Chapter 32: The Ritualist Does Not See the World with His Eyes

After receiving his clerical robes, Fernandez escorted Roland back to the apothecary.

He mentioned that he needed some time to coordinate with the Inspection Bureau and would come to notify Roland once everything was arranged. Additionally, he emphasized that Roland should keep the dagger on his person at all times, especially while sleeping. He also explained the general nature of Eden and how to return to reality from danger using an anchor—much like Enid had, though his instructions were far more detailed.

"Fernandez, how many years have you worked for the Inquisition?"

"I was selected by Lady Enid eight years ago to join the Inquisition."

"Will I be like you in the future?"

"Better than me," Fernandez replied in the carriage. "After all, we are different."

"Different?"

The burly man turned his head, a trace of imperceptible envy flashing across his sharp-featured face. "You are a person gifted with talent."

"To be held in such high regard by her ladyship—I don't think it's just because of your face. Lady Enid is not that shallow or bored."

*But she has 'raised' two little white rabbits,* Roland thought.

"You're right," Roland said, deliberately ignoring the chattering words appearing beside the burly man's face, and nodded. "The lady saved my life and killed the cultist; she cares for me and has led me onto this path toward the mysterious... but I have always had a question."

"It has troubled me for a long time."

"Even if I become... an Initiator? I mean, if I am just like you, I will still be a blind man. My eyes cannot see. How am I supposed to qualify as an Executor? My world is entirely pitch black..."

"I can't even walk down the road properly."

Fernandez gazed into Roland's amber eyes, seeing his own reflection in their clear depths.

"...Once you enter the world of slumber and truly find the path, you will understand."

"Initiators do not use their eyes to see the world," he said. "As long as you have the talent."

From the start, Fernandez had been emphasizing "talent."

"Is it that important?"

"Yes, quite important." The burly man curled his index finger and tapped his temple. "Do you know how long it took me to pass the trial?"

Roland asked curiously, "That dream... I mean, the anchor and the 'Field'?"

With unreadable emotions, Devenson did not hide it and nodded. "It took me two months and four attempts before I finally realized I was in a dream, thanks to the hint from the anchor."

"And you, Roland. I heard that on her ladyship's carriage..."

"You sensed something was wrong on the very first try."

"Compared to you, I am like a dim star before the sun." He looked somewhat melancholy, his massive frame leaning against the seat, making Roland appear quite "petite" beside him. "I remember I was riding a raft, floating on clouds rolling like ocean waves—and I actually thought it was reasonable. Thinking about it now, it is my great fortune that a fool like me could be chosen by Lady Enid."

The "Field" makes many things seem reasonable; Roland had experienced that.

But... four times?

***

Roland thought for a moment and said, "If her ladyship hadn't given me a hint in the dream, I probably would have needed seven or eight times myself. I was even touching the antlers, thinking about dancing with them."

This amused the cleric. He affectionately pointed his thick, calloused index finger at Roland's forehead, his voice rising slightly in volume.

"Her ladyship said you were a person with excellent 'adaptability,' wise, yet not rigid. I understand that now."

He laughed heartily, no longer keeping a straight face. "Don't comfort me, Roland. I know what kind of person I am. Even so, I dare say I'm not the most foolish in the church. As for you, if you really feel that way, just wait and see."

He added, "It took me four months, start to finish, to find the path after I first encountered the 'Principles'."

Counting the previous two months of trials, that was half a year.

"Four months, over a hundred days and nights..." he sighed. "Roland, perhaps you won't even need two months to find your own path in the world of slumber."

"Is it very difficult?" Roland asked, feeling a bit worried after hearing so much.

"Difficult?" Fernandez flashed a row of white teeth and laughed. "Do you know what my first three months felt like?"

"It was just sleeping," he said. "I didn't even have a single dream. Though the grandmother who lived in the same room as me probably found the 'path'—she absolutely refused to stay in the same room as someone who snored."

Roland chuckled softly.

Fernandez shrugged. "I remember in the church, the fastest one was 'Wisdom'; that guy only took a week."

"What an enviable talent."

"How magnificent is the world they see?"

Roland touched the dagger hanging at his waist, which was tucked into a deer-hide sheath given to him by Fernandez.

"Why don't I live in the church?"

"If I am to have close contact with the 'Principles,' I would think the Holy Cross Church and the Inquisition would be the most suitable places?"

Fernandez did not look at him, casually tossing the question back. "You can think about why that is."

*Items attached with Principles are extremely rare. The larger and more powerful they are, the harder they are to be 'influenced'...*

That was what Lady Enid had just said.

And the Church and the Inquisition clearly possessed both the attributes of being "large" and "powerful."

This left Roland somewhat surprised.

Did that black cathedral belonging to the Inquisition not have the "Judgment" Principle?

"So, now you understand how precious this dagger Lady Enid gave you is."

The carriage clattered along the main road, heading toward the East District.

***

Pru Collins was very happy today.

He had prepared a table of good food, and when Roland returned, he eagerly handed him a towel and helped brush the dust from his cuffs and shoulders. He was putting on quite a show.

"I made you fish stew, fresh spinach, corn, and cured pork chops. My Holy Father, I spent quite a lot of money today!"

He even used the set of metal cutlery he had always been reluctant to bring out.

Roland could tell. It wasn't just the meat and vegetables; just from the smell, he knew his uncle had spent a considerable sum.

Roland put away the bag containing his clerical robes.

"Is something the matter?" Roland knew, of course, that such attentiveness wasn't free.

Old Collins stooped, rubbing his hands incessantly. "Ahem, well, this..."

"Uncle?" Roland widened his eyes and tilted his head.

"Damn it (a very vulgar profanity)... don't look at me like that. Every time you look at me like that, I feel like I've done something terrible and unforgivable to you..."

Reeking of alcohol, he cursed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of Roland, staring at him.

"...Tsk, well, I'm just curious." The drunken old man glanced at the bag that held the clerical robes. "Are you, are you now that...?"

"An Executor? I'm not officially—"

"Right, right, tell me, what are those black crows like? Do they have some..."

Magic?

Roland didn't understand what he meant.

"No, no, no, I just want you to help me ask someone..." His eyes held expectation. "Where do people go after they die?"

Where do they go...

"Are you talking about 'specters'?"

"Yes! See, you really are smart; you've figured it all out in a day. I mean, do people turn into ghosts or specters after death? What are the conditions for that? Roland, my dear, could you please help me ask around? Be detailed and clear, can you?"

There was no problem with that, as it was something Roland would be learning about anyway.

But when he asked his uncle why he wanted to know these things... the man became evasive.

Finally, he spat out a name.

"Is that your—"

"My son."

Old Collins rubbed his face hard, his eyebrows, nose, and lips twitching irregularly. He leaned half-over the table, his other hand gripping the bottle that only had a drop left. "...I keep thinking, he never did anything bad in his life, so after he dies, he should at least..."

"I always feel there's still a chance, maybe I could see him..."

"There's always a way, right?"

"Roland?"

Roland remembered the strange items and diagrams on the paper he had seen in the second-floor room on the first night.

"I will help you ask, Uncle."