Cats, Gifts, and Bells

Cats, Gifts, and Bells

It was a breed known as the "British Shorthair Cat" in Anvis's previous life, with a blue-gray back and a fluffy snow-white belly.

These highly curious little creatures had a long history, with records of them dating back to the dawn of human history.

"Sir, have you taken a liking to this Karkasa Shorthair Cat?"

The cage's owner was a Katan Merchant with a thick white turban wrapped around his head. He was the caravan's deputy leader, leaning against a wooden wagon piled high with goods as he puffed on a long, patterned Silver Water Pipe.

Seeing Anvis stop, he hurriedly set down his pipe and began an eager introduction in Common Tongue with a somewhat strange accent.

"You have excellent taste. She's a little female cat, four months old now, and very intelligent. Her strength can reach around Fourth Rank at most. She loves cleanliness and makes an excellent pet."

"Also, back in the countryside where I come from, there's a special folk legend connected to them!"

As he spoke, the seasoned merchant drew out his words dramatically, then deliberately lowered his voice and continued in an exceedingly mysterious tone.

"Legend has it that their true origin is the Dark Side of Purple Moon Emis! There, several mysterious Kingdoms exist that belong solely to cats! Whenever the moon is full, they leap from the tallest eaves of the highest buildings and step into that world!"

A countryside legend?

Anvis smiled inwardly.

At first, he had taken such legends very seriously. But after carefully studying who knew how many similar tales, he had eventually realized that folk stories like these only deserved a laugh.

After all, their origins were often the inventions of commoners trying to coax children to sleep, or hallucinations experienced by drunkards.

Still, it would be good enough to amuse Fiona.

"Then, I'll choose this one—"

The far north of the Saint Messiah Empire, the Sounida Mountain Range.

This place lay deep within the uninhabited region of Saint Messiah's far north. For thousands of miles around, there was nothing but frozen wilderness blanketed in snow and ice. Bitter frost winds blew here year-round, covering everything in a deathly silver-white stillness.

Sounida meant "Land of Eternal Night" in Ancient Manni Language.

The nights here were exceptionally long and pure as gemstones. The stars in the sky were incomparably clear, and colorful auroras sometimes shifted across the night sky.

At the summit of a Nameless Peak within the mountain range stood an incomparably dilapidated Low Stone Tower.

The tower was likewise covered in snow and ice. Its body, built from ancient Black Gneiss, had already begun to tilt, as though it might collapse at any moment.

But when the first Player descended upon the continent, the tower's body suddenly blurred for an instant. Without any warning, a somewhat illusory bell chime echoed between heaven and earth.

The bell was not especially grand or resounding, yet it carried an incomparably ancient, desolate resonance, as though it had traveled across the endless river of time from antiquity—

Several Ice Bears wandering the snowy plains raised their heads and gazed toward the source of the bell, their eyes filled with confusion.

Before long, the chime crossed the desolate, uninhabited frozen wilderness and reached a small town guarding one side of the plains, entering a simply decorated chapel at its center.

Within the chapel's prayer room, an old man in a Solemn Crimson Robe, his frame somewhat lean, stood before the altar with his eyes closed in silent prayer.

Upon the white Cloud Obsidian Stone altar sat a Golden Chalice, containing a speck of holy, warm light.

That light was incomparably bright, yet not at all dazzling. Like the impartial love of the gods, it bestowed selfless mercy and grace upon the mortal world.

At that moment, a middle-aged man in a Black Priest Robe hurried into the austere yet solemn prayer room. Facing the light, he respectfully bowed to the old man praying before it.

"Archbishop Gormore, half a minute ago, the Fate Stone Tower issued a warning!"

Although the old man's aura seemed utterly ordinary, the newcomer did not dare show the slightest disrespect.

Hearing the man's words, the old man lowered his head toward the altar in salute, then slowly raised it.

Though he did not turn around, the newcomer seemed to see those weathered, wise Blue-gray Eyes.

"Has His Holiness the Pope issued an oracle?"

"No, Archbishop."

At this, the old man lowered his head once more, as though deep in thought.

The newcomer showed no impatience whatsoever. Instead, he waited with a solemn expression and utmost respect for the old man's decision.

The old man before him was a true saint, a living Legend of the Church.

Of course, not a Legendary rank in terms of strength, but in experience.

Archbishop Gormore, a Peak Ninth-Rank Holy Knight, had personally survived Judgment Day. Among the Church's Seven Archbishops, he was the one closest to the gods. The Church's other current archbishop had once been his student.

At the same time, he was also the teacher of the current pope—

By seniority, he had originally been qualified to run for pope. Yet citing divine revelation, he had refused to participate and instead wholeheartedly endorsed his own student.

He had then voluntarily come to this far-northern land near the edge of the world, almost as if exiling himself, to guard the Fate Stone Tower. He cultivated himself bitterly in this humble Nameless Chapel, constantly embodying the will of the gods through his own actions.

"Inform His Holiness the Pope. All is the will of the gods."

The middle-aged man bowed respectfully once more, then slowly withdrew from the prayer room.

The old man resumed his posture of prayer, but a trace of compassion had appeared in his expression.

When he had asked the first question, the bell had not yet reached the holy city.

If His Holiness the Pope had already issued an oracle, then the revelation had not come from the pope himself.

But a God.

Fiona's birthday had no formal banquet. Given the long lives of Professionals, they usually did not celebrate birthdays specifically. Anvis's gift-giving was merely a private gesture.

When Anvis returned to Moonrise Fortress, Fiona was in her room, curled up sweetly on her little pink bed, hugging an enormous book as she read.

She wore a comfortable white gauze dress that slightly exposed her jade-white collarbones. Her smooth, pale golden hair cascaded over both shoulders, shimmering with a faint white glow. Her temperament was as pure and flawless as crystal.

But judging by her slightly pouting pink lips, the little princess was not pleased with this arrangement.

Fiona's personal maid, Annie, sat beside her and accompanied her reading. This was a task the Duke had previously assigned to her through Butler Leonard.

She was a Half-Elf with pale green eyes, tall and well-proportioned, with long, silky black hair draped over her shoulders. She was about the same age as Erica, Anvis's personal maid.

Because of Anvis's "diligence," the Duke felt that Fiona's studies ought to be urged along from time to time as well. After all, she was no longer that young, and thus came the current scene.

"Knock knock—"

At that moment, there was suddenly a knock at the door.

Annie rose quietly. After giving Fiona a slight bow, she quickly left the room, returning again a moment later.

"Miss, Young Master Anvis is here to see you."

"Brother? Please, let him in."

The girl spoke with a hint of delight, as if she had suddenly found a savior. Glancing at the book before her from the corner of her eye, her delicate nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly. She swiftly closed it and set it aside, her movements graceful and practiced.

—She did not like books whose pages had more words than illustrations.

The new year had arrived, gu—