A Priest Loves Money Too

In both lives, Roger had never been a devout believer.

In his previous life, he had no faith to speak of. In this life, Roger had seen enough of the clergy's hypocrisy, greed, and ugliness in the monastery to feel any reverence for them. The word "devout" was practically his mortal enemy.

Still, when in Rome, do as the Romans did. Through what he had seen and heard lately, Roger had begun to grasp religion's absolute control over the common people. He had no intention of standing out too much and being branded a heretic before being sent to the stake.

Besides, this priest named Matthew had supposedly "saved" his life. At the very least, he should be polite.

Clearing his throat to ease the awkwardness, Roger lowered his voice. "Father Matthew, I have come to pray and offer my holy donation to God." As he spoke, he removed the deerskin purse from his waist and poured every coin inside into his palm.

A plump, round-bodied man suddenly darted out of the confessional in a side chamber of the main hall.

The long white robe symbolizing a pure soul and steadfast faith had been worn pale gray. The cord around his waist could barely contain his bulging belly, while the round opening of the cross stole over his shoulders clung tightly around his neck. It was hard to say whether it choked him.

His piggish face glistened with grease, and beneath his Mediterranean-style bald head, his tiny beady eyes were full of mercenary shrewdness.

This fellow would have been better suited as a small peddler at Brodick Market, yet he was the presiding priest of Brodick Church, and people had to address him as Father.

Matthew had originally only been a deacon's assistant at the church. After Allen Island gradually declined, the church's income dwindled by the day. The former priest abandoned the island, while clergy from the mainland despised the island's isolation and harsh conditions and refused to come. Left with no choice, the Argyll Diocese promoted this most senior half-baked assistant deacon to priest and placed him in charge of the island's religious affairs.

But this man was nowhere near a qualified clergyman. Back when he had been an assistant deacon, he had also served as the church storehouse keeper and had already lined his pockets quite handsomely.

After becoming the presiding priest, he grew even worse. The Baron of Allen Island had long wanted to send this false idol off the island, but there was no one to replace him.

Matthew had already heard the shouting match between that devil Roger and White-faced John in the main hall. Seeing Roger come to the church, he had been so frightened that he hurriedly hid in the confessional.

Who would have thought that the villain had come to donate money? Hearing the pleasant clink of silver coins, Matthew could not resist and ran out as though possessed.

Now he regretted it, but he could hardly hide again. He could only steel himself and step forward.

"God bless you, Young Master Roger. The wound on your forehead has healed." The fat priest offered a warm greeting, hinting that he had once saved Roger's life and hoping Roger would not cause trouble.

Roger ignored the fat priest and turned to Igo behind him. "Go check on Young Master Louis. Ask whether he wants to return to the estate with me today."

How could Igo rest easy letting Roger out of his sight? "But, Young Master Roger, you..." Igo could not think of an excuse to stay behind and keep watch.

"Go on. I still need to confess to Father Matthew, and that will take a while. Come find me when I'm done, and check on Louis while you're at it." Roger spoke with complete seriousness.

The young stable hand scratched his head and was kicked out of the main hall by Roger.

Only Roger and the fat priest remained in the hall.

"Father Matthew, let us discuss making an offering to God." Roger lightly tossed the coins in his hand, producing another series of pleasant clinks.

Staring at the gold and silver coins dancing merrily in Roger's palm, Matthew estimated there were at least ten shillings. That was not difficult for him, since his study of money far surpassed his study of the Bible.

More than half a pound of silver—this was a substantial income.

The fat priest's slightly greasy face immediately broke into a smile. Grinning, he reached out to take the coins from Roger's hand, then suddenly realized he was being too obvious. He quickly withdrew his hand and gestured for Roger to place the offering in the "merit" box beside the altar.

Understanding, Roger walked to the altar and laid out two silver pennies from his hand. With two soft clinks, they dropped into the donation box.

The fat priest standing beside him was somewhat stunned. He spread his hands and shrugged, the meaning obvious enough.

"Too little?"

The fat priest shrugged again.

Roger spread out his money-filled hand once more. This time, he picked out several silver pennies with chipped edges and tossed them all into the donation box.

The fat priest was still dumbfounded when displeasure appeared on Roger's face. "Still think it's too little? Believe me, I'll smash this shitty box and take everything inside."

Blinded by money just moments ago, the fat priest finally remembered that the man before him was a genuine devil. The fact that he had come to church to donate was already a ghost story.

"No, no, Young Master Roger. Your sincerity is already enough to move God. The moment those silver coins fell into the donation box, all your sins were redeemed."

"Why does that sound so familiar?" Roger muttered as he tucked all the remaining coins into a hidden pocket in his sleeve. Then he slapped the empty purse into the priest's swollen fat hand and glared at him viciously. "If anyone asks, remember that I donated every last coin to God. Otherwise, I can make sure you never have another good day."

With that, he turned and left the church. Before his little tail Igo returned, he slipped out of Brodick Castle in a flash.

Watching his retreating figure, the fat priest could not help using the empty purse in his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead...

It was only around three in the afternoon, but Brodick's wool market was already drawing to a close. Only a few scattered general merchants remained in town, continuing to hawk the goods on their stalls.

The wool merchants from off-island, eager to begin their return journey, had already headed for the harbor one after another. With purses full of silver pennies tucked against their chests, they would leave Allen Island aboard the Bella or small ferry boats.

However, some "wealthy and generous" merchants would stay overnight on Allen Island and leave happily only after enjoying the island's distinctive "seafood."

The place where these "rich merchants" stayed was called the Red Mill, Brodick Town's den of luxury and debauchery.

Roger led the green-clad bald man, three thugs, and a donkey to a stop before a two-and-a-half-story timber-and-stone building. This was the crossroads of Brodick Town, the busiest part of the market town.

The ground floor of the two-and-a-half-story building was built from cut stone, while everything above it, all the way to the attic, was wooden. Low structures stood on both sides of the main building: a stable for horses and mules on the left, and a wooden kitchen for preparing food on the right. Moss on the outer walls showed that the building was at least several decades old.

At that moment, the aroma of roasting meat and the wanton laughter of prostitutes drifted from inside, floating through the filthy air above the market town.

A heavy iron chain covered in cobwebs hung from the door, holding an oil lamp. Its outer shade was made of leaded red glass. At night, this red lamp surely guided countless lost men back toward home.

This was Roger's first outing since coming to this world. He had not expected to barge straight into this era's red-light district.