Chapter 14: The Gray-Robed Cultivator I

Only a week had passed since Massimo’s funeral, yet walking again along the cobblestone streets of Asca City, everything appeared different from before.

Last time, there had been some pedestrians on the street, albeit few; now, even as the bell tolled for the third hour, the streets were utterly deserted.

Not only that, every household kept their doors tightly shut, not even daring to open windows. If someone tried to peek outside and saw a person on the street, they would slam the window shut with a bang.

Brother Salvatore seemed quite old, his legs unsteady, making his pace slow—unsurprising in a mountainous city like Asca, with its many steep slopes.

Fortunately, Phyllis’s legs were short, and with her cautious nature, she took careful, small steps on the steep cobblestones, wary of falling.

Judging by this, the old and the young moved at roughly the same pace, making them surprisingly suitable travel companions.

Phyllis found a bitter comfort in this thought as the two slowly reached the stone bridge connecting to the Lower City.

A massive Remus-style column stood solemnly by the bridge. Looking up along its ornate shaft, atop it was a sculpture of a she-wolf nursing two infants.

The two heroes who survived by suckling from the she-wolf were Romulus and Remus, the twins who later founded Remus City—the statue of the twins and the she-wolf had long been the symbol of Remus City.

But now, this was the Asca Republic, an independent free city-state with no ties to any regime. Why then was a symbol of another city erected here?

This question arose in her mind, and she voiced it aloud.

Soon, her ghostly teacher and the gray-robed monk beside her offered explanations one after another.

“Because Ascanio, the second son of Remus, founded Asca City,” the quick-witted Professor Palusso answered swiftly.

“Remus, who killed his brother to claim Remus City, also had twin sons. After Remus died, the brothers who managed Remus City fell into irreconcilable conflict. Fortunately, they did not repeat their father’s tragedy. The younger brother, Ascanio, stepped back first, leaving Remus City to establish Asca City here. His elder brother, Sinio, grateful for his concession, declared that they would share the glory of Remus City. That is why Asca City’s emblem is identical to that of Remus City.”

Compared to the quick-thinking scholar, the gray-robed Brother Salvatore only slowly lifted his gaze to the column after hearing this.

“Because Ascanio, who founded Asca, was also the son of Remus, the founder of Remus City.”

“His elder brother, the firstborn of Remus, was deeply moved upon learning that his younger brother would forsake inheriting Remus City to build a new one. To express the inseparable bond between them, he allowed his brother’s new city to share in the glory of Remus City—that is the Asca City we see now…”

Having heard a similar story again, Phyllis had yet to react. Floating nearby, Professor Palusso suddenly realized something, his eyes widening beneath his eyebrows.

“Were you just testing me? Testing whether I’m a hallucination of yours?!” The ghost protested indignantly. “You actually don’t trust me!”

Phyllis could not converse with him then, so she cast him a sidelong glance unseen by others.

She admitted that she had indeed been moved by his obsession with knowledge yesterday and was somewhat interested in the book he had made with his own hands. Yet that did not prevent her from probing further.

In such an unfamiliar world, the more accurate knowledge she gained, the higher her chances of survival—especially in these extraordinary times.

Before venturing to the new place called Roland, she had to seize every moment to absorb all information about this world… at least, she did not want to be mistaken for a lunatic or fool because of strange behaviors or misconceptions.

Entering the Lower City, the scene on the street changed once more.

If the Upper City was eerily silent, the Lower City’s terror stemmed from raw violence and chaos.

First to assault her senses was an indescribable stench.

The odor of rot, of filth… the sewage channels along both sides of the street, which should have been cleaned daily, were now clogged with filth.

As she descended the slope step by step, the strange smell wove itself like fine threads, flowing into her nostrils and chest, gradually forming a membrane that seemed to suffocate her.

Phyllis had to tread cautiously, trying to avoid the foul water trickling between the cobblestones, when suddenly she saw a hand reaching out.

It was an extraordinarily pale hand, palm down on the stone.

Its whiteness made the dirt under the nails stand out all the more.

She had seen this deathly pale, bluish skin before.

When she had sent off her grandmother at the funeral home, the skin visible beneath the cloth had looked just like this…

“Don’t look.”

As Phyllis’s gaze involuntarily followed the ghastly hand upward, a gaunt hand blocked her view, pulling her closer and tugging her hood down.

“Good child, don’t look up.”

The old man’s voice came softly from above, the tone still calm and gentle as before, though the pressure on the side of her head was unmistakable.

Realizing what it was, Phyllis shivered and obeyed, lowering her head and focusing all attention on the gray cobblestones at her feet.

She did not look up again, but the sounds around her still reached her ears.

Various cries and sobs filtered through the walls onto the street, their words blurred and indistinct. More audible than these broken sounds were sharp quarrels and angry shouts.

She heard people arguing over who should carry away the corpses inside the houses, the dull thud of heavy objects thrown nearby, the bargaining of corpse bearers... and more piercing still were the voices of the dead.

“...It hurts so much...”

“Save me… please… I don’t want to die yet…”

“Holy Mother… above… I beg you…”

Perhaps more people had died in the Lower City than above. Even without looking, she could hear these faint murmurs lingering around her ears.

“How… how can there be so many…”

Professor Palusso’s voice trembled, as if drawing nearer: “Too many… it wasn’t like this just days ago. How did so many suddenly die...?”

Fear and unease spread through the voice, an invading chill threatening to consume the body entirely.

Though mentally prepared, Phyllis’s breathing involuntarily quickened, and her hands clutching her chest pocket turned icy cold.

Sensing her discomfort, the hand on her head slowly slid downward.

The sudden movement made Phyllis’s hair stand on end. Just as she was about to force it away, the hand gently covered her right ear.

“It’s alright, good child, we’re almost out of the city…”

The old man’s voice, seeming to carry a certain magic, instantly dispelled the creeping chill at her feet.

In a daze, Phyllis walked many more steps until the gray cobblestones beneath her shoes turned to dirt. The hand pressed to her ear finally released.

“Brother! We’ve been waiting for you a long time!”

Seeing the old man and child approach, a man chewing on grass straightened up and came over, brandishing a whip.

“Hurry and get on the cart. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll have to sleep outdoors tonight… By the way, you two haven’t caught that disease, right?”

“Of course not.”

The gray-robed monk cooperatively rolled up his sleeve; Phyllis also lowered her hood and imitated him.

The man did not hesitate, carefully inspecting their exposed skin and complexion. Satisfied, he waved them onto the cart.

Though called a caravan, the dozen or so people were all young and strong, each armed. The wooden crates on the carts were sealed tight, revealing nothing of their contents.

Phyllis and the monk were assigned seats on one of the carts. She wanted to climb up herself, but her height forbade it. After struggling with hands and feet, a young companion finally took pity and lifted her aboard like a bundle.

After checking the cargo and companions, the leader gave a shout, vaulted onto his horse, and the caravan set off north along the dirt road.

The carts moved slowly, yet still faster than walking.

Within half an hour, the gates of Asca City vanished behind them.

Yet, even out of sight, Phyllis’s gaze could not stray.

Though not well acquainted with the city’s inhabitants, their faces still flashed before her eyes.

Master Giovanni, Lady Isabella, maid Mia, the little apprentice who made paints—their futures were unknown.

And Katarina, who had cared for her that first day; Brother Marco, who treated her head wound; the monastery’s abbot, a friend of Massimo… she hadn’t even spoken to them again and was leaving just like that...

Looking up, the sky today was as deep blue as the day she first saw this world—a bright, sunny day.

It was now the fifth month of the year, known in this era as the Month of Sprouts or the Month of the Heavenly Tree.

The Itueno Peninsula was beginning to warm, especially during the day. The abundant sunshine seemed capable of dispelling all wickedness.

Phyllis gazed upward, daydreaming under the sun for quite a while until she finally felt the chill in her hands and feet subside.

As the caravan pressed onward, fewer and fewer people appeared by the roadside.

Some cast hostile glances, but upon seeing the many armed youths on horseback escorting the caravan, their spiteful gazes reluctantly shifted away.

The wheels rolled on until only verdant plains and distant mountains remained in sight. The mounted youths finally relaxed their hands from the sword hilts, and some casual chatter began among the caravan.

“Hey, monk over there! I heard you’re taking this child to Original City?”

The man who first greeted them pulled reins and approached the cart, his curious eyes scanning the pair.

“I often see the gray-robed monks, but one traveling with a child is rare…”

His borderline offensive gaze made Phyllis uncomfortable. Since she was still disguised as a boy and didn’t want to reveal herself, she spoke little, leaning back to hide behind the old monk.

“All is guided by our Lord,” Brother Salvatore responded calmly, unfazed by the man’s brusque tone, making a prayer gesture upward before explaining gently, “This child has just lost her last close relative. Only a distant kin in Original City is willing to take her in. Though Master Giovanni pitied her, he cannot leave his work to escort her personally, so he sent a letter and entrusted her to me… We are grateful for your generosity in giving us a ride; otherwise, we wouldn’t know when we’d reach the city on foot.”

“Well… Master Giovanni did pay after all…”

Perhaps impressed by his good attitude, the formerly cocky man now looked a little ashamed. Speaking more seriously, he gestured with his whip to two young men on horseback.

“These are my nephews, Paganino and Andrea. If you need anything, just talk to them.”

Brother Salvatore thanked him again. The man spurred his horse and returned to the front of the caravan.

After he left, the old monk lowered his gaze to the child curled beside him.

“That gentleman was merely curious, no harm intended. Don’t be afraid.”

He patted the girl’s head in comfort and pulled out a piece of bread, breaking it in half and handing her one half.

“Lunchtime is near. Eat something.”

Phyllis took the bread but did not eat immediately. Instead, she scanned the surroundings to ensure privacy, then looked at the monk in surprise.

“Aren’t we going to Roland? Why did you say Original City…”

Original City lay in the north of the Itueno Peninsula, near the peninsula’s junction with the mainland. Though not close, it was clearly much nearer than Roland.

More importantly, she was not going to seek refuge with relatives.

The old monk appeared so honest and devout—his head seemed to glow during prayer—yet when he lied, there was no hesitation whatsoever.

“The only caravan leaving Asca recently is this one. Their destination is Original City. After arriving, they will return south… Master Giovanni’s intention is to go to Original City first to see if it’s suitable. If not, I will take you further north.”

Brother Salvatore bent down, his eyes half-covered by eyelids, and lowered his voice.

“When traveling, there’s no need to say everything so plainly.”

Phyllis was surprised by his frankness but could not help asking, “But, Brother… is it right for monks to lie?”

The old monk chuckled, shaking his head, and bit into the bread.

“Our Lord is merciful. He will forgive me at confession next time.”

Phyllis nodded with mixed feelings, biting into the bread with a sense of bewilderment as her common sense was slightly shaken.

Crunch—

A crisp sound echoed in her mind. Suddenly, her mouth felt cold, then pain and the taste of rust spread through her oral cavity.

“What’s wrong?”

Professor Palusso, who had been hovering nearby, saw her suddenly bend over clutching her mouth and thought something had happened, anxiously circling in the air.

When he saw her spit out two bloodied baby teeth, he froze, then could not contain himself and burst into loud laughter.

Amid the ghost’s unrestrained laughter, Phyllis belatedly remembered a long-forgotten growing pain.

A child of eight was indeed supposed to be losing her baby teeth...