The monastery.
Its full name was Landon Monastery. It had originally been established to protect the Pope and the clergy. It was somewhat like the legendary militant faction, though nowhere near as fanatical as religious knightly orders.
All militant factions had one obvious flaw.
They were poor, and content to remain poor.
Mostima had undoubtedly pointed out a clear path. Given Landon Monastery's current state, there had to be some insightful people within it who wanted to break the deadlock. When they heard that far-off Lungmen had such a religious institution—one that neither farmed nor produced anything, yet could acquire immense wealth—they would undoubtedly feel ashamed, as well as intensely curious.
After that, a journey of intelligence-gathering under the guise of an exchange would seem perfectly natural.
Mostima offered no opinion.
At the very end, she sliced off an exceptionally thin piece of roast venison, dipped it in horseradish sauce, and chewed it slowly, making sure every surface of her mouth was coated with the flavor of the meat.
"Whoever takes on this assignment... I mean, anyone at all... please convey my sympathies to her."
"..."
"Is the shrine really that terrifying?"
"It is a terror beyond words. Whether it's food or fighting, the important thing isn't fear—it's the sense of defeat. Understand?"
Speaking as someone who had been through it, Mostima reminded them, "Of course, Landon Monastery likes to bake huge loaves of bread, while the shrine likes to make giant rice balls. Maybe they'll actually find something to talk about. Who knows?"
No matter what, the more this fallen angel went on and on about the shrine, the stranger it seemed.
Was she really afraid?
That Mostima was afraid?
This probably really could only be handed over to Landon Monastery. Only drunken nuns would agree to such a