Medieval Evangelion

Ryan had met this captain at the tavern. His name was William, known as Bearded William, a native of Wenden Port with a fairly well-off family. That was probably putting it modestly.

The man had a face full of beard, yet he was only in his early thirties. Owning a ship and serving as its captain at that age—a twin-masted sailing vessel capable of long voyages, no less—made him the classic rich second-generation type. His family's savings were far more substantial than those of most minor nobles.

William's route ran back and forth between Wenden Port and the Ice Plains. He brought local tribes supplies such as liquor and wheat, then traded them for local specialties like animal pelts, along with miscellaneous items used to make up the cargo when business was bad.

To people who had never seen the lands across the sea with their own eyes, that place was a terrifying wilderness. Savages who ate raw meat and drank blood chased every living creature across the Ice Plains, where ice and snow never melted—not only great bears with white fur, but also any outsiders unfortunate enough to wander there.

William explained over and over that some tribes living along the edge of the Ice Plains had long been assimilated by passing merchant ships. They had even built small ports, learned the language of the Norse Kingdom, traded pelts and ore for steady supplies of grain, and could calculate faster than ninety percent of the people present.

At that point, his listeners would say, "Ah, yes, yes, very good. Why don't you tell us about the other tribes?"

As a result, he had never found it easy to recruit sailors, much less passengers looking for a ride.

But there were always exceptions. Besides warriors seeking to open up new commercial frontiers, those heading for the Ice Plains occasionally included another sort of people—the Church's missionaries.

Anyone who knew a little about the Church might know that, by its logic, bringing people into the faith counted as merit. Not the kind recorded in a book at the Church, but merit recorded in heaven—the kind that directly determined whether one's soul could return to the Heavenly Father's embrace after death, and what treatment it received afterward.

The Church in a godforsaken place like Wenden Port might look as limp as a salted fish. Pray there and they would not even hand out an egg. That was only because their main market was not these poor folk. Sailors at sea had a high rate of religious belief, and some large ships even hired clergy to stay aboard permanently. It did wonders for keeping minds steady during long voyages.

You laughed at them because they might not even be able to clean the seagull droppings from their square, while they laughed at you for never wondering how they could afford enough land in the city to build a square in the first place. That was all thanks to the countless people who made their living at sea.

As for the man who had opened this diocese in those days, he had long since been canonized. It was hard to say how prestigious that sainthood really was, but there was no need to mention the honors he had enjoyed in life. After death, he had naturally returned to the Lord of Heaven's embrace, entering the bountiful land of milk and honey, listening to sacred music amid winged beings, and earning the privilege of serving the supreme authority. Decades ago, he had come alone to this land, which had never possessed a religious tradition, and spread the gospel among countless sailors. Such a legend was the model for many lowborn clergy within the Church.

So there was one small problem. Where could young missionaries hoping to follow in their predecessor's footsteps go now? The Norse Kingdom was not small, but every region had basically been divided among dioceses large and small. Even a remote place like Wenden Port had become a diocese decades ago. That showed just how difficult it was to open up new ones.

The rare passenger standing before Captain William had the answer: the Ice Plains.

He was a remarkably young missionary, holding a Holy Scripture bound in dark leather and metal ornaments. At the center of the cover, gold leaf outlined the iconic Winged Ring Holy Emblem. Behind him stood an equally young attendant with a miserable expression, carrying luggage for both of them on his back.

"Yes, we are going to the Ice Plains, and you do not need to bring us back. If possible, please put us ashore at a port without a Church." Lips not yet swallowed by a beard calmly delivered a thoroughly outrageous request. The attendant's misery deepened, and he looked at William pleadingly, hoping he would turn down the job.

At first, William had not wanted to take passengers like these.

A young clergyman with an attendant in tow was likely some noble family's second son with no inheritance rights, sent off to make a career in the Church. Unless something unexpected happened, a man like that would likely climb fairly high based on his family's standing. At the very least, he could manage a small Church.

If William took him there and got him killed on the Ice Plains, then no matter whether it had been the young man's own request, trouble would probably follow.

Either this sort had heard too many legendary tales and lost his mind, or he had made an impulsive decision after fighting with his family. In any case, no sane person would wear such an inconvenient clerical robe, carry a deluxe Holy Scripture, and head to the Ice Plains to preach.

It was obvious he had tried his best to look ordinary. The calf-length clerical robe was probably mass-produced Academy issue, completely unworthy of either the Holy Scripture in his hands or the attendant behind him. This whole baffling display opened William's eyes—there really were idiots like this in the world?

To avoid trouble, out of what little conscience William had left, and under pressure from the attendant's pleading eyes, he decided to try talking sense into this man whose head probably contained nothing but the Double-Wing Ring. "Your faith commands my respect, but the people of the Ice Plains all worship barbaric false gods of Heterodoxy. It truly is not a place suited to someone of your status."

William felt he had handled that quite well. He had preserved the other man's dignity while making the basic situation clear. Never mind what exactly those people believed in; competition over there was fierce, and it was not the kind of new territory someone who could barely lift a heavy object should be opening up.

Once he said that, he could already see hope lighting up in the attendant's eyes. Even the back bent beneath the luggage straightened a little.

Unfortunately, they had clearly still underestimated how unreasonable a madman could be.

"God will show the way to those who are truly devout. I cannot bear to see His people deceived by false gods disguised as devils. My family approves of my choice as well. Even if I receive His summons on this path and depart early for the land of milk and honey, you need not fear that they will blame you."

Perhaps imagining some saint from Church stories facing a trial, the beardless missionary raised his head resolutely. His smooth hair gleamed in the sunlight, filled with a holy air that only made his attendant look gloomier by contrast.

"But..." William was dumbfounded. He counted as a shallow believer himself, visiting Church to pray before sailing and having met quite a few Priests, but this was the first time in his life he had seen someone with such an attitude. "You should reconsider. This is just too..."

He had seen the priests on the Ice Plains who worshipped heathen gods. Most had arms thicker than his thighs and could pin down living beasts to bleed them for blood sacrifices. Sending this fellow to compete with them without limits really did not sit right with his conscience.

"I am willing to pay up to eighteen gold coins. Castle Gold Coins, I mean."

Castle Gold Coin was the common name for Westminster Gold Coin, the kingdom's officially issued gold currency, usually minted by the king and several great nobles. One side bore the royal Sword Emblem, while the other depicted Westminster Fortress's iconic broad sloping walls and twin towers. That was how it earned the name Castle Gold Coin. It was hard currency of considerable purity.

"Of course, if you are unwilling, could you recommend another Captain?" The young missionary looked somewhat disappointed at William's stunned expression.

A few days later, aboard the Iceberg's deck.

"Priest Frank, the North Sea scenery is quite nice, isn't it?" After learning the other man's name, William had begun addressing him as Priest. He was going to build a Church anyway, so there was nothing wrong with calling him that in advance. As long as the paying customer was happy.

"No way. Eighteen gold coins just to rush off to the Ice Plains and die?" Kraft's eyes widened when he heard that. Poverty had limited his imagination.

"Don't interrupt me." Ryan was having a great time telling the story. He gestured for Kraft to ride more slowly so he could continue. "That isn't the point of the story."