The dim, yellow light of the kerosene lamp could not dispel the surrounding darkness. It illuminated only a small area, just enough to reveal Norton's expressionless face above his pure white clerical robes.
The sound of a wooden table rocking came from the cabin behind him, accompanied by a voice filled with fear and a hint of pain.
"Father Mia... can you really give me a blessing?"
"Of course, my son. This is a blessing reserved for priests to bestow, noble and sacred. Now, be quiet." Father Mia's voice sounded aged and excited.
He was indeed no longer young. He was sixty-nine, old by the standards of this era, at least.
Norton could hardly bear listening to the noises from the cabin. His face was twisted with disgust, and he felt that even the slightest sound was torture.
Good grief. I never thought I'd transmigrate only to witness this classic Central European pastime.
The wick of the kerosene lamp kept flickering. Finally, the sound of the table slowly died away.
A short while later, an old man in black-and-white priestly robes walked out of the cabin, looking satisfied.
The priest's hooked nose twitched slightly, and a hint of fatigue finally appeared on his wrinkled face.
"Very good, son. Remember to come back here for another blessing next week. With my blessing, you'll be able to receive a portion of black bread every day. And now, I think you may leave."
"Y-yes!" The voice inside the room was fearful and trembling. Then, under Norton's gaze, a small figure staggered out.
Under Father Mia's kindly gaze, he leaned shakily against the wall and made his way toward a dim path lit by candles nearby.
The boy's back disappeared around the corner of the wall, and the kindness vanished from Father Mia's face with him.
He turned to the young cleric beside him, whose face had gone expressionless again, and finally nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good, Norton. With you here, no one can disturb the blessing process."
"It's my duty, father!" Norton bowed slightly and replied respectfully. Not a trace remained of the distaste and disgust he had shown earlier.
Looking at Norton's handsome face and the respect written all over it, Father Mia sighed with some regret.
Alas, it's all because I arrived too late. If I'd come a few years earlier, Norton wouldn't be such a stranger to me.
Young Norton had no idea of the terrible things Father Mia was imagining for him. He merely kept his head slightly bowed, his face full of heartfelt reverence.
After taking another look at Norton's handsome face, Father Mia reluctantly put his thoughts aside.
"I remember you're twenty now, aren't you?"
"Yes, father!"
Father Mia pondered for a moment before speaking. "You were raised by the church and have been immersed in its teachings since childhood. I believe your faith is steadfast enough! So you can join next week's mass as well. Prepare yourself over the next few days. Tomorrow, I'll have someone explain what you need to know about the mass."
"Yes, father!" Norton nodded respectfully, a little pleasantly surprised.
It wasn't the mass that surprised him, but the fact that he could finally go outside.
He had transmigrated as a newborn. At first, he couldn't see anything around him, and by the time he could, he was already in this church.
He had been raised by the previous priest. Only after that priest died of old age did the church send Father Mia to take his place.
He couldn't determine where he had transmigrated to. All he could tell was that the era seemed similar to that of the medieval Central European Papal States. But judging by the church's various institutions, this was clearly not Central Europe-or at least not the Central Europe he remembered from Earth.
For example, the church did not recruit missionaries from outside. All its missionaries were orphans adopted by the church. When they turned twenty, they would begin presiding over mass and become missionaries rather than clerics.
Before they began presiding over mass, these clerics were not allowed to take a single step outside the church, stand in high places, gaze into the distance, or speak with outsiders. They were only allowed to wear hooded clerical robes and had to keep their heads down as they walked.
Church soldiers in white armor guarded the church, encircling the entire area around it. There was no possibility of escape. Any cleric caught breaking the rules would be beheaded on the spot.
Over the past twenty years, Norton had seen no fewer than ten clerics beheaded. Since they all lived in the church, he had known every one of them. That was why he didn't dare take a single step outside and could only wait until he turned twenty and became a missionary before he could come and go freely.
Thus, in the twenty years since he had transmigrated, he had never gone outside once. He couldn't even reach the church gates, so naturally he couldn't determine what sort of place he had transmigrated to.
"All right, go back." Father Mia looked at Norton once more, then waved him away.
"Yes, father!" Norton bowed again, then turned and walked into the dim alleyway.
The church's interior was vast. Counting everyone from the priest down to the lowest-ranking resident believers, there were over a thousand people in all. Although Norton couldn't determine what sort of world this was, he could make a rough estimate from the state of the church: this place was most likely in the era of the Papal States.
Norton returned to his room.
Adopted orphans were merely believers until they turned ten and could not be called clerics. Ten believers shared a room, with communal sleeping platforms like those at his school in his previous life. After turning ten and being baptized by a priest, they could become clerics, and from that rank onward, they could have a small room of their own.
The clerics' rooms were small and standardized, each less than six square meters. Apart from a bed, there was room for a table and a cupboard at most.
Norton's room was even more bare. It didn't even have a cupboard, only a small bed laid with straw and padded with old clothes, and a small table holding a kerosene lamp and two religious texts.
Aside from those, there was little else but a scattering of leaves stuck together on the floor.
They still gave off a faint scent of hormones.