Chapter 7: The Republic of Ascar

According to customary procedures, a person who has been declared dead is usually kept under watch for several days before the burial takes place. In an era without medical instruments, this was the simplest and most effective way to prevent doctors from mistakenly pronouncing someone dead.

But times have changed. Massimo died after being diagnosed with the plague, and for the safety of the city’s inhabitants, his body needed to be buried as soon as possible.

Phyllis remembered the first funeral procession she saw in this world just a few days ago. At that time, she was both moved and curious about the funeral customs of this era, never imagining that she would soon be personally involved in such a ceremony.

The structure of this funeral procession was the same as the one for Professor Pileusso, only with fewer people this time. At the front was the priest clad in a black ceremonial cloak, followed by what should have been two acolytes holding candles. However, most of the clergy had been dispatched to care for the sick, so it was already a favor to Master Giovanni that a single priest could be spared to conduct the funeral. Demanding more was simply impossible.

Massimo was a renowned master stonemason in the city of Asca, an important member of the stonemason guild. His funeral expenses should have been covered by the guild, and his fellow members would be expected to join the procession. Yet, because he died of the plague, many who had promised to attend stayed away, and they couldn’t even gather enough pallbearers.

Master Giovanni was furious but helpless. He had to pay out of his own pocket to hire some locals to carry the coffin. Only then did the funeral procession set off punctually at the third hour’s bell.

As the sole relative of the deceased, Phyllis insisted on joining the procession despite repeated attempts by Master Giovanni and his wife Isabella to dissuade her.

The heavy tolling of the bell echoed through the stone-built mountain city as the funeral procession slowly descended toward the monastery below. Phyllis’s gaze shifted from the gray cobblestones beneath her feet to the surrounding buildings, finally resting on the distant, misty sky.

No wonder this city, still a famous tourist destination after centuries, boasted such admirable architecture and scenery.

Yet she never imagined that her first walk through the city, her first time seeing this beautiful place with her own eyes, would be on the way to lay a loved one to rest.

The further down they went, the more dilapidated the houses became, and the sound of wailing grew louder. Massimo was not the only one infected with the plague in the city.

Perhaps the number of infections on the mountain was still manageable, with doctors and clergy barely able to care for the sick. But near the foothills, patients were abandoned even by doctors. If one was unfortunate enough to contract the disease there, all that could be done was pray.

As Phyllis passed a farmer’s house, she suddenly spotted a familiar face hurrying by with a small bundle. The monk in black hesitated briefly upon seeing the funeral procession, removed his hood, stood aside, and silently paid respects. Then he turned and entered the farmer’s home filled with cries and wails.

That was Brother Marco, the monk who had treated her before. Phyllis recalled punching him unintentionally when she first awoke in this body, so the memory was vivid.

Some monks in the monastery studied medicine; Brother Marco must be one of them.

Phyllis glanced at the half-open door and saw a woman dressed as a farmer pleading with the black-robed monk. Suddenly, she felt a sense of disconnection. Since learning the grim news, her mind had detached from the emotions of this body.

Rationally, she knew the man named Massimo was not truly her relative. They had exchanged only a handful of words; strictly speaking, they were strangers.

The death of a stranger should not have affected her so deeply—and indeed, apart from sorrow and pity, she did not feel great sadness. Yet, since seeing the corpse lying in the coffin, her mind felt numb, like a rusted bearing unable to think at all.

In this state, Phyllis followed the funeral procession to the monastery below, watching the priest speak softly beside the freshly dug grave and the coffin being slowly covered with earth, her gaze unable to leave it.

The clouds gradually parted, and sunlight fell quietly. Birds chirped, bending soft branches with their weight as they flitted lightly across the sky.

Before the grave stood a small headstone engraved with its owner’s name: Massimo d’Asca—meaning Massimo from Asca.

No family name, only a place of birth, a fitting name for this era… a man she had no time to understand before he vanished.

“...”

“Phyllis, it’s time to go,” came Master Giovanni’s voice after a long pause. “Prior Camillo at the monastery is still waiting for us.”

His words finally stirred the girl’s eyes.

Phyllis cast one last glance at the grave, now devoid of any visible coffin, ensuring no ghosts had appeared, before silently nodding to the man. Together, they headed toward the side door of the monastery church.

The “Prior Camillo” Giovanni mentioned was the eldest living person Phyllis had met so far.

Seeing him, Phyllis suddenly realized that whether from looking out the window these past days or walking through the city, most people she had seen were young. The older ones were like Giovanni—still considered middle-aged in modern terms. This was her first time seeing someone clearly over sixty.

“May the Holy Mother bless you…” The white-haired, bearded old prior placed a merciful hand on the girl’s forehead, pausing silently for a moment before greeting Master Giovanni and leading them to his chambers.

“A disaster no one could have predicted... but a trial granted by the Father God and the Holy Mother,” the aged monk sighed, looking at the still-confused girl. “Master Massimo was a good man, devout and diligent in serving the Holy Mother. I believe he will ascend to heaven.”

Phyllis lowered her eyes and nodded quietly, appearing obedient but unmoved inside.

She was neither Catholic nor Protestant. Although many classmates and colleagues in her past life had faith, and she had once received help from the local church, neither she nor her grandparents believed in it.

She did not deny that faith could sometimes lead people to goodness, nor did she reject believers in daily life. But some things she simply could not believe.

Or, as her grandmother put it, if the Father God the church preached truly existed and was just, there would be no so much crime and war. War profiteers would drop dead the moment they broke the commandments, not after they had harmed so many innocent people before being sent to hell.

But this was a different time. Here, faith mattered, and Phyllis understood that sometimes one must bow.

Besides, she had a premonition that the old man had not called them here just to offer comforting words.

Sure enough, after slowly consoling the bereaved, the prior finally addressed the main matter.

“I believe the notary will soon deliver Master Massimo’s formal will to you. To avoid misunderstandings, I want to personally explain the arrangements he made for you.”

Clearing his throat twice, the old prior leaned on his cane, went to his desk, and pulled out a folded piece of paper from the drawer.

“You know, many funerals have taken place in the city these days, and the priests are overwhelmed... So I was the one who administered the last rites to Master Massimo before he passed. While still lucid, he made a will. Aside from some inheritance left to the stonemason guild, most of his estate was donated to this monastery.” Seeing the girl’s incredulous look, the prior quickly added, “My Lord can testify that I am not deceiving anyone of this poor man’s legacy. Master Massimo’s wish was to send you to a nearby convent. This money is temporarily held by me, and once a convent willing to take you in is found, I will transfer it intact.”

“I can vouch that this is indeed Master Massimo’s wish,” said Master Giovanni beside them. “He was always concerned about your future before he died. But you are too young. According to Asca’s rules, you cannot inherit his estate until you reach adulthood. If the will had left everything to you, the money would either be held by the stonemason guild or a distant relative appointed as your guardian.”

This explained the strange will.

Massimo evidently trusted the monastery’s monks more than either the guild or a temporary guardian.

Especially after learning he had contracted a fatal plague, he likely foresaw a grim future.

Phyllis’s body was less than ten years old and far from adulthood. Entrusting such a child without self-defense ability with great wealth would be testing the humanity of those around her.

But human nature does not easily withstand such tests, especially after the plague arrived in the city. There were far too many ways for a child to disappear...

By comparison, donating all the inheritance to the monastery was beyond reproach morally, and even the convent would be less likely to mistreat a child arriving with “funding.”

Phyllis took the paper the prior handed her and scanned the strange characters, her heart growing heavier.

Massimo was indeed a good grandfather. Even gravely ill, he had done his best to plan the best possible future for his underage granddaughter.

“I think this arrangement is quite good,” Professor Pileusso, who hovered nearby, finally spoke up. “Though convents are isolated from the world and rarely see outsiders, larger monasteries and convents usually have libraries. You will never be bored. Many nobles in Roland send their daughters there to learn to read…”

Read…

Phyllis’s eyes brightened as she looked at the note, then she sank back into thought.

“…If you don’t want to go to the convent, I can adopt you,” Master Giovanni said, crouching beside her after waiting long for her response. “Isabella and I will raise you as our own daughter…”

“...”

“Thank you for your kindness, but I wish to follow my grandfather’s will,” Phyllis replied after a pause, bowing slightly to both.

Her maturity and composure surprised them and eased Prior Camillo’s mind.

“If you agree, I will write at once to the Santa Natura Monastery in Asia. My friend Salvatore will come to take you there.” The old prior smiled. “You should remember him. He visited Asca during the Purification Month, and I recall you got along quite well…”

Phyllis met the old man’s kindly gaze and instantly stiffened.

Salva… what was that name?

Who were all these people? She didn’t know any of them!