Chapter 84

A stone-built room.

Under a high ceiling, figures in black robes sat across a long desk. A report was quietly placed down.

“…Are these the records from that land?”

An older priest turned the pages. The healing of skin, the recovery of abdomens, and…

“…A medicine that erases pain.”

The words dropped low. Another priest opened his mouth.

“To be precise, it seems to ‘dull’ it. It is not perfect, but it is sufficient to perform treatments.”

“Sufficient, huh.”

It was a dry voice. Eventually, one of them said.

“…Pain has meaning.”

The one who raised his face was a priest known for being strict with the commandments.

“It is exactly within suffering that people reflect upon themselves and cling to God. Is it permissible to rob them of that?”

They were heavy words. From another seat, a quiet counterargument returned.

“Then, what becomes of those who are in so much suffering they have no leeway to pray, and merely groan?”

Gazes gathered.

“Screaming, thrashing about, and harming oneself. Is that a prayer?”

“…That is,”

He was at a loss for words. Yet another priest interjected.

“According to the records, after using this medicine, the patient calmed down and quietly spoke words of prayer.”

He tapped the paper with his finger.

“One can also read it as: precisely because the pain disappeared, they could pray.”

A stir ran through.

“Sophistry.”

The earlier priest cut him down.

“It is merely an excuse to avoid pain.”

“But it is a fact,”

Came the short reply.

“Are we going to ignore the facts?”

The air pulled taut. Eventually, the old bishop at the back of the seats opened his mouth. A person who had not spoken even once until then.

“…It is too early to call it a miracle.”

A quiet voice. But everyone present listened closely.

“…To deny it, the results are too consistent.”

He placed his hand on the report.

“Healed, recovered, pain softened. All of these remain as records.”

No one denied it. The old bishop continued.

“If so, do not mistake the interpretation. This is not a human technique. It is ‘wisdom’ granted to humanity.”

Slowly, he chose his words.

“Something granted by God.”

Each of them weighed the meaning of those words.

The earlier priest asked in a low voice.

“…Then, to use it is…”

The old bishop closed his eyes.

“I do not think that softening suffering goes against the divine will.”

He opened his eyes.

“However—”

Everyone’s gaze gathered.

“We will not leave it unchecked.”

With that single phrase, the air changed.

“Select those who handle it. Have them keep records. And, place it where our eyes can reach.”

The meeting ended, and people scattered.

A priest who stepped out into the corridor muttered softly.

“…Is that truly ‘wisdom’?”

Another priest walking beside him answered.

“Who knows.”

A short silence.

“But, people—will likely seek it out.”

He looked into the distance.

“Towards the direction without pain, that is.”

No one objected to those words.

The rumors eventually reached even the inside of the gates.

“…You’re saying they extracted it without pain?”

A certain noble muttered low. In the presented report, it was written concisely. Without thrashing, without screaming, the tooth was extracted.

“Is it not an exaggeration?”

A close aide asked. The noble shook his head.

“There are records. Multiple. Moreover, the church has not stopped it.”

With that single phrase, its value was decided.

“…Prepare it.”

He ordered quietly.

“Secure a turn. A donation as well. An appropriate amount.”

The aide nodded.

“Under what pretext?”

“I leave it to you. ‘Support for the pilgrimage passing through that land’. Just make it that.”

That was sufficient. Eventually, money began to move.

Maintenance of pilgrimage routes, expansion of inns, donations to the infirmary. The pretexts were various, but the flow was one. To pass people through to that land.

New numbers piled up in the church’s ledgers. A certain priest looked at the bundle of papers and said.

“…It is increasing.”

“I know.”

The one who answered was that old bishop.

“Both the number of pilgrims and the donations.”

A quiet confirmation.

Any further words were unnecessary. Eventually, another report came up.

“…Some priests are preaching that the medicine is a ‘sin’.”

The air in the room changed slightly.

“Saying that pain is God’s trial, and to avoid it is…”

He faltered. The old bishop closed his eyes.

“…Are they still saying that?”

Short words.

“What will you do?”

He was asked. After a brief silence, the old bishop said.

“We have not changed the doctrine.”

Slowly.

“Suffering has meaning. It is a trial. That is exactly right.”

No one nodded. They waited for the continuation.

“But we are the ones who determine that interpretation.”

He opened his eyes.

“Softening pain is not denying the trial. It is a ‘preparation’ to align the soul and guide it to prayer.”

A quiet assertion.

“Those who do not follow this are mistaking the teachings.”

It was a cold voice.

“Change their placements. Remove them from sermons. If necessary, send them to the provinces.”

No one was surprised. Because that is how it is “handled.”

A few days later, a priest disappeared from a certain monastery. Another was no longer permitted to stand at the pulpit.

The outward reasons lay elsewhere.

But internally, it was understood. —That they had crossed the line.

Meanwhile. At other churches, the words changed.

“Those in suffering, fear not.”

A quiet voice echoed.

“God has granted us wisdom. Using that wisdom to soften pain is also mercy.”

The people raised their faces.

“It is precisely within tranquility that the heart turns toward God.”

Those words passed through well.

It was not a denial. It was a rewrite.

And it was accepted.

That news eventually reached the office as well.

The movements inside the church, the changes in sermons, the increase in pilgrims and donations—it was a report that connected them all into one.

Furthermore, as if backing up that flow, a letter arrived.

I finished reading it and quietly placed it on the desk.

On the sealing wax was a familiar mark. The church’s.

“…It’s here, huh.”

I muttered softly. Marc, waiting by my side, cautiously opened his mouth.

“…Is this alright?”

What he was asking was obvious. The church didn’t just “acknowledge” it. They decided to “incorporate” it. I let out a short breath.

“I do not mind. The other side takes the name. We take the substance.”

I dropped my gaze. In the letter, words like pilgrimage, donation, and cooperation were lined up, all beautifully arranged.

“There is mutual benefit. That is fine.”

Marc was silent for a while, but eventually said quietly.

“…However, there is a possibility that they will seize the initiative.”

I gave a slight laugh.

“As if I would let them seize it. The flow is already here. The people, the money, the techniques too. The church simply became unable to ignore it. That is all.”

The wind slightly rattled the window.

“…There is no need to fear being utilized. We just let them utilize us. In exchange, we use them too.”

Marc gasped softly. I closed the letter.

“With this, we will no longer be stopped publicly… It is sufficient.”

This land has already begun to take on a single shape. And now, even the church has been incorporated into that flow.