Only after Iver and the others entered the city gates did Iver, sitting in the carriage, put down the book Parthians and look at Old Ibn in confusion. "Does this really work?"
This was something Old Ibn had shoved into his hands when they had just approached the oasis.
Old Ibn had told Iver to recite the lines from the first chapter. Iver had found it rather embarrassing, so he had changed the lines slightly to make them sound more natural.
Of course, he knew what this was. It was like a religious scripture, except that there was no religion in the desert that believed in the savior of Parthians...
But that was normal too, Iver thought. After all, gods truly existed in this world. Compared to an ethereal savior from some distant future, tangible gods who could bestow power were certainly more worthy of worship.
"It seems pretty effective to me."
Hai Na scoffed, "They're all curled up on the ground like maggots, practically hammering their heads against the floor in worship."
After Hai Na learned that the Cake Maker who had dealt her such a tremendous shock was the ritualist kept by the Good Lord of Clear Spring City, she had developed an intense disgust for his colleagues.
Though their unfamiliarity meant she could not quite call it hatred yet, she already understood perfectly what kind of twisted scum they were. She would not show them the slightest bit of pity or let down her guard.
"You don't know how much we value Parthians."
Old Ibn chuckled, his voice tinged with wistfulness and nostalgia. "For families that can teach their children to read, the characters those children learn must come from Parthians. In every household, including slave households, aside from 'father,' 'mother,' and 'master,' the first sentence they