A philosopher once said, "A person is the sum of their experiences."
Like a vine climbing a trellis, unless it meant to crawl along the ground forever, it would be shaped into something new as it grew upward. The farther and higher it climbed, the more true that became.
Kup wholeheartedly agreed.
Years of life as a squire and assistant had turned him into a typical indoor creature. He liked keeping busy at his desk and keeping himself spotlessly clean, almost obsessively. He especially hated going out and taking long trips, which kept him from settling down with a book for ages.
And his outings since joining Kraft had been, to put it mildly, hard to describe. You could take your pick between bloodshed and ghosts, and they rarely ended normally. In his mind, they were practically synonymous with periods of frequent trouble.
But, as the trellis theory went, once a vine reached a certain height, the trellis might suddenly bend at a ninety-degree angle, sending its mindset veering in a whole new direction.
It all began with a position called "Monastery Duty Officer."
From a positive perspective, it had been an immensely useful week. He had made more progress in that one week than he might have in several months.
It was probably the work that had trained him: coordinating the schedule, assisting the anesthesiologist and surgeon, recording rounds, writing case histories, managing pharmacy receipts, overseeing logistics, transporting supplies, enforcing hospital rules, and filling out accounts.
He had quickly gained a basic understanding of how the monastery and hospital operated. He had become a busy person, a useful person—and someone who was happy to go out.
When he heard there was a task to handle, he accepted without hesitation. Drawing on his familiarity with the monastery, he quickly rounded