CH-019

“Stonehollow.”

The next closest small town to the Savoy Parish is Stonehollow.

Although this parish is closest to the Savoy Parish church in a straight line, in terms of ecclesiastical planning, it belongs to a different church. This is because the Stonehollow church sits atop a very windy mountain peak.

The most distinctive feature of that church is a low stone wall surrounding its perimeter, so locals are accustomed to calling it the “Stone Fence Church.” However, much like those in the Savoy Parish, they have no interest in church activities.

They also love to gather in the town’s tavern to discuss recent rumors, especially the central figure of tavern talk—Father Alis.

At this moment, the tavern was brightly lit.

Townspeople clinked glasses, exchanging overheard intel amidst the aroma of meat, the scent of alcohol, and the surrounding clamor.

“I heard there was gunfire in the Savoy Parish a few days ago.”

Upon hearing the words “Savoy Parish,” the townspeople’s glasses paused slightly, and their attention was quickly captured.

“Did the army come through?”

Just as this question fell, a man in a hat at the bar responded: “They say a cavalryman from the Northern Territories executed a fugitive on the spot.”

He was the town’s postman, running everywhere and occasionally leaving town to deliver letters or goods for others, so he always had the most news.

“What was the crime?”

The postman said: “That part isn’t very clear. How is it our place as commoners to know the business of the military district?”

Everyone nodded in succession. They thought this bit of hearsay would end there, and the atmosphere was beginning to settle. However, the postman, providing the “closing remarks,” scanned the expressions of those around him and spoke with feigned mystery: “However, this matter is also related to that priest over there. Guess what he did?”

Everyone’s interest was piqued, but before they could speak, the storytelling postman couldn’t resist revealing the bottom line: “Father Alis buried that man in the small cemetery behind his own house.”

“What? Can a key military prisoner be taken away like that?!”

Such questioning and even more attention gave the postman a boost of energy.

With a sudden “bang” against the table, the postman’s voice exploded in the tavern: “It wasn’t just letting the priest take him away! The priest walked straight up to the cavalryman and righteously told him to stop the killing. After that cavalryman froze for a few seconds, he actually… handed him his flintlock.”

The moment these words fell, absurdity and skepticism erupted in the hearts of the townspeople.

“Huh—?”

“That’s impossible, right?!”

“What are you saying?”

“This rumor is even more outrageous than that one you mentioned before about the old man in Savoy Parish saying Father Alis is an incarnation of a deity.”

“That old man is senile and his eyes were playing tricks; that’s normal. But giving away a gun is truly too ridiculous!”

The townspeople couldn’t help but discuss all at once.

Receiving everyone’s shocked expressions, the postman felt satisfied, as if he had been waiting for this reaction all along.

He tapped his finger in the air and said with certainty: “It’s absolutely true. I didn’t believe it when I first heard it either and immediately doubted it. But this is news I heard with my own ears from Sheriff Rayleigh’s place.”

The postman paused and lowered his voice: “It’s said that after the priest got the gun, he handed it over to Sheriff Rayleigh.” He added a special hook: “The gun body has a serial number; I heard it’s the gun of a very high-ranking officer. After Sheriff Rayleigh turned the gun in, his own face went white with fear.”

Everyone’s expressions grew even more colorful.

Some were still processing the story, trying hard to find a reason, asking: “Father Alis is actually that powerful…? Could it be because the cavalryman is actually a relative or friend of Father Alis, or perhaps interested in the Father? I’ve heard some officers give weapons to their lovers.”

Another voice came: “I have a distant relative who is a military cadet. They say cadets do show off the weapons they’ve been issued in front of people they’re interested in. However, giving away weapons at will violates their regulations. The most serious consequence is being stripped of one’s military status. Honestly, they aren’t even allowed to use gunpowder casually.”

“Then how could he give the weapon to Father Alis? Losing a gun is a very serious matter, isn’t it?”

The postman was stumped by this question.

He hadn’t thought about that aspect of the issue.

Everyone’s gazes were like needles pricking the postman, making him feel restless.

At this point, the tavern owner, who was wiping the bar, spoke up: “Didn’t Pick just say the cavalryman might be someone of very high status?”

Pick was the postman who had just drawn everyone’s attention.

The tavern owner continued calmly: “So, this serial number is either privately owned by a noble, or this officer is so high-ranking that losing a gun doesn’t matter, or both.”

After this sentence resolved everyone’s doubts, they subconsciously looked toward the deep-hiding tavern owner.

They heard that he and the tavern owner of Savoy Parish were twins; the two had opened taverns in their respective towns and established their lives. They usually kept in touch, and so much news circulated in the tavern, yet the tavern owner rarely spoke up.

Since he had spoken, everyone began looking at him. “Owner Bogal, what do you think of Father Alis in the neighboring parish?”

Owner Bogal was always low-key and wasn’t used to being the center of attention. He wasn’t eloquent and wasn’t good at storytelling; it was hard for him to meet the expectations of the drinkers.

However, recently his brother’s tavern had indeed been exploding with popularity every day because of Father Alis’s various “miracles.”

The intelligence and news they knew in the Stonehollow tavern were just the scraps of information from the Savoy Parish.

Now, a phrase was quietly spreading through the Savoy Parish: “Father Alis can bring miracles.”

Weren’t stories like a cavalryman giving a gun just trivial matters?

Because it didn’t have much to do with their lives.

Two things had truly sparked heated debate.

One was “finding the missing Finnian from the neighboring village.”

It was said that at that time, the Father who was approached just glanced into the distance and said: “Go search in the direction of Carson City.”

At that time, the villagers weren’t particularly sure, but they were also at their wits’ end and could only follow suit. Halfway through the chase, they didn’t find the child, but they saw a merchant’s carriage stuck in a mud pit, in urgent need of help, otherwise more than half of the goods would be ruined.

The merchant was frantic. The villagers were naturally kind-hearted and helped push the heavy wheels out of the mud pit.

After the carriage was straightened, the villagers even helped repair the damaged parts.

The merchant was deeply grateful and took out high-quality wheat flour to distribute to everyone—half a jin per person.

Usually, everyone ate rye or barley.

Wheat was a luxury item that people would only see during festivals or when honored guests visited.

The wheat flour distributed from the carriage that day was snowy white and delicate; even touching it with a finger made one feel light. Some people exchanged the wheat flour for silver coins, while others quietly hid it away, intending only to add it to their meals during festivals. Of course, that’s a story for later.

After they received the gifts, the clues for finding the child naturally went cold.

By the time they returned, the Father had already had the hunter return the child to the village chief’s house. Meanwhile, the Father took the two kidnappers possessed by demons back to the church to perform a purification ritual.

The matter ended peacefully just like that.

Everything was within the Father’s control.

A side note here: because the Father once said the rain on the night the child went missing was a timely rain, some townspeople began to believe that the rain wasn’t a coincidence, but a guide sent personally by a deity.

The other matter was the “Holy Water of the church.”

Raymond, the eldest son of Elder Jacob, brought salt back from Carson City.

When the salt arrived that day, it was solemnly handed over to Father Alis.

The Father turned the salt into Holy Water.

After the seeds from Elder Jacob’s family were treated with the Holy Water, even though their seeds entered the fields later than everyone else’s, while others’ land was still desolate, the fields of Jacob’s family sprouted tender buds early.

Everyone was talking about it.

Some farmers were wondering if they could also go to the church to beg for some Holy Water or pay to buy it.

Some people also said with a cold face: “This matter is sinister; ten to one, some trick was played.”

But for more than half a month, no one dared to act first.

No one wanted to be the first person to walk into the church—it felt like waiting for someone else to jump into the water first to test the temperature.

Consequently, they could only speak sarcastically while they couldn’t help but stare at the fields of Jacob’s family in their hearts. The so-called skepticism was nothing more than a fig leaf to cover their unease and anxiety.

Because they knew in their hearts that Father Alis could truly do things that others could not.

And this was exactly the most terrifying part.

In the Savoy Parish, the townspeople were not in pain because they were afraid of the Father; they were in pain because they knew Father Alis was far better than they could imagine—so in pain that they were too sober.

Being asked for his impression of Father Alis at this time, Owner Bogal thought for a moment and said: “Many miracles have appeared regarding Father Alis, which also supports the idea that he is likely one of the candidates for Pope chosen by the Church.”

The rumor of “Papal Candidate” that had circulated before took deep root in people’s hearts once again.

Quite a few of the Stonehollow townspeople began to envy the neighboring parish: “Living with a priest like that, the people of Savoy Parish will surely be under divine protection! Life will get better and better!”

Someone joked: “How about moving next door?”

Upon hearing these words, the postman Pick discovered his use once again, so he raised his hand to interrupt everyone’s discussion. “The number of believers in Savoy Parish is still zero to this day; the townspeople haven’t attended mass, and it seems they have a very bad relationship with the Father. If anyone were to favor the Father, they would surely become an outcast.”

“Huh? Why? Didn’t he do a lot of good things?”

“Could it be that Father Alis did something bad that we don’t know about?”

“I knew it—priests are all bad!”

Amidst the noisy voices around him, Owner Bogal said in a calm tone: “Because if he truly becomes the Pope, how could he stay in the Savoy Parish?”

The restless voices quieted down.

The Holy Cathedral in the Metropolis is incomparably extravagant, with believers like a tide.

Even the simplest soup costs as much as the wages of a month’s hard labor for a farmer in a remote region.

Coming to the Northern Territories is just a part of the future Pope’s training.

After three to five years, if he can successfully bring back regions that had already broken away from the Church’s sphere of influence to the faith, this might be the achievement and legend of Father Alis.

“No matter how good he is, how could it be our turn to share in these blessings? When the time comes, the priest swapped in will be an ordinary one, or like those clergy members in Carson City who start catching heretics for no reason…”

A Stonehollow townsman said: “At least for now, we are still very free.”

This topic suddenly made the air begin to turn heavy.

Postman Pick, seeing the atmosphere become so stagnant, hurried to put on a smile, attempting to liven things up: “Oh—right, I also heard one thing that’s quite interesting.”

He lowered his voice, his eyes scanning the crowd again, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“I heard that before Father Alis—about a month ago—he once purified a couple possessed by demons. The pair came from the south; it was actually just a few villages and a mountain away, and they were possessed by devils. I don’t know how it happened, but they felt something was wrong with themselves and had heard the rumors that Father Alis could catch demons—probably where Ander’s mother in the neighborhood lives—so they basically crossed mountains and traveled over.”

“Before meeting Father Alis, they had already been bewitched again and started stealing children from the village in the middle of the night while in a daze.”

Pick paused, intentionally keeping them in suspense, then continued: “In the end, the Father took Holy Water and poured a mouthful into them, tying them up in the church to lie there for a day and a night. When those two woke up the next day, they were more spirited than when they first arrived, and their personalities were as quiet as sheep.”

This story was a bit bland and didn’t successfully heat up the atmosphere.

However, someone said: “Setting aside the issue of believing or not, this priest really seems able to perform exorcisms?”

This thread began to draw another point of attention for everyone.

“You say, my child lately at night—he used to be quite good—but these last few nights he’s been crying mysteriously in the middle of the night, crying until his voice is hoarse. I wonder if I can find Father Alis to take a look?”

“It’s probably just an illness, right? It’s an easy season to get sick lately, and the child is very young, right?”

“Around two years old.”

“Then it’s nothing! He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Another voice said: “Actually, as for whether he can be invited, I’m quite curious about what Father Alis looks like?”

The postman felt he had the right to speak again: “I took a look from a distance, afraid of being noticed and targeted for missionary work.”

“What does he look like?”

The postman settled himself. “The face wasn’t actually clear.”

A wave of boos and jeers erupted.

The postman laughed: “But just looking from a distance, I saw the person was as white as if sculpted from snow; he definitely can’t be ugly. After all, he’s someone who came from the Metropolis.”

Owner Bogal on the side, however, had truly seen Father Alis.

But he didn’t say.

He was afraid of being called ill-informed.

He didn’t dare to say directly that the priest was the best-looking person he had ever seen—so good that it made one freeze; it wasn’t just the two simple words “good-looking,” but like a ray of morning light that didn’t belong to this world.

“It would be nice to have a chance to go take a look.”

“It would take a day to walk there; where is there so much time?”

“Oh, look at the time! I’m going home early to be with my wife and kids.”

Some of the townspeople’s small talk had just begun, while some had already ended, but no one noticed that outside the tavern windowsill, there was a thin middle-aged man draped in a black cloak, huddled in the corner eavesdropping.

His face was pale, and his eyes were full of bloodshot veins.

After hearing everyone stop talking about Father Alis, he hobbled away from the edge of the tavern with his cane, walking toward his own church.

This was the priest and ascetic of the Stone Fence Church, “Simeon.”

Father Simeon did not rest; instead, he brought the half-jin of small potatoes he had treasured since last winter, gripped his cane, and hobbled through the night toward the Savoy Parish.