Chapter 11: The Republic of Ascar

Returning from the backyard to the main hall, the time had just reached dinner hour. As the head of the household, Master Giovanni naturally invited the long-traveled guest to dine with them, even specially asking his wife to bring out a precious wine reserved for honored visitors.

The elderly man in the tattered gray robe—Brother Salvatore—accepted the invitation.

Yet, judging by his eating habits, he was a man of great moderation, stopping after a small piece of bread and cheese. This eased Isabella’s tension; she hadn’t expected an extra guest at dinner.

“We truly did not expect your arrival so soon. Please forgive any shortcomings in our hospitality,” Master Giovanni said, scrutinizing the elderly monk before him with cautious inquiry. “But Dean Camillo told me you were in Asia and wouldn’t return to Asca until at least next month... Has something happened there?”

“May the Holy Mother bless us…” The gray-robed monk made a prayer gesture before his chest, then slowly opened his eyes, speaking in a voice both aged and gentle. “Indeed, Asia has faced troubles. As you might expect, this dreadful plague has not spared the native land of Saint Natura.”

He cast a compassionate gaze toward the girl sitting nearby and spoke softly: “I am sorry to bear such grim news, Feliciana. But you must understand that the living are destined to face death, and the boundary between life and death is not ours to command. Massimo was a devout and kind man, like your parents. He was fated to return to our Lord’s side…”

Old men seemed to share a certain cadence when speaking.

Dean Camillo of the monastery was one, and this elderly monk was another. Perhaps due to age, lost teeth, or slowed reflexes, they spoke deliberately and slowly, as if polishing every syllable before releasing it.

This manner of speech certainly made their words clear, yet their softened, drawn-out tones were soporific. A hot-tempered youth might lack the patience to listen and simply turn away...

Oh, but there were exceptions—like Professor Palleruso, who darted about like a ping-pong ball, and when angry, his speech was rapid-fire.

Though roughly the same age as the two elderly men, his vigor far surpassed theirs combined... Though he was currently nowhere to be found—perhaps once again torn apart and devoured by irrational ghosts outside...

As she pondered this, the figure absent for days suddenly appeared.

Though now a ghost, Professor Palleruso remained a courteous spirit, refusing to pass through roofs or walls; stubbornly adhering to human customs, he entered the hall through the door.

Passing Master Giovanni, he even doffed his hat in greeting, then silently stood aside.

The ghost’s sudden reappearance naturally drew Felice’s attention; her gaze involuntarily flicked his way, and the next moment their eyes met.

“What are you staring at? I’m fine!” The old professor grunted, slightly annoyed, then quickly signaled her with his eyes. “Stop looking at me! Someone else is talking to you!”

Prompted by him, Felice turned her attention back to the elderly man sitting opposite her, who patiently regarded her with gentle eyes.

“…Yes, I understand…” she murmured, lowering her gaze like a shy child, her voice quiet and dry. “Thank you, and may our Lord bless you…”

Unaware of the girl’s unease, the gray-robed monk smiled and nodded toward her. “I heard you say you want to learn painting, is that so?”

Seeing her still looking down, nervously tugging at her sleeve, he continued softly, “As I mentioned before, some convents have scriptoriums, and some scriptoriums train their nuns as painters... But the convents near Asca are small. If you truly intend to pursue this, we must go farther afield...”

“How far?”

Before Felice could speak, Master Giovanni interrupted anxiously, “As far as I know, there are few convents running scriptoriums independently, and even fewer that train nuns as painters.”

The old monk nodded slowly, then explained further, “Indeed, there are not many convents with scriptoriums on the Enno Peninsula. The nearest is the Saint Susanna Convent in the city of Haruma... But I do not recommend going there. Though Haruma has freed itself from imperial control, it is ruled by a tyrant, and no one knows where he will lead the city...”

Giovanni’s thick brows furrowed tighter in disapproval at the thought of sending the girl there.

The dining table fell silent, while Isabella and the maid began clearing the dishes to wash in the backyard. The young apprentice left behind glanced around nervously, finally unable to resist whispering, “There’s none on the Enno Peninsula, but we could go north… Didn’t they say Queen Roland favors the prayer books made by convents? That means there must be some in Roland...”

Before finishing, the apprentice caught a sharp glare from his master, hastily chuckled awkwardly, and excused himself to prepare pigments in the backyard.

“Actually, what he said is what I wanted to mention. Master Giovanni, have you heard of the Elina Convent in Codong Town?”

Since someone had spoken, the gray-robed monk broke his silence. “Codong is near Lude City, the capital of Roland—a prosperous and peaceful town. The current abbess of Elina Convent, Abbess Sophia, is humble and kind, well-regarded in the area. The prayer books praised by Queen Roland come from her hand... I promised a friend I would visit Lude City this year, so I can take her there on the way.”

“I know that convent. When I worked in Roland ten years ago, I stayed in Lude City and heard it was founded with support from the Roland royal family. Many noble ladies train there before marriage. I believe the abbess must be of noble character...” Giovanni gritted his teeth but shook his head. “But that’s far too distant. Lude is too far from Asca! Even by horse it takes one and a half months, let alone by carriage or on foot... Massimo left you as his only heir. I swear I will protect you. If you go so far, how could I—”

“Don’t be anxious, Master Giovanni. Let’s hear what the young lady herself thinks.” The gray-robed monk raised his hand, calming the man’s rising voice.

“She’s just a child. What could she possibly understand?” Giovanni muttered.

“But this is where she will live in the future. We should respect her wishes.”

With that, both the monk and Giovanni turned to the third person sitting at the table.

Alongside the ever-present Professor Palleruso, Felice now received three distinct gazes.

She lowered her head, thoughtful for a moment, then looked up, her bright eyes meeting the two men across from her.

“If I enter one convent, does that mean I cannot go to any others?” she asked bluntly.

“Generally, that would not happen,” the gray-robed monk replied in his slow, elderly manner. “Unless your convent suffers a catastrophic event, like an earthquake or fire that destroys the building beyond repair. Then your order might assign you to another convent.”

“Hm…”

Felice pondered, then asked again, “I know art supplies are expensive. You said the convent in Roland—would the abbess there really be willing to teach a child like me to paint?”

This question was no longer childlike. Giovanni was momentarily stunned, but Brother Salvatore, rumored to have once conversed closely with “himself,” smiled kindly without surprise.

“Elsewhere I cannot say, but Elina Convent never lacks commissions. Abbess Sophia truly wishes to nurture novice painters,” the elder said calmly. “It is work, and to start you must apprentice under some nuns, much like your father and grandfather began as stone masons. At first, you may be assigned to paint decorative borders, gaining experience bit by bit. If you have a true talent, the abbess will entrust you with whole illustrations at the right time...”

The old man met the girl’s earnest gaze and paused, as if recalling something. Then he continued, “But there is one difference from the secular world. If you choose to become a nun, under convent rules you will have no private property. Your future earnings will belong entirely to the convent.”

Felice had not considered this but merely nodded after a brief moment of hesitation.

Lack of wages was discouraging, yet Felice had never been very ambitious. Otherwise, she would not have quit a major factory job after several years, become a freelancer, and joined a little-known studio.

More than wealth, she preferred to sustain herself with work she loved. Even a low salary was acceptable, as long as she earned enough to eat and had a place to live.

Life in a convent included food and shelter, and as a convent founded with support from the Roland royal family, conditions were likely decent.

Especially in this era of severe scarcity, where even money could not buy what one truly desired, she might as well live under the convent’s protective umbrella.

After all, the Church had yet to undergo major reforms; clergy status was a true shield. While nuns might not be formal clergy, having that identity was still more respected than common folk.

No one else knew the calculus in her heart. Giovanni only saw her nod, seeming to have made a decision; his anxious expression deepened.

“You must think carefully, Felice. Going to Roland means entering another country,” he said sternly, pressing his hands to the table as he stood. “Not to mention the dangers of traveling so far, you’d live among strangers. If anyone mistreated you, there’d be no one to turn to... And Roland speaks a different language. How would you manage everyday life if you can’t understand them?”

“I can learn, Master Giovanni.”

Felice lifted her head, sitting upright with calm, dark eyes locked on him. “I’m still young. I can learn anything I don’t know. But if I can only keep painting there, I’d rather live there.”

“You—you really are...” Giovanni opened his mouth, caught between laughter and tears. “How old are you? How can you be so sure you’ll always love painting? And Massimo never mentioned you liking it so much before?”

“...Because I have the blood of stone masons flowing through me.”

After a pause, Felice blushed slightly, borrowing words from future masters, and firmly raised her chin. “My grandfather was a stone mason. I carry his blood. My bones and blood tell me I am destined to love art.”

At that, Giovanni was at a loss for words.

Meeting her determined gaze for a moment, he finally slapped his forehead with one hand.

“This stubbornness... truly Massimo’s granddaughter...” he muttered, shaking his head. “No, this is too big a matter. I need to discuss with Dean Camillo tomorrow before deciding.”

Giovanni’s hesitation was expected by Felice. If he ultimately insisted she not go so far, she could understand.

Her wish was selfish—beyond wanting to escape a city fated to lose two-thirds of its people to death, Felice longed to abandon the identity of “Feliciana.”

If Feliciana’s soul had vanished in the accident, and she was doomed never to “wake” back to the modern world, forced to live her entire life in this body, she certainly would not want to remain Feliciana.

Leaving her “hometown” was no hardship, as she never felt she truly belonged there.

Her real home was across the ocean, unreachable under current conditions. Any city was the same to her...

Watching the gray-robed figure walk steadily to the street’s end from the second-floor window, Felice withdrew her gaze and habitually picked up a wooden comb to tidy her hair.

Though she had not caught a third louse since first discovering them on her body, carefully combing and inspecting herself and her bedding for parasites had become routine.

She rarely encountered outsiders, and since the plague spread mainly through blood, as long as she controlled parasites around her, she had little risk of infection—an issue of life and death she took very seriously.

Fortunately, Isabella and Master Giovanni were somewhat fastidious about hygiene, keeping the household relatively safe for now...

While her thoughts drifted, Professor Palleruso, who had not followed upstairs earlier, floated back through the window.

“…I checked for you. That gray-robed monk seems to be a man of good character,” the old professor said, uncomfortable under Felice’s sidelong glance. “Master Giovanni’s wife packed a chunk of beef for him, but along the way he gave all of it to passing poor folk, leaving none for himself... Even within the Natura Order, such people are rare nowadays.”

Felice ignored his awkwardness, combing her hair as she casually asked, “What is the Natura Order?”

Seeing she did not inquire where he had been, but instead asked such a basic question, Palleruso wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed, yet answered earnestly: “It’s a branch of the Holy Church’s orders. Unlike the Patientes Order with fixed monasteries, the Natura Order’s founder, Saint Natura, taught that monks should renounce all private property, wear undyed gray linen, and wander in complete poverty to preach...”

He sighed, reflecting, “But disagreements arose among them. There’s a Natura monastery outside Asca city. Now, those strictly following Saint Natura’s teachings are exceedingly rare.”

Hearing this, Felice perked up, curious: “If they have no property and wander, how do they eat and sleep?”

Palleruso answered, “According to Saint Natura’s original teaching, Natura monks rely entirely on alms, so they’re also called—”

“—Mendicant monks?” Felice tried to answer.

As soon as she said this, the professor’s face twitched beneath his beard, and unable to restrain himself, he raised his voice and roared, “They’re mendicant monks! Or gray-robed monks! What you said is far too rude!”

Mendicant—that is, beggars...

Watching the professor blow his beard and glare, Felice kept her internal muttering to herself.

This helped her understand why Giovanni would rather delay than let her leave so easily.

If Brother Salvatore was truly a devout Natura monk, his character was beyond question. But as a penniless old man, depending on alms himself, with no apparent fighting ability, who could guarantee safety traveling from Enno Peninsula to Roland with a young girl?

Taking such a risk was less sensible than sending her to a convent near Asca, where someone known could help in trouble.

As for Felice’s personal interests, in the eyes of adults, they were insignificant compared to her safety.

Having analyzed the situation, Felice sighed deeply.

If that was the outcome, she could only accept it... After all, nothing was more important than survival.

She had thought her small struggle was hopeless, but unexpectedly, her temporary guardian—Master Giovanni—completely reversed his stance the next day.

“Quick, Lisa, pack two of Mario’s old clothes for Felice... and some food, wrap up several pieces of bread...”

Before reaching the ground floor, Felice heard Giovanni anxiously instructing his wife.

When she descended, the troubled man stiffened, then approached with an expression of deep concern.

“I’m sorry, Felice. I may have to break my word.”

He knelt, grasping her shoulders with shame. “You cannot stay in Asca... Whether Roland or Haruma, you must leave the city immediately. The farther, the better...”

“This plague isn’t ordinary. Corpses lie everywhere outside the city... Patients keep arriving at monasteries and convents, but there’s no way... no one can stop it... even Dean Camillo...”

His voice choked off; his well-trimmed mustache quivered, and his face twisted bitterly.

“I cannot send you to a nearby convent—that would be sending you to your death. Tomorrow morning, leave with Brother Salvatore. Go quickly, and go far. Maybe then you’ll be safe...”

He said this as he withdrew a small leather pouch from his pocket, quietly slipping it into her hand.

“This is some money Massimo kept in the house. I added more. Hide it well; don’t let anyone see... If you arrive safely, send me a letter with it...” Giovanni whispered. “May the Holy Mother protect you, Feliciana.”