Chapter 21: The Gray-Robed Cultivator, Part 8

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As a marginalized figure in the Middle Ages, the plight of lepers was undoubtedly pitiable. Especially now, when ordinary people’s lives were hanging by a thread, their situation inevitably became even more precarious.

Yet, the appearance of that leper brought Phyllis a sign.

In ordinary towns, such as the one where Francisco lived, even the local priests had abandoned their parishes and fled due to the plague, and villagers kept their doors and windows tightly shut to protect themselves... In such circumstances, marginalized individuals like lepers, who survived only by begging, should have been among the first to perish.

But now, they had seen one alive—though in poor condition, still a breathing person compared to the many corpses they encountered along the way. Could this mean they were approaching a larger city?

Soon enough, the speculation was confirmed by the city walls gradually appearing on the horizon.

Regarding this city, which seemed comparable in size to Aska and Vilis, Phyllis could not even be sure of its name until she saw it for herself, let alone pinpoint their exact location.

Primarily, she couldn’t recall even ten city names within the Ituenno territory from modern times, much less the possibility that a city in this world centuries ago might have multiple names.

Just like this city before her. Some in the caravan called it "Bononia," others referred to it as "Fersna," and it took Phyllis a while to realize these two names referred to the same place.

Lacking any sensitivity or memory cues for such fluid names, Phyllis simply nicknamed it “Scholar’s City” in her mind—to honor its lofty status as the birthplace of the first university on the Ituenno Peninsula, as described by Professor Palleuso.

Like Aska and Vilis, Scholar’s City was a rare large city at this time, boasting many stone walls.

But unlike the republics jointly governed by councils and noble families, this city belonged to the Papal States. In other words, there were no secular nobles here; all top administrators came from the Church, and the Pope himself held supreme religious and political authority over the city.

In other words, although Scholar’s City was some distance from the southern Papal States and did not border them, it was still part of the Papal domain.

This was no isolated case.

In fact, many city-states or regions bearing the Papal name were scattered across the continent, disconnected and not adjacent to one another. Some even lay within the territories of secular nobles.

It was at this point that Phyllis learned that, in this era, a country’s territory was not always a continuous, uniformly colored shape on a map as in later times.

The phenomenon of “territories scattered across the continent” wasn’t limited to the Papal States. Due to marriages and other historical reasons, many secular nobles’ lands were also fragmented and scattered.

“…That’s nothing unusual. Not only counts and dukes, but didn’t the King of Mali also have land in Roland—” The young man chatting from horseback was shot a glare by his uncle walking ahead, finally stopping his rising tone and abruptly changing the subject. “And the Queen of Nafah too—her lands include the late Count Medio’s domain. That place is quite far from Nafah, separated by most of Roland…”

“That’s not all. The Queen of Nafah’s territory isn’t small. She was supposed to be the queen of all Roland!” another caravan member interjected. “Although she never inherited the throne, her parents left her a considerable estate.”

“Wasn’t she illegitimate? Her mother had an affair with a knight and was executed before becoming queen…”

“No execution—just died under house arrest… And the Queen of Nafah was never illegitimate; King Lelouis X recognized her as his daughter during his lifetime, or else how could she have become Queen of Nafah?”

“So what? The Roland royal family has changed. As long as the current King of Roland doesn’t give in, she won’t get a thing.”

One sneered, “Kampus is so large and right in the heart of the Kingdom of Roland—it would be madness for the King to hand it over to a princess of the previous dynasty!”

“Didn’t the old guy already trade her that for some other land?”

“You mean Angule? That tiny place is at least ten times smaller than Kampus! How could the Queen of Nafah accept that…”

The gossip swirled endlessly.

From how the former princess of the Roland kingdom was bullied and usurped by two uncles and a cousin, to how the previous kings failed to produce heirs, leading to the throne passing to a collateral branch…

Phyllis initially listened attentively, hoping to glean more information about this era, especially events she recognized.

Because she had never systematically studied Old Continent history, and though modern entertainment had vaguely imprinted some major events, those events remained isolated in her mind, never connecting into a coherent whole… For example, she knew she was in the early stage of the Black Death, but had no concept of what else was happening concurrently on the Old Continent.

She needed an anchor, a locator to piece together the fragments in her mind.

The gossip surrounding the royal family of the Kingdom of Roland, a traditional great power on the Old Continent, seemed a good entry point.

So she strained to listen when the caravan members spoke, hoping to catch even one familiar name to grasp some historical trajectory.

Yet the more she listened, the less she understood.

Phyllis felt this was hardly her fault.

Aside from the long, forgettable place names, the noble names on the Western Continent repeated excessively.

Louis, Charles, Philip, Anna, Jeanne, Marianne… everyone recycled these few names, coupled with countless unfamiliar places. The chain of names flowed in through one ear and out the other, streaming over her cortex without leaving a trace, the prolonged listening almost hypnotic.

However, the tale of three consecutive kings failing to produce a male heir, leading to the dynasty’s extinction and the throne passing to distant relatives… besides making her smile, felt faintly familiar. Yet she could not recall a specific related event.

As a historically long-lasting traditional power on the Old Continent, the Roland royal family’s gossip was as extensive as their longevity. This wasn’t even the most absurd or famous tale.

Moreover, the extinction of a dynasty and inheritance of estates by distant relatives was common on the Old Continent. Not to mention countless novel plots, similar situations still appeared in reality even into modern times. It was no surprise she found it familiar…

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“Hey… hey!”

“Phyllis? Are you listening?”

A hand suddenly waved before her eyes. Phyllis snapped back to reality to find the carriage had stopped beneath the city walls, with two caravan leaders ahead registering and paying the city tax.

Francisco, sitting beside her, saw her finally look up, withdrew his hand, and sighed, “What were you thinking about? I called you several times and got no response.”

“Sorry, I was a bit sleepy.” Phyllis rubbed her slightly dry eyes, gathered herself, and looked up. “What were you just saying?”

“I was saying that after we enter the city, Mr. Antonio and the others plan to visit the market. Do you want to come along?”

Seeing the child’s tired expression, the young man shook his head. “Better not now. Once we find the inn, you should rest first.”

Hearing this, Phyllis stood up and stretched her neck to look around.

Though they had passed other towns in recent days, Scholar’s City was the only one so far with walls comparable in scale to Vilis.

In other respects, it was also similar to Vilis—for instance, in the number of corpses transported out of the city.

Sometimes Phyllis marveled at the resilience and terrifying adaptability of humans.

In Vilis, she would gag at the sight of corpses; now, seeing the corpse bearers pass by, she calmly averted her gaze, unconsciously ignoring the strange odors as if the goods on the caravan were no different.

In just a few days, the numbness in Francisco’s eyes had transferred to her.

“...”

“At a time like this, would the market even be open?”

Blocking out the strange emotion, Phyllis quietly asked as she sat back down on the cart.

“...As long as there are living people, they have to eat,” the young man’s voice sounded cold and light. “Especially in the city, no one stocks more than two months’ food. Without a market, even without the plague, they’d starve.”

That made sense.

Phyllis was curious about what the market would be like now, yet her survival instinct made her reluctant to go to crowded places.

But once inside the city gates, her hesitation vanished.

This was her first real entry into a large city’s inner district since leaving Aska.

The plague had not spared this city despite its strong scholarly atmosphere.

Even as the carriage rolled along the main street, apart from the corpse bearers cleaning the roadside, the number of living people they saw could be counted on two hands.

More worrying was the condition of the city itself.

Especially the stench wafting through the streets—even though they were not on Tanner Street—the indescribable foul odor constantly reminded them that the black sticky substance clinging to the wheels was far more than mere mud.

After enduring this for a while, Phyllis gave up holding her breath, quickly pulled out a cloth, dampened it with water from her waterskin, and tied it over her face.

Afterward, she thought for a moment and made one for the old friar beside her.

Francisco, also riding in the carriage, was shocked by the city’s dreadful environment. He was about to say something but was choked by the foul air and tears welled in his eyes.

Seeing the child’s complexion brighten after this, he hurriedly followed suit and tied a wet handkerchief over his face, finally exhaling deeply.

“My Lord above… This is the first time I’ve seen such a filthy city…” The boy leaned slightly toward Phyllis, whispering his complaint. “I’ve often heard how tall and magnificent the towers built by the Bononians are, but no one ever said it was this dirty!”

“…That’s because it wasn’t dirty before!” Professor Palleuso, who had just regained his composure, immediately retorted. “I was here only a few years ago. The streets were as clean as Aska’s. It was nothing like this!”

Phyllis nodded slightly, her gaze sweeping over the corpses sporadically lying along the streets and the obviously insufficient number of corpse collectors. She roughly understood the situation.

In cities without underground drainage, resolving sanitary issues was always a problem.

Some, like the house Phyllis stayed in at Aska, had a small room dug out near an alley wall as a toilet, with the latrine emptying into an open sewage channel at the alley’s edge.

Those without the means to build toilets would dump daily waste into these sewage channels, which were collected nightly by dedicated workers for removal outside the city—either dumped into nearby rivers or abandoned in the wilderness.

But judging from this city’s condition, even corpses couldn’t be cleared promptly. Expecting anyone to maintain the sewage channels as usual was a fantasy.

Over time, waste overflowed from the alleys onto the main streets, eventually spreading throughout the city… Phyllis suspected that if Aska’s city council had collapsed due to the plague, its condition would be no better than this.

She had assumed that after witnessing this “stench assault,” Francisco wouldn’t want to wander the market.

Yet she underestimated the boy’s resolve. Even after nearly gagging from the smell, once they settled in the inn, he insisted on visiting the market.

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Phyllis didn’t quite understand his persistence but respected his decision, watching him leave with the caravan members.

The weather was gloomy today.

Since entering the city, a thin layer of clouds had slowly veiled the blue sky, ending nearly half a month of continuous sunshine.

Only after the sun was completely obscured by the overcast did the caravan return with fresh supplies. Francisco trailed behind, looking listless and noticeably distant from the main group.

Phyllis saw them from her room window and intended to go downstairs to greet them, but Francisco rushed straight into the backyard as soon as he entered the inn, leaving the others laughing loudly nearby.

“Your friend is really unlucky, kid!” A familiar young man called out to Phyllis as she descended from the second floor. “We all came back from the market fine, but he got doused with a whole bucket of shit! If you want to see him, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow!”

That was truly… the worst luck.

Phyllis glanced silently at the group still detailing the “exciting moment,” pursed her lips, and quickly headed to the inn’s backyard.

But she was too late.

When she found Francisco, he had already stripped off his shirt and was pouring water over himself, roughly washing off the grime before starting to wash his hair.

“Don’t use cold water to bathe!” Phyllis hurried forward to stop him, but he dodged. She anxiously said, “Wait for me to get you some hot water. You’ll get sick if you wash like this—”

“No, no… wait!” Francisco quickly waved his hand and grabbed the hood behind Phyllis, pulling her back. “Do you think hot water is just there on demand? You don’t know how expensive firewood is now!”

Phyllis was about to say she had money but remembered the rule not to flaunt wealth while traveling. She twisted her words before speaking: “You don’t need that much hot water. Warm water is fine. A little hot water won’t cost much…”

“It’s not about money. Firewood is not only expensive but scarce. No matter how much you spend at the market, you can’t buy much. Who wastes it just to heat water for bathing? I used to wash in the river, like everyone else…”

Seeing she still wanted to speak, Francisco turned and grabbed something: “Here, since you came, take this now.”

Phyllis felt two wet objects pressed into her hands. Looking down, she saw a waterskin and a small spinning top.

“Good thing I chose a top instead of a pinwheel; otherwise, it’d be a waste of money…” The boy muttered as he thrust the items toward her. “You should know how to play with this, right? Want me to teach you?”

Phyllis was stunned and immediately tried to refuse: “You bought this? I can’t take it—”

“Why not? You helped me so much before; a toy’s nothing… And it’s not just for you. Remember to give it to Brother Salvatore.”

The boy ran his wet fingers through his hair and pointed at the other waterskin: “I know devout gray-robed friars like him can’t have personal property, but he’s so old and always traveling. He can’t be without something to drink from…”

Phyllis looked at the waterskin, then at the boy’s somewhat uneasy expression: “You didn’t insist on going to the market just to buy these, did you?”

“Ah, those were incidental… I mainly wanted to see what’s sold at the market here…”

Francisco sneezed, rubbed his nose until it was red, and waved his hand at the boy: “Alright, go back now. Aren’t you afraid of catching this smell…”

Phyllis felt she was being treated like a child but understood she wouldn’t persuade him. In the end, she took the top and waterskin, glancing back every few steps as she walked away.

She hoped she was meddling unnecessarily… but…

“Professor, can you do me a favor?”

Phyllis glanced at the items in her hand and quickly turned to a stairwell corner, where no one was around, and whispered to the ghostly Professor Palleuso nearby: “Please watch over him, especially at night.”

The professor didn’t fully grasp her concern but agreed nonetheless.

After all, he politely left the ladies’ rooms at night, and since Francisco was male, he didn’t object to sharing the room.

After making this small arrangement, Phyllis returned upstairs with the waterskin made from a deer bladder and handed it to Brother Salvatore.

They had a simple dinner, unusually following the friar’s lead in evening prayers, and then she slipped under a thin blanket and closed her eyes.

However, it seemed that the more one cared, the more likely misfortune was to strike.

The next morning, Phyllis learned bad news from Professor Palleuso.

Francisco had begun coughing since midnight and now had a fever so high he couldn’t get out of bed.