2 The Republic of Aska 2

All arguments ended with the boy’s voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Who would argue with someone who seemed mad?

Even Marco, who had taken a punch to the face, simply rubbed his eye silently and glanced at the bearded man standing by the bedside.

“I believe she shouldn’t be in any serious condition now, Master Massimo,” said the black-robed cleric coolly, nodding briefly to the homeowner before picking up his bag and heading straight for the door.

“Hey, Marco...” the plump cleric sitting by the bed quickly stood up and, seeing his companion leaving without a backward glance, sighed helplessly and spoke to the silent man beside him, “Don’t mind him, Master Massimo. That’s just his nature; he means no offense.”

“No, it’s my trouble that you all had to come. I truly... I really don’t know how to thank you,” the bearded man’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Please convey my gratitude to Dean Camillo. Once Phyllis’s condition improves, I will thank him in person.”

“No need to rush. The child’s recovery is what matters most...” Peter’s voice was as gentle as his stature. After a few polite words to the man, he took his leave.

“What a strange man...”

“I told you, she’s been abnormal ever since her parents died...”

“...Maybe she’s possessed by a demon...”

“Everyone shut up!!”

The faint murmurs outside the door were audible even to Phyllis lying on the bed, and her bearded guardian standing nearby heard them clearly.

At first, he said nothing, but upon catching certain words, his face suddenly darkened. Grabbing a hammer from the table, he strode angrily toward the door.

The children gathered there screamed and scattered before he reached the entrance.

When the coast was clear, the man didn’t pursue them.

With a few strides, he shut the door firmly behind him. Inside, only his heavy, angry breaths could be heard.

Phyllis lifted her head slightly toward the door but could only see his slightly hunched back.

From her brief glimpse earlier, she could tell that the man the two clerics called “Master Massimo” was indeed strong but no longer young.

His graying beard and deeply lined face revealed he was middle-aged—if not fifty, then at least in his forties. Judging by what the children said, Phyllis suspected he was likely the grandfather of this body—though she wasn’t sure whether on the mother’s or father’s side.

Before she could ponder further, the man had already composed himself and returned to the bedside.

“...Did you... see those things again?”

His question came so suddenly that Phyllis couldn’t even hide her surprise, her face betraying her reflexive shock.

He didn’t need her to confirm or deny; that fleeting expression was enough for him to form his judgment.

Seeing the girl’s wide, round eyes fixed on him, the deeply sunken sockets seemed to overflow with a sorrow ready to materialize.

“Sleep now, good child... a rest will make it better.”

Before Phyllis could respond, the middle-aged man touched her forehead with calloused hands and said hoarsely, “I saw rabbit meat at the market today. I’ll buy some for stew tonight.”

Once the room quieted, the adrenaline gone, Phyllis felt a wave of dizziness again.

Perhaps sensing she was safe now, or perhaps soothed by the man’s low voice, she couldn’t stay awake any longer and closed her eyes.

After transforming into a child, her energy seemed diminished. She vaguely heard someone calling her name, but her eyelids felt magnetized shut.

In her haze, it felt as if someone half-lifted her and brought a mushy substance to her lips, which she swallowed despite sensing no flavor.

This dazed state lasted a day, or maybe several, until she awakened to find a different person sitting by her bedside.

“Blessed Virgin... poor child, you’re finally awake.”

A young woman wearing a headscarf saw Phyllis sitting up and trying to get down, quickly setting down her iron comb and wool to steady the girl’s shoulders.

“Don’t rush... are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

Noticing the stranger’s unfamiliar gaze, the woman hurriedly introduced herself.

“You might not know me. I’m Katarina, who married into the Parry family after this Lent. The cathedral’s construction site is short-handed, and Master Massimo... your grandfather has taken two days off and can’t stay here any longer, so he asked me to care for you during the day.”

Those few words from the woman answered many of Phyllis’s doubts.

As expected, the man called “Master Massimo” was indeed a relative of the body she inhabited. More fortunate still, Katarina, the young woman before her, had little connection with the original owner, which eased Phyllis’s nerves considerably.

Meeting Katarina’s concerned gaze, Phyllis parted her lips, and a strange compulsion made her utter words in a language unfamiliar to her.

“Th-thank you...”

Though her voice was hoarse and stammering, Katarina smiled warmly and relaxed upon hearing the gratitude.

Rumors outside claimed the Massimo child had gone mad after losing both parents. Katarina had been frightened before coming, worried that the child might lose control upon waking.

Now, those rumors seemed baseless; the girl before her was not mad at all.

Feeling sympathy deepen, Katarina’s voice softened further.

“Your voice is hoarse. Would you like to get up and have some water?”

Phyllis nodded and quickly accepted a cup of water.

Just as the water neared her lips, she suddenly remembered something important.

Was this water truly clean?

Not that she suspected Katarina of foul play, but this world, so close to the medieval era, offered little assurance.

Even in modern times, many intestinal and parasitic diseases stem from drinking unclean water.

Judging by the temperature, the water hadn’t been boiled. Drinking it could introduce countless bacteria—she didn’t know if this body’s stomach could handle such a test.

Hesitating for a moment with the cup raised, Phyllis finally pretended to swallow a sip, then set the cup down and cautiously looked at the young woman.

“May I ask... you said I could eat...?”

Seeing her make such a clear request, Katarina’s smile widened.

“The barley porridge is ready. I’ll bring it over now. Wait here a moment.” She placed the girl’s shoes by her feet, ensuring she could sit steadily before briskly leaving the room.

Barley porridge... at least it was cooked and likely safe.

Thinking this, Phyllis slipped on her shoes and clumsily got out of bed.

Seeing the world through a child’s eyes brought a profound shift—everything seemed new and wondrous.

Though she didn’t know how old the original “little Phyllis” was, judging by her height—just half a head above the dining table—and slender frame, she estimated the child was about six or seven years old.

After struggling to climb onto the chair, the woman returned with a bowl of thick porridge and a wooden spoon, setting them neatly before her.

Glancing outside, it seemed about seven or eight in the morning, Phyllis’s usual breakfast time.

But there was only one bowl of porridge, and Katarina took her seat nearby to continue combing wool, showing no intention to eat with her.

“...Aren’t you going to eat with me?” Phyllis asked politely, hoping to share a few words.

The woman paused for a moment, then smiled and shook her head.

“It’s not yet the third hour. You eat your meal; don’t mind me.”

The third hour? What could that mean?

Looking at the fully bright sky outside, Phyllis ruled out three o’clock and chose not to ask further, quietly sipping her barley porridge.

To be fair, the porridge wasn’t unpleasant—just peculiar in flavor.

Unlike the milk-cooked barley porridge she remembered, this one was simply boiled in water but likely made gentler for a “patient” like her by adding cheese curds. The porridge carried a mild cheesy and slightly salty taste.

Though somewhat bland and with a few grains that still had husks or bits of grit making it unpleasant to chew, the meal far exceeded Phyllis’s expectations.

At that moment, the tolling of distant bells drifted faintly, followed by footsteps growing nearer outside the window.

Driven by curiosity, both women leaned out to look.

Their house was built on a slope, so from the front door side, Phyllis was on the first floor. But looking out from the dining room window, nearly a full story above the slanting ground, it could be considered the second floor.

From Phyllis’s vantage point, she saw a group of people marching up the slope in orderly fashion.

Leading them was a man in a black ceremonial cloak, resembling a priest.

Behind him were two men dressed in black, holding candles, walking briskly with solemn expressions fixed ahead.

In stark contrast, two men followed—one tall and middle-aged with a neatly trimmed beard, the other younger, about ten years old. Both wore faces heavy with grief.

The cause of their sorrow was clear—the large coffin draped with a splendid pall trailing behind them.

“Holy Mother above... Lord Palleuso himself is attending the funeral. The rumors about their close relationship must be true,” Katarina said, making the sign of the cross and murmuring a few prayers. Once the coffin had passed, she sat back down and resumed combing wool.

“Poor Lord Palleuso. I heard the old gentleman died in an accident on his way back, ambushed by bandits. They didn’t even get to say goodbye...” she added in a conversational tone.

Phyllis glanced once more at the long funeral procession before sitting back down.

“Do you know who passed away?” she asked, deliberately ignoring the unfamiliar name Katarina mentioned and inquiring about the deceased’s identity. “Is Lord Palleuso a relative?”

“Oh, certainly. The old gentleman was Lord Palleuso’s uncle and reputedly one of the most esteemed professors at Aska University. Though he was disowned by his father years ago over some matter...” Katarina chatted as she worked, “But family is family. Old Palleuso died years ago, yet Lord Palleuso remained close to his uncle and ensured he was buried with the family crest.”

Though married, Katarina appeared only seventeen or eighteen. Once gossip surfaced, her earlier composure vanished, and her voice took on a lively tone.

Phyllis listened quietly, her brow furrowing.

She’d never heard the name “Palleuso” before, but “Aska University” sounded vaguely familiar—a fleeting recognition that slipped away like sand through her fingers.

Moreover, the existence of a university in this world was surprising, though she wondered if it resembled the kind of university she knew.

With more questions mounting, Phyllis soon finished her porridge.

Katarina proved a capable caregiver. After ensuring Phyllis’s dizziness had passed and that she could be left alone safely, she washed the bowl and asked if Phyllis wanted to go upstairs to her room to play with dolls.

Only then did Phyllis realize the bed she had been sleeping in was not her own.

Apparently, Master Massimo needed to watch over his granddaughter constantly, so she stayed on the first floor for convenience, avoiding trips up and down.

Phyllis had no understanding of why she was in this world, nor could she determine where the original “little Phyllis” had gone. But since she was here, even if only to find the child’s original soul, she resolved to live well.

To live, she needed to learn as much as possible about her surroundings.

After thanking Katarina again, Phyllis steadied herself on the stair railing, climbing carefully upstairs. Among three rooms, she found the one nominally hers.

Compared to the downstairs bed, which had nothing but a quilt and pillow, this room bore clear signs of a child’s life.

Beside the bed lay a linen doll stuffed with straw. It felt a bit prickly to the touch and lacked the softness of cotton when hugged, but the doll’s fine, neat stitching and cleanliness suggested it was much loved.

At the foot of the bed sat a small box filled with wooden carved figurines of people and animals, spinning tops, and an assortment of small stones and bird feathers—trinkets of little apparent value but polished smooth, without sharp edges, a testament to careful craftsmanship.

This must have been a child well cared for by their family.

Phyllis looked at the “F” carved on the wooden top, then at her own smooth palms, recalling the things she’d heard upon waking. A surge of mixed emotions overwhelmed her.

Holding the top, she sat on the bed and pictured the original owner of this room.

If she had seen something like a “demon” on the black-robed cleric, perhaps this “little Phyllis” had seen the same.

That might explain her strange behavior—though terrified, she tried to drive the foul thing away from others by grabbing the boy’s clothes or throwing stones. But since others couldn’t see it, they thought she was mad...

Thinking this, Phyllis took a deep breath and wiped her face to calm herself.

What had happened couldn’t be undone. Arguing over right or wrong now served no purpose.

What mattered most was that this body now housed a different person. Dealing with someone unfamiliar was manageable, but her grandfather would return in a few hours. How should she behave?

Should she reveal the whole truth or conceal it and observe?

Both choices bore risks, and she couldn’t decide which was best.

She recalled what Master Massimo had said before she fell asleep.

If her guess was correct, little Phyllis must have told her grandfather about seeing “ghosts.” If she was to impersonate her, should she tell the truth about what she saw?

Caught in indecision, Phyllis tossed the spinning top onto the bed, her eyes vacant as she stared at the ceiling.

Perhaps from mental exhaustion or lingering head injury, she suddenly felt an itch atop her head and instinctively scratched.

What was an ordinary gesture sent a chill through her. Her fingers encountered a strange sensation, and she jolted upright.

She felt as if she had just crushed something.

Looking closely, the marks on her fingers confirmed it was no illusion.

A dreadful thought flickered in her mind... but it was so terrifying that her brain seemed to short-circuit. She reached up again to her scalp, touching around until her fingers pinched tightly.

Seeing a louse wriggling between her fingers, an unseen string snapped sharply in her mind.