Wednesday offered little to do.
Though she had intended to explore the abbey that morning, familiarizing herself with its every corner and edifice, Govet-Ghervil had cautioned her to steer clear of areas beyond the living quarters, main chapel, courtyard, and cemetery.
Stepping carelessly into unknown zones could inadvertently lead one into the Divine Realm.
As for what lay within the Divine Realm, Govet-Ghervil’s reply had been ambiguous, only stating that it was where the Goddess once resided, and advising her to curb her curiosity.
The consequences of entry were twofold: to become a permanent fixture, forever trapped within, or to receive aid from an entity inside to depart.
The former, she had emphasized, was far more probable than the latter.
Though unsure if Govet-Ghervil’s words contained any exaggeration, until her mastery over dream power reached a certain threshold, she had no choice but to temporarily suppress her inquisitiveness.
“Tell me about the Old Gods or the Old God Tongue, won’t you?”
That afternoon, Konehl-Ghervil, while poring over a new cookbook, addressed Govet-Ghervil.
“Why are you inquiring about such matters?” Standing before the full-length mirror, Konehl-Ghervil spun slowly, admiring her newly purchased dress.
“I must admit, your taste is impeccable.”
“Having spent a considerable sum on it, and given the expense, I believe I’m entitled to knowledge of the Old Gods and their language.”
A pang of regret pierced Konehl-Ghervil.
She had purchased three long dresses of varying styles, each costing several hundred Denarii.
The shop assistant had lauded the dresses as being crafted from the finest merino wool, and under a barrage of flattery and persuasive salesmanship, she had impulsively bought them.
She could only hope the satisfaction of wearing them would justify the cost; otherwise, it would be a significant loss.
“The Old Gods are beings beyond definition.
Their origins and genesis remain unknown.
They wield power that even mythical creatures cannot rival.
As for the Old God Tongue, it is precisely as it sounds: should you encounter it, you would instinctively comprehend its meaning.” As Govet-Ghervil unbuttoned the cinched waist of her dress, letting the fabric pool to the floor, she reached for a fresh one.
“What if I encounter one?”
Konehl-Ghervil, with a sigh of resignation, rose from her seat.
She carefully placed the discarded dress on a hanger and returned it to the wardrobe, flicking the other woman’s forehead as a playful warning.
“If you encounter one, run.
It’s the simplest of truths.
Only utter fools would contemplate confronting them.” Govet-Ghervil protested with a plaintive tone.
“I knew asking would be futile.”
“I have never encountered them myself, so your questions to me are of little use.
However, according to the Abbess’s research, the mists that descend each winter and summer might well be the handiwork of one or more Old Gods.”
“The Abbess… is there any way to see her again?”
At the mention of the Abbess, Konehl-Ghervil yearned to genuinely meet her, even if only in a dream.
“The Abbess of this era no longer exists.
Unless an Abbess from another era actively seeks you out, that is.
However…”
Having finally chosen a dress, Govet-Ghervil moved to Konehl-Ghervil’s side, plucking a slice of watermelon from the fruit platter on the table and placing it in her mouth.
“If you wish to meet other members of the abbey—or rather, former members of the abbey—I can tell you who they are.”
“Other sisters of the same bloodline?”
Konehl-Ghervil harbored a slight apprehension, fearing another indolent and gluttonous blood relative.
“Not at all.
Her name is Hera-Eldoria, the current president of the Dream Society.”
Possessing an exceptional memory, Konehl-Ghervil immediately recalled all the information she knew about this individual.
She was the daughter of Iniesta-Eldoria, one of the founders of the Dream Society.
She had interviewed Bagg-Sicily, a senior researcher at the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, which was how Mrs. Keith had come to show her the plague research interview records.
But why would this person be a nun?
Before Konehl-Ghervil could pose her question, Govet-Ghervil divulged some of the abbey’s hidden secrets.
There were nine individuals in total: eight nuns and the Abbess.
Among the nuns, four bore the Ghervil name, while the other four had been personally chosen by the Abbess.
The identities of all were kept strictly confidential.
After the fire in Mistfall City, eight were publicly declared deceased, with only the youngest Ghervil surviving.
In reality, the four chosen by the Abbess had returned to their former lives, no longer serving as nuns, and were thus considered ‘former nuns’.
In a sense, Dr. Callan also fell into this category.
“What about the others?”
“I do not know.
The whereabouts of two of our sisters remain enigmatic, and as for the other three… if the opportunity arises, and provided they have not forsaken their original vows to the abbey, you may yet meet them.”
Konehl-Ghervil had no desire to intrude upon the lives of others.
Considering the current crisis facing the abbey, a meeting would only invite trouble for them.
The entire day passed with Konehl-Ghervil immersed in cookbook research, yet Dr. Callan did not appear at the abbey to press for her answer.
She proved more patient than Konehl-Ghervil had anticipated.
In truth, Konehl-Ghervil herself had yet to make up her mind.
****
The next day was Thursday.
At precisely ten o’clock, she arrived at the city bank.
The agreed-upon work was for one to two days, though she believed it would take no more than a single day.
Jean-Brabant expressed his delight at her presence, and ostentatiously introduced her identity and her connection to the bank—to every troublesome client.
Indeed.
Even a bank bearing the esteemed prefix ‘Royal’ was not immune to its share of nuisances.
Confronting such individuals, she sometimes wondered if they belonged to the same species as herself.
No matter how many times she explained the bank’s services, they failed to grasp them, always finding trivial excuses, such as criticizing the bank’s inefficiency or the necessity of queuing.
It wasn’t until Jean-Brabant informed her that these individuals were rival agents sent to cause trouble that she stopped treating them as genuine clients.
His unspoken implication was clear: show no mercy.
This, then, was her domain.
She would relentlessly mock men and women alike until their faces flushed crimson, leaving them to slink away with their tails between their legs.
Any ordinary manager or staff member would have been met with a more forceful rebuttal from these prepared provocateurs.
Alas, they faced a nun from Solis Abbey.
No matter how much they spoke, they would only receive a dressing-down.
To retort would mean risking being left to watch others enter dreams when the long night of mist descended.
Mistfall City currently possessed two sacred bells, but only the one at the abbey was functional.
Until a new bishop was appointed, she served as the ‘Bell-Ringer’.
When it was time to return home, Jean-Brabant reimbursed her for the round-trip fare, and pre-paid her one Trin Gold Coin.
One had to admire his cunning.
Working one day a month, she would earn a mere 48 Trin Gold Coins over four years.
Two days would yield 96 Trin Gold Coins, matching the amount stipulated in her contract.
Konehl-Ghervil was a person content with her lot.
If it was one day, it was one day.
Earning one Trin Gold Coin a day was even more lucrative than Dr. Callan’s remuneration for external tasks.
Outwardly, she feigned displeasure at the man’s meticulous calculations, but inwardly, her heart bloomed with delight.
“You made all of this?”
Returning to the abbey that evening, and seeing a table laden with a sumptuous feast, she fell into contemplation.
“The little pervert came looking for you this afternoon.
This is her handiwork.”
Several plates of roasted meat were already depleted, the reason, no doubt, being the gluttony of a certain individual.
“Where is she?”
Aware that Govet-Ghervil held no ill will toward Dr. Callan, and that their relationship was, in fact, quite amiable, Konehl-Ghervil abandoned her attempts to correct Govet-Ghervil’s use of ‘pervert’.
“I told her to inform you of your answer once she finished cooking.
Upon learning you were still deliberating, she departed.
I also explained why I couldn’t accompany you and made her promise to keep my secret.”
“Given her nature, she wouldn’t simply leave without a word.”
“She bought two train tickets.
She’ll be waiting at the station until ten tomorrow morning.”
As Govet-Ghervil had no intention of accompanying her, Konehl-Ghervil’s resolve began to waver.
‘Without me by her side, would my indolent, good-for-nothing sister truly manage on her own?’
“There’s no need to fret about me.
I can maintain my human form for two days outside the abbey.
With a bit of disguise on the streets, no one will recognize me.” Govet-Ghervil, having discerned Konehl-Ghervil’s thoughts, reassured her.
“That’s true, and you can still look after the roses here…”
“Have you made your decision?”
“Let’s eat first.
I know you’re already famished.”
****
As night descended and they settled into sleep, Govet-Ghervil was the first to speak.
“It is exceedingly difficult for someone afflicted with the Crimson Lotus (TL Note: A severe, fictional illness in this world.) to survive into adulthood.
The longer the time passes, the harder the illness becomes to suppress.
Once adulthood is reached, any excessive emotional stimulation could trigger a fatal outbreak of the disease.
The Abbess’s past assistance was a crucial factor in her survival until now.”
“By consistently maintaining minimal contact with others and acting independently, she could, in such a secluded existence, rely on her formidable willpower to endure for at least another ten to twenty years.”
“But now, all favorable conditions have altered, and the reason is quite evident.”
“I haven’t been angry with her or deliberately distanced myself from her…”
More than anything, it was her discomfort with unknown emotions.
Having lived this long, her experience in such matters was utterly blank.
If her discomfort were to exacerbate the condition of a dear friend, leading them to face death, she was unequivocally unwilling to witness it.
“The little pervert might not see it that way.
I trust you’ve noticed she’s a rather stubborn person.”
“It’s still early.
I’ll go clarify things with her now.”
Having reached this point in the conversation, Konehl-Ghervil could no longer rest peacefully.
She threw back the covers, preparing to get out of bed.
A warmth spread through her palm as Govet-Ghervil clasped her hand.
“She is not so fragile.”
“Even if you refuse her outright, she will still manage to suppress the plague.
I can guarantee it.”
“Truly?”
“You understand this better than I do.”
Upon reflection, it was indeed true; the girl would not give up even if rejected.
Having clarified this in her mind, Konehl-Ghervil dutifully burrowed back into the blankets, turning to face Govet-Ghervil.
“Is there any way to cure her completely?”
“Most plagues cannot be entirely eradicated.
The more common approach is elimination.”
“…”
“Don’t be sad.”
A hand gently caressed her face.
“If she were cured, she might become an ordinary person, losing her acquired reputation, status, and perhaps everything.
Therefore, neither cure nor elimination is the optimal choice.”
“The Abbess must have had a reason for choosing her, just as there are things that seem impossibly difficult, yet someone has managed to achieve them over twenty years.”
“To fully control the plague, to become the master of pestilence.”