20 The Grey-Robed Friar 7

The conversation came to an abrupt end with the boy’s demonic metaphor.

However, compared to a phantom who couldn't eat anyway, Phyllis felt more pity for herself, as she still had to eat. After witnessing the horrific state of the city of Velis, the atmosphere within the caravan had grown noticeably somber. Even the young man with the piccolo did not take his instrument from his coat, but instead gripped the reins in silence, his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

As the wheels rumbled forward, the scent that had lingered in the air was soon swept away by a clean breeze. The caravan left the dirt road and turned onto the "high road," paved with gray stone. Although the ride remained bumpy—hitting the occasional pothole and seeing wild grass growing between the stones—this was the first time Phyllis had seen a man-made road paved with stone outside of a city, and she could not help but cast several glances downward.

"This road was built during the Gulemu Empire. It’s said to be over a thousand years old."

"However, many of the stones along this stretch have been dug up by locals to build houses. Further ahead, I suspect they’ll be gone. They say only the high roads near the city of Remu remain relatively intact..."

The familiar voice came from beside her. Phyllis stiffened for a moment, but out of politeness, she turned to look at the boy sitting next to her.

The boy, Francesco, who had recently joined the caravan, offered her a friendly smile before continuing: "Come to think of it, I haven't properly thanked you yet. Thank you for your help the other day; I truly don't know how to express my gratitude."

Phyllis met the gaze of the child, who looked as if he had just entered middle school, and instinctively pursed her lips. In all honesty, Francesco had a very handsome face. With thick eyebrows, large eyes, clean teeth, and short, curly black hair kept in perfect order, the smiling eyes beneath his fringe seemed to possess an innate sense of approachability. He was a far cry from the poor boy who, just days ago, had lost his mother and was weeping until his face was a mess of tears and snot.

"...I only helped deliver a message," Phyllis said, keeping her mouth barely open to hide her missing front tooth. "It was mostly Brother Salvatore who was kind enough to..."

"Please don't say that! I was already so grateful that you were willing to deliver the message for me!"

The boy raised his voice suddenly, but under the subtle gazes of those around them, he quickly calmed down and leaned in to whisper: "And what you said before... I know you were just trying to comfort me... It might not mean much to you, but I am truly grateful..."

Phyllis understood he was referring to her saying, "His mother has already ascended to heaven." Her gaze drifted toward the old friar, who was sitting on the other side of the cart with his eyes closed, resting.

"..."

"I wasn't just saying that to comfort you. I truly saw it."

After a long silence, she sighed inwardly, but she stuck to her previous claim: "I don't know if she went to heaven, but I saw her soul ascend to the sky with my own eyes."

"Then you are truly brave. If it were me, I surely would have screamed in terror." The boy was stunned for a moment, then laughed. "By the way, I still don't know who you are. If you’re willing, may I know your name?"

He really was treating her like a child to be coaxed...

Phyllis immediately saw that he did not believe a word she said. While she felt a complex mix of emotions, she also felt a small sense of relief. Since he had taken the initiative to be friendly and they would be traveling companions for a while, she didn't mind revealing her name.

"...Felicio."

She spoke the "male name" she had decided upon earlier, paused, and added, "You can call me Philis."

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Philis."

The boy didn't notice anything amiss and laughed heartily, steering the conversation with the flow of the atmosphere toward trivial questions like "How old are you this year?" and "Where are you coming from and where are you going?"

These were basic facts that everyone in the caravan already knew. Phyllis thought that even if she didn't answer now, given the boy's nimble tongue, he would eventually wheedle the information out of their fellow travelers, so she didn't bother hiding anything. However, she didn't let him do all the asking; for every question he posed, she countered with a similar one.

The body of little Philis was still young, and when she opened her eyes wide to look at people, she appeared all the more innocent. Francesco was also sensitive to the atmosphere, and in their back-and-forth conversation, they managed to provide each other with fairly detailed introductions.

Francesco lived up to his reputation as the son of an innkeeper; not only was his skin fairer than the young merchants around them, but his tongue was as sweet as honey. Aside from that initial "corpse-pit lasagna" remark, which was truly hellish, everything he said thereafter was well-measured, never letting the conversation fall flat.

Especially at the dinner table, the boy's exceptional social skills were fully unleashed. He clearly didn't know much about these merchants, nor did he know much about the world beyond, but some people possess the unique ability to bridge the gap between themselves and others in a single breath. In the short span of a meal, he had made everyone in both merchant caravans remember his name and left a favorable impression.

With him present, the group had long since cast aside Brother Salvatore’s unfinished sermons, instead urging the boy without reservation to share the bizarre stories he had heard at his family’s inn.

Perhaps one always yearns for what they lack; Phyllis had always admired such people. Moreover, rarely coming across such a natural orator, watching him perform the art of conversation close-up was no less entertaining than watching an improvisational comedy show in her later life.

However, happy times are always fleeting. The next day, the two merchant caravans, traveling together for the time being, set off once more under the morning sun. Time passed day by day to the sound of wheels grinding against the road. Sometimes they stayed in village inns, and when they couldn't find lodging, they made do in the wilderness. It was late spring and early summer, so the temperature had risen; as long as the night watch was diligent, sleeping outside posed no great issue.

During the day, Francesco would occasionally come over to chat with her and Brother Salvatore. But perhaps because she and the old friar had so little to say, the boy spent most of his time with the others in the caravan, quickly becoming well-integrated with both groups.

With such a "little goldfinch" to liven up the atmosphere, the overall mood of the caravan was finally not as heavy as before. Francesco even made friends with a bard who was hitching a ride with the other caravan; it was said the two chatted quite congenially, and occasionally Phyllis could hear the melodic strumming of a lute.

Above them was the boundless blue sky. The plains covered in red poppies were slowly left behind. Beneath the rising hills ahead, clusters of roofs were always distributed at varying heights, like believers kneeling and gazing up at the church built atop the hill.

Phyllis had to admit that as a world-renowned tourist destination even hundreds of years later, the scenery of the Enno Peninsula was truly breathtaking. In the past, Phyllis had always suspected that the beauty of classical landscape paintings must have been enhanced by the artist's imagination, much like photos on the internet that are always filtered before being posted... Now, seeing it with her own eyes, she finally understood that such beautiful scenery could truly exist in the world.

It needed no color adjustment, no embellishment. Any artist seeing such a vista would feel their hands itching to record it. If one could replicate the colors reflected in their eyes one-to-one and place them in their corresponding positions on a canvas, it would be the most perfect work of art... This was heaven on earth.

Therefore, when Phyllis saw an inconspicuous "little dirt mound" amidst this picturesque beauty, she did not immediately realize that anything was amiss.

Just as the caravan passed by, that "dirt mound" by the roadside suddenly thrust out a wooden staff with a bell tied to it, and a faint "jingle" sound immediately drifted through the wind. Phyllis followed the sound and looked over, suddenly realizing that it was no "dirt mound," but a person lying on the ground.

The clothes on the person’s body were even more tattered than Brother Salvatore’s, or rather, they could not be called "clothes" at all—they were merely filthy, ragged strips of cloth, blending in with skin that looked nearly identical to the dirt, making it impossible to tell at a glance that it was a human being.

The person, whose gender was unrecognizable, had lost the ability to speak. Whether from hunger or because they were mute to begin with, their dry throat could only emit a "hissing" sound as they struggled to lift their head toward the caravan.

For a moment, Phyllis saw the person's face clearly. The face was covered in countless tumorous lumps that looked like stones, nearly squeezing the eyes shut, while the arms beneath the rags were as thin as a skeleton about to merge with the earth. The person used all their remaining strength to shake the bell in their hand to attract attention.

"Holy Mother above... please stop the carriage!"

The old man, who had been sitting quietly to the side, suddenly cried out and, without waiting for the carriage to come to a full stop, jumped down in a hurry, leaning on his cane as he walked to the side of the road.

Phyllis instinctively jumped off the carriage after him and was about to follow when she was stopped by the voice of Professor Paileruso.

"Don't go near!"

The phantom blocked her path, anxious: "You cannot go over there; you will be infected!"

At the same time, Francesco, hearing the commotion, hurried over as well. Seeing that Phyllis had not run over, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and quickly tugged at her sleeve to pull her back toward the cart.

"...That, that must have been a leper who lived nearby..."

The boy looked at the side of the road, turned his head away in pity, and whispered, "Back when Father Tim was still around, our town would send food to the wards outside the town every two or three days... but now..."

He could not finish his sentence, but everyone present understood what he meant.

Here, a leper was an existence even more shunned than a beggar. Because the skin would become as hard as stone after the disease set in, people firmly believed that this illness, which caused such disfigurement, was contagious. Once someone was diagnosed with leprosy, they were inevitably driven out of the residential area. Everyone refused to touch them, and they were required to carry a bell or clapper at all times to warn others that "a leper is approaching." Under such harsh conditions, they could only survive on the charity of nearby residents or the local lord.

However, now, even the local priest had abandoned his parish and fled, and the townspeople were plunged into panic by the arrival of the plague. Families lucky enough not to be infected had locked their doors and shuttered their windows; who would spare a thought for those living on the fringes of the town?

Furthermore, the person before them, who was already on the verge of merging with the earth, would likely be dead soon...

Listening to the explanations of those around her, Phyllis found that her gaze could not shift away from that gray, hunched figure. She saw Salvatore kneel down, take out his water skin, place it along with the last half-loaf of bread in his bag before the person, heard him recite a prayer for them, and heard a sob that did not sound human.

The sun was still hanging high in the sky, and she could still hear the voices around her... but for a moment, Phyllis felt that the sunlight falling upon her suddenly lost its warmth, and even the surrounding scenery faded of its color. She felt as if she had become that wandering soul again, seeing the world for the first time.

Numbly, stripping away her emotions, she was pulled back onto the carriage like an outsider, watching helplessly as that speck lying on the ground slowly disappeared from her field of vision...

"..."

"Do not be sad, my child. That poor soul will eventually return to the side of our Lord."

Phyllis felt a hand gently rest on her head. It was an insignificant gesture, yet she was suddenly yanked back to the world of the living, her exposed skin once again feeling the warmth of the midday sun. The girl stared blankly at the back of her hand, exposed to the sunlight, feeling the warmth radiating from it, and her previously uncertain speculations became clearer.

"...Brother Salvatore, you..."

Seeing the old man look over, her lips moved, but in the end, she swallowed the impulse and asked instead: "You said before that Saint Natura could communicate with all things, even ants and whales... You said that was a gift bestowed upon him by our Lord. Tell me... did no one think he was a freak back then?"

The words had no sooner left her lips than Phyllis heard Francesco and Professor Paileruso both gasp in shock, which made her immediately realize how inappropriate her words had been. But before she could make any amends, the gray-robed friar sitting beside her laughed aloud.

"Of course there were those who thought he was a freak! At first, everyone thought he was a madman!"

The old man laughed to himself for a while, then squinted at the girl beside him: "Even after he was respected by the masses, founded the Natura Order, and became a saint publicly recognized by the Holy See, there were still those who believed his preaching to animals was nothing but a joke."

"But what does that matter? He never cared about such things."

The gray-robed friar laughed and sighed: "Whether one is an ordinary person or a freak, that is not the reason he became a saint. He became a saint because he always walked the correct path."

"..."

"And what is that 'correct path'?"

Phyllis looked into his eyes, her impulse suddenly breaking through her reason, and she blurted out: "Who decides the standard of 'correct'? Is it the law or the Pope?"

The girl's voice was not loud, but it carried an aggressive, gunpowder-like edge. The moment she said it, Francesco, who was still gasping, didn't dare make a sound, only staring with wide eyes as he looked back and forth between the two.

But to his surprise, upon hearing these words, which could be termed a "challenge," the old man in the gray robe neither became angry nor gave an immediate answer, but instead lowered his eyelids and began to think seriously.

"You have posed a difficult question, my child." The old man thought for a moment and shook his head. "Although I should support His Holiness the Pope, I think Saint Natura's 'correctness' is not entirely limited to those two."

"It is here, and it is also here."

He pointed to his own chest, then pointed to the girl's chest, and said slowly: "In everyone's heart, there is an answer regarding what is 'correct.' But Saint Natura was a special person because he walked to the intersection of what was 'correct' in everyone's heart. That is why he is worthy of being sincerely revered by people, and why he was eventually recognized by the Holy See."

Phyllis opened her mouth.

"...And you?"

She heard herself say: "You persist in this way of life, helping others—is it because you also want to become a saint like Saint Natura?"

The old man laughed again, but there was something in that laughter that Phyllis could not understand.

"A saint is a glory bestowed by the living upon the dead. What others think of me after I die is their business; to me, now, it is of no consequence." He touched the girl's head again, gently, "But I do indeed wish to be like Saint Natura, to always walk on the correct path until the day I return to the embrace of our Lord."

Phyllis stared into his eyes for a long moment, whispered a soft "hmm," and then lowered her head, lost in thought.

Because of this, she missed the fleeting emotion that flashed in the eyes of the boy beside her.