulrich said this as he tilted the teapot over his empty cup. Only a few drops fell before it ran dry, and he set it down, rising to his feet.
"In times like that, just accept things. Don't think too hard. Sometimes, if you stop worrying and simply watch how things unfold, the answer reveals itself on its own."
The very person who had turned her thoughts upside down was saying that? Was he mocking her? Roberta frowned slightly and shook her head.
"I suppose you told the same thing to the person before me."
"Yes."
"Did you say that to Alonso as well?"
Ulrich nodded, and Roberta let out a sigh.
"I don't understand why Alonso sent me here."
"Is that so? I think I do."
"What do you mean?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you resemble Alonso?"
Their eyes met.
He was looking at her—smiling, yet at the same time, seeing someone else within her.
'Alonso.'
Her intuition whispered it.
"I mentioned earlier that change is slow here—that it feels as though everything is standing still. That's because this world is like an artificially maintained garden. It preserves the state it was in when I first came to this land… so that I remain bound to it."