The shepherd

"Then let's go find your father." Lumian sprang to his feet.

He had always been quick to act, and he knew very well that he could not put off investigating the village legends. The longer he delayed, the more likely his sister was to find out, and Aurora would certainly forbid him from continuing.

That was because, in Aurora's eyes, pursuing supernatural powers was extremely dangerous.

Of course I know it's dangerous. Aurora wouldn't lie to me about that. But even if the road ahead is a mountain of blades and a sea of fire, I have to keep going. I can't let Aurora face it alone... The thought flashed through Lumian's mind as he stood.

Whenever Aurora mentioned that the world was growing more dangerous, the gravity and worry on her face were unmistakable!

Raymond Klegg looked even more bewildered.

"Why are we looking for him?"

"To ask how long ago that legend about the Warlock took place." Lumian glanced at Raymond.

Why can't this guy understand plain speech? I'll have to find a chance to test his intelligence.

Confusion was written all over Raymond's face as he looked at Lumian. "Why do you need to know that precisely?"

Uh... Should I make up some excuse to fool him, or just tell him straight? Lumian fell into thought.

Considering that he could not completely hide his future investigations from his friends, and that seeking the truth behind a legend sounded like a lie anyway-one no villager would believe even if word got around-Lumian quickly made up his mind.

He instantly put on the smile he usually wore when deceiving people.

"..." Raymond abruptly backed away two steps. "Just talk normally!"

Lumian straightened his short, dark jacket and the linen shirt underneath, then said with a smile, "I think that legend about the Warlock deserves some thought."

"What about it deserves thought?" Raymond asked after pondering for quite a while.

"The line 'There used to be a Warlock in the village,'" Lumian said seriously. "Think about it. When I make up stories to fool people, I certainly don't use a time, place, or setting everyone can immediately verify. But that legend explicitly says there was once a Warlock here, in our Cordou Village. If it were a lie, wouldn't everyone have been able to expose it easily?"

"But that happened a long time ago," Raymond argued.

"I mean the people from a long time ago, when the story first started spreading. It should have been easy for them to confirm whether a Warlock had died in the village back then." Lumian smiled. "Since the story has survived all this time, that suggests it probably really happened."

That reasoning failed to convince Raymond.

"But when you make up stories, you often use 'over a hundred years ago,' 'hundreds of years ago,' or 'a long time ago' so nobody can verify them."

"That's why we need to ask your father!" Lumian wore an expression that said, "Now you know why I want to find your father."

"That's true..." Raymond accepted the explanation, but still felt something was off.

As the two left the square and headed deeper into the village, Raymond finally caught on.

"But why do you want to find out whether a legend like that is true or false?"

"A Warlock! We're talking about a Warlock! If we can find out which house he lived in and where he was buried afterward, we might uncover his secrets and gain wondrous powers beyond those of ordinary people ourselves." Lumian spoke the truth, though it sounded like a lie.

Sure enough, Raymond gave him a look that said, "Don't try to fool me."

"Most of those stories were made up to scare children. How could they be true?

"Besides, pursuing a Warlock's powers could get you thrown into the Tribunal!"

The Republic of Intis lay on the Northern Continent of this world. Its orthodox deities were the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery, whose churches commanded the faith of almost the entire population. They also barred the churches of the Goddess of Evernight and the Lord of Storms from the Kingdom of Loen, which likewise lay on the Northern Continent, the Earth Mother's church from the Kingdom of Feynapotter, the church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom from Lenburg and other south-central nations, and the church of the God of Combat from the Feysac Empire from preaching within its borders.

The Eternal Blazing Sun's Inquisition had always inspired fear among the populace. Countless heretics and followers of other faiths had been imprisoned there and subjected to brutal treatment.

Lumian burst out laughing.

"Why worry about that now? You said yourself that most of those legends were made up. The chances of finding anything a Warlock left behind are practically nonexistent."

"Besides, even if we do find something a Warlock left behind, we don't have to inherit those forbidden powers. We could just hand it over to the church for a reward. Hmm, a Warlock's burial goods are bound to include plenty of treasure."

By "the church," Lumian meant the church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, because Cordou Village had no church of the God of Steam and Machinery-those were generally concentrated in large cities and places with factories.

Seeing how tempted Raymond looked, Lumian clicked his tongue inwardly and added,

"Do you really want to become a shepherd?"

The shepherds he referred to were not the idyllic figures imagined by city dwellers, family members who merely drove a few sheep out to graze every morning and looked after them.

In the Dalege Region of Leston Province, where Cordou Village was located, being a shepherd was a profession, one destined to be arduous and lonely.

They were hired by flock owners to drive dozens or even hundreds of sheep back and forth between the mountains and the plains.

This was known as seasonal migration. Whenever autumn came and the highland pastures in the mountains surrounding Cordou Village withered, the shepherds drove their flocks through the mountain passes to warmer pastures on distant plains. This often took them across the borders into Feynapotter, Lenburg, and other countries. In early May, they brought their flocks back to the villages, sheared the sheep, and weaned the lambs. In June, they headed up into the highland pastures, where they lived in huts, making cheese and tending their flocks until the weather turned cold.

And so the shepherds migrated year after year, spending their entire lives on the move and returning to the village only briefly. Most were therefore single, found it difficult to marry, and could not start families. The handful of widows who had no choice but to herd sheep for a living were very popular among them.

Raymond fell silent.

After a long while, he hesitantly said, "I'll go along with you. It sounds fun, something to pass the time."

Normally, once a family decided which child would become a shepherd, they sent him to work for a flock owner between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, learning how to tend sheep. Three years later, the child officially became a shepherd and sought employment wherever he could.

Raymond, who was seventeen that year, had already delayed this for more than two years with various excuses. If his life continued unchanged, he would have to start learning to herd sheep the following year.

"Let's go." Lumian patted Raymond on the shoulder. "Is your father in the fields or at home?"

"There isn't much work lately, and the Lent Festival is coming up. He's either at home or at the tavern." Envy crept into Raymond's voice again. "You don't even know that? You really aren't a farmer. You've got a good sister!"

Lumian slipped his hands into his pockets and walked slowly onward, ignoring Raymond's remarks.

As they approached the village's shabby tavern, someone came toward them from a side road.

The man wore a long, dark brown hooded robe, tied at the waist with a cord, and a brand-new pair of black leather shoes that looked soft.

"Pierre? Pierre from the Berri Family?" Raymond exclaimed in surprise.

Lumian also stopped and looked toward the side road.

"That's me." Pierre Berri smiled and waved.

He was lean, with slightly sunken eyes. His black hair curled in greasy locks, and his face was covered in a beard that looked as though it had not been shaved in ages.

"Why are you back?" Raymond asked in confusion.

Pierre Berri was a shepherd. It was late March or early April, so he should have been tending his flock on the plains beyond the mountain passes. How could he be in the village?

Even if he had taken his flock to Lenburg or northern Feynapotter this time, he would only just have begun the journey back toward the Dalege mountains. It would take him around a month to arrive.

Pierre had gentle, smiling blue eyes. He said cheerfully, "The Lent Festival is coming up, isn't it? I haven't taken part in years. I couldn't miss it this year!

"Don't worry. I have a companion looking after my flock. That's one good thing about being a shepherd. There's no overseer. As long as you can find someone to help, you can go wherever you like. You're very free."

The Lent Festival was celebrated throughout Intis. People welcomed spring in various ways and prayed for a plentiful harvest that year.

It had little to do with either the church of the Eternal Blazing Sun or the church of the God of Steam and Machinery, but it had become a folk tradition and involved no worship of other deities, so the orthodox churches tacitly permitted it.

"You want to see who gets chosen as the Spring Spirit this year, don't you?" Lumian teased with a smile.

During Cordou Village's Lent Festival, the villagers selected a beautiful young woman to play the Spring Spirit as part of the celebration.

Pierre laughed along with him. "I hope it's your sister Aurora, but she certainly wouldn't agree, and she's not the right age either."

"All right." He pointed toward the nearby tavern. "I'm going to pray at the church. I'll buy you both a drink afterward."

Raymond replied instinctively, "There's no need. You hardly have any money."

"Haha, the gods teach us, 'Even if you have only one copper coin, share it with your poor brothers.'" Pierre quoted a proverb passed around among the shepherds of the Dalege Region.

At that moment, Lumian smiled at Raymond.

"Pierre's made some money. Of course he should buy us a drink!"

As he spoke, he pointed at Pierre Berri's brand-new leather shoes.

Pierre Berri looked delighted.

"My employer this time was decent. He gave me several sheep, and there'll be some wool, cheese, and leather later."

A shepherd's pay consisted of food, a small amount of money, and a share of livestock, cheese, wool, and leather. What they received and how much depended on the contract signed with their employer beforehand.

For shepherds who had to travel long distances on foot, a good, well-fitting pair of leather shoes was their most urgent and practical desire.

As he watched Pierre Berri head toward the village square, Lumian's gaze gradually grew somber, tinged with puzzlement.

He silently asked himself, He spent a week or two, perhaps nearly a month, coming back just to attend the Lent Festival?

After thinking for a moment, Lumian withdrew his gaze and headed to the tavern with Raymond.

The tavern had no name, nor did it need one. It was the only tavern in Cordou Village, and the villagers liked to call it the old tavern.

As soon as he entered, Lumian habitually scanned the room.

Suddenly, his gaze stopped on one spot.

He saw the outsider who had left early the previous night.

The outsider who clearly was not with Ryan, Lya, and Valentine.

It was a woman in a long orange dress, her slightly curled brown hair hanging loose. Her pale blue eyes were fixed on the glass of light red liquor in her hand.

Beautiful and languid, she seemed to belong to an entirely different scene from the shabby tavern with its low ceiling and dim light.