Pragmatism Above All

From the Norse Kingdom's perspective, the Ice Sea could also be called the North Sea. Setting out from Wenden Port and heading northeast, one would soon enter these waters.

As its name suggested, the Ice Sea was named for the scattered chunks of floating ice drifting across it. The small ones would not even fill a barrel, while the large ones could barely be called icebergs. At the same time, ships in this era were not exactly fast, so fortunately, there would not yet be a pair of lovers standing at the bow shouting, "You jump, I jump."

The worst that might happen was hitting a miniature iceberg at night, requiring someone to take planks down into the hold for repairs, then bail out the water with buckets.

Thus, after more than thirty days of smooth sailing, Frank, the medieval Evangelion, successfully set foot on the Ice Plains.

Over that brief month or so, this future Priest endured trials unlike anything he had faced in his life. First came severe seasickness, then brutal diarrhea after eating sea fish caught by the crew. Finally, as they drew closer and closer to the north and the temperature kept dropping, he realized that the clothes he had originally thought to bring were utterly insufficient against such bitter cold.

Fortunately, William still had several furs on hand. At a friendship price—a true friendship price—three Kingdom Silver Coins each, he sold them to Frank and his attendant. The price was so honest that it was hard to say there was not at least a little guilt involved over sending someone to his death.

Those experiences had been anything but pleasant, but William soon realized that he had truly underestimated the kid. This missionary, who looked somewhat pampered, somehow miraculously endured it all. While his attendant clung to the mast and vomited from both ends, Frank still gripped his Holy Scripture tightly. William had even prepared for him to change his mind midway, planning to refund only half the fare when that happened.

If opening his mouth would not have made him vomit, William felt that Frank would definitely have loudly recited the classic passages about the saints' suffering. Still, his disheveled appearance made him look far less holy than when he had set out.

The moment he stepped onto the Ice Plains, the missionary earned the basic respect of everyone aboard, William included. At the very least, they had seen something of his faith.

Out of respect for that faith, William decided to try changing his mind once more. After all, watching a decent fellow charge headfirst into death in this unreasonable place was a little hard to accept emotionally. Besides, he already had the ticket money. For the sake of that generous income, working a little overtime was not impossible, and it would give him another connection to call upon after he returned.

With that in mind, William personally helped the slightly unsteady Frank off the ship and onto the crude Dock.

Calling it a Dock would have been generous. It was really just a stone embankment piled from random rocks along the shoreline, meant only to mark out a stretch of coast where ships were less likely to run aground. Large black stones had been packed with smaller rocks and sand. From afar, it had some semblance of a shape; up close, anyone would believe it was nature's handiwork.

More than a dozen furry figures had been waiting at the Dock. Their faces were painted with patterns that made their features hard to distinguish, while their fur outfits, covering them from head to toe, were worth a suit of plate armor in raw materials. Their tailoring was practically nonexistent, but their practical value here deserved full marks.

When they saw William's group disembark, they did not remove their weapons. One burly man, noticeably taller than the companions around him, stepped forward and greeted William with a bear hug that had the genuine texture of bear fur. In remarkably fluent Wenden Port-accented Norse Language, he greeted William.

"Ah-ha, William. What a surprise. You're a full two days ahead of schedule."

"Of course. I wouldn't want my friends waiting too long." William beckoned to Frank behind him, motioning for him to come over. The attendant, who had been vomiting so badly aboard the ship that he could barely catch his breath, followed while leaning on his sword, warily studying the giant before him.

"Let me introduce you. This is Bjorn. His name means strong as a bear. These dozen or so people all listen to him." William introduced him to Frank. "Oh, right. Did you learn the language spoken here on the Ice Plains before coming to preach? I have to tell you, someone like him is an exception."

"..."

Wonderful. They were stuck at the very first step. William had not expected Frank never to have considered this at all. It made sense, though. He probably thought Norse Language was some kind of universal language, or simply did not consider coming to the Ice Plains as leaving the country.

That was certainly good. It had an immediate and obvious discouraging effect. William turned his back to Frank and made an Ice Plains People gesture at Bjorn—clenching his fist and smashing it downward—meaning, scare him a little. Then he continued, "This man wants to come to the Ice Plains and recommend his god to you. Please explain the rules here to him."

Bjorn understood the gesture. "That's easy. We Ice Plains People do not have that many rules. He only needs to go through our traditional ritual. Let's move the goods back now." He dragged over a large sled made from the scarce wood found on the Ice Plains and began unloading cargo from the ship.

Frank had heard Bjorn make it sound simple, but once they arrived, he realized that the only simple part was explaining the process.

Beyond this settlement by the harbor lay barren land blanketed in ice and snow. At the edge of sight, jagged mountain ranges rose abruptly from the ground, rolling like waves. This natural dividing line separated the truly primordial Ice Plains from the relatively mild region on this side of the mountains.

The construction methods here were similar to those of the Norse Kingdom, except the wooden structures were omitted in favor of domed buildings resembling igloos. On one hand, the vegetation here consisted only of low shrubs and moss. On the other, in a place where temperatures stayed below freezing year-round, there was little need to worry that stones bonded with clay would fall apart, nor did one need to fear rain soaking and loosening them—there were only blizzards.

Letting go of the man-drawn sled, Bjorn pointed to a black boulder beside the settlement that stood slightly taller than the houses. "See that big black rock over there? That's where the ritual begins."

Under the puzzled gazes of Frank and his attendant, he suppressed a laugh and explained the religious traditions of the Ice Plains People. As everyone knew, surviving on the Ice Plains had been the greatest problem since ancient times, and all religious practices revolved around that point.

Naturally, if one wanted to show that one's god was worthy of faith, then it came down to whether that god could grant people the strength to survive. The old rule was to set out from a point designated by the tribe toward the distant mountains, wearing no clothes, using no tools, and carrying no water or food. That mountain range of black stone contained countless caves. Deep inside, one would find Living Stone. All one needed to do was knock off a piece and bring it back as proof.

The entire process varied according to each tribe's distance from the mountains, lasting anywhere from several months to a year. The tribe would use a primitive democratic vote to select several people to follow from afar as witnesses to the ritual.

As for Living Stone, according to Bjorn, it resembled most of the rocks on the Ice Plains. The stones used to build houses, the stone marking the starting point, and the stone forming the mountains were all the same kind of black rock. The difference was that one could tell at a glance that it was "alive." It could only be found deep within the mountain caves, and any small piece chipped off would die within a few days, so it could only be verified on the spot by witnesses.

Once there, one picked a cave and went in to retrieve it. After all, one's god would guide the way. No one would follow inside, because it was not easy to come back out once one entered.

As for how one was supposed to survive without clothes, tools, or food? The Ice Plains were not devoid of animals. Use the strength granted by one's god to take what one needed from them.

As long as one could complete the ritual and prove that one's god truly granted people the power to survive, the tribe would build the strongest house for the unquestionable spokesman of the gods. The Living Stone brought back would be set into its walls as proof of the miracle. Thirty years ago, the old Priest received revelation from the Stone God and completed this feat under the witness of several warriors trusted by everyone. Thus, the entire tribe converted to the Stone God.

After he died, his successor would also have to undergo the ritual. However, considering that people blessed by the gods were actually very rare, the tribe spent most of its time without any faith.

To be honest, this was William's first time hearing any of this as well. He looked at Bjorn with puzzled eyes, signaling whether he had made it up a little too outrageously.

"Don't look at me. Every word I said was true. We never joke about this." He gestured at the difference in their builds and laughed. "Seriously, I never thought about what it would be like for a Norseman to take part in this ritual. But as far as I know, though you have plenty of Priests, there aren't many who possess divine power like our old Priest, are there?"