After inspecting his holdings and dealing with various matters on his estate, viscount Gardin departed from Whitestone in the morning.
Of course, Ledgetak left with him in attendance on the viscount.
Medipl remained in the village as before, looking after and teaching the children.
Only now had Rimas truly come back to his senses.
In principle he should have returned to class, but in consideration of the fact that he was in mourning for his late father, he was allowed to use the time to sort through his father’s effects.
In truth it was closer to sorting out what remained of the goods that had not been sold, rather than a dignified ordering of the deceased’s keepsakes.
Still, the situation was such that, while he could just about manage to put the merchandise in order, he was in no state to sit through lessons, so Rimas was just as glad of the arrangement.
Time passed in this way until shortly after four in the afternoon, when a report came from the watchtower that someone was approaching.
The news was relayed at once to Medipl and Rimas, and Medipl stopped the lesson for the moment.
Together with Rimas, he went out to the village entrance to meet the person the sentry in the tower had spoken of.
What was approaching the village was a large freight wagon.
Two men were sitting side by side on the driver’s bench, and there were two more people in the back of the wagon as well, who also appeared to be men.
Watching the two figures approaching on the driver’s seat, Rimas thought that both looked like men in at least their fifties.
“The Necromancer who’s coming looks to be fairly advanced in years.”
Looking at Rimas, Medipl said,
“I see.
But he’s a cleric as well, and clerics are MOW, so they naturally look younger than they are.
If you assume he’s about ten years older than he looks, you’ll be close enough.
Necromancers tend to have their life force drained faster than average and grow steadily thinner, but thanks to Brinis’s favor, I’ve heard that their aging is, curiously enough, delayed to about the same degree as that of other mow.
In fact, among MOW they’re counted among the long-lived.
Some say that because they serve the god of death, they can postpone death itself, but we’re not members of the Order, so we can’t really know.
In any case, it seems it isn’t only the necromancer who’s coming.”
Medipl paused for a moment, then went on,
“This is just an old elf’s nagging, but try not to call him a ‘necromancer’ to his face if you can help it.
‘Necromancer’ is only one of his subclasses.
And it’s even more important that you never, even by mistake, refer to their church as the ‘Necromancer Order.’ The proper formal name of the Order people habitually call the Necromancer Order is the Brinis Order.
Brinis is one of only thirteen Prime Creator Gods who fashioned the whole world and ranks as high as fourth among them.
It’s true that the domain he governs is death, and that he is therefore a god of death, and consequently every cleric belonging to his Order is, without exception, a necromancer.
But it’s only that, because the god they serve is a god of death, they also serve as necromancers; calling it the Necromancer Order is discourteous.”
“Yes, I understand, teacher.
But considering that, people still seem to look down on the Necromancer Or— I mean, the Brinis Order quite a bit.”
“To be blunt, it would be more accurate to say they don’t look down on them ‘quite a bit’ so much as they look down on them very openly.
However, before the Empire was founded, it was not like that at all.
The elder elves still remember very clearly how terrifying the clerics who dealt in death once were.
In fact, people simply don’t know it, but on the continent of Mnahe, where the Empire’s power does not reach, the Brinis Order is still an object of fear.”
“Then why are they despised here in the Empire?”
“Because they cannot violate Imperial law and arbitrarily deal out death as they please.
Once it was firmly established that they could not exercise their greatest authority, the need to fear them diminished.
And with more than a thousand years of such times piled up, that fear faded from people’s consciousness.
On the Imperial continent, Necromancers have gradually turned into just another trade that handles everything connected with death: undertakers, coroners, gravekeepers, executioners, and the like.
Under Imperial control, those are the only areas of their former domain that remained in their hands, and as that happened the awe disappeared and was replaced, in people’s minds, by the notion that they were clerics who did lowly work.
In the end, their social standing has fallen so far that people now even ask whether Necromancers really count as clerics at all.”
“So that’s how it happened.”
“But that is what ordinary people think—in other words, the usual nobles and commoners.
It is said that, unexpectedly, the MOW do not think that way.
I’m not MOW myself, so I can’t say for sure, but I’ve heard that MOW understand very well just how powerful the Brinis Order and the Necromancer class really are.
However, nobles and commoners alike never find themselves in a position where they can personally feel that power, so they dismiss it as something that can be taken lightly.”
“I can see nobles thinking that way, but why would commoners think the same?
Necromancers are MOW, and MOW are nobles, so shouldn’t commoners show them respect?”
“Nobles and commoners alike are clients, as far as necromancers are concerned.
Even today, a necromancer is coming all this way to conduct your father’s funeral, isn’t he?
That makes you a client—a customer asking for a funeral.
On Mnahe, people of the Brinis Order can plunder villages and no one dares say a word, but things are different here on the Imperial continent.
So the Brinis Order has to treat their clients well if they want to earn the money to keep the Order running.
Because of that, unlike with other Orders, it doesn’t feel like money is being given as offerings for blessings or miracles.
It feels like they sell coffins, help with funerals, and take a fee for their services, like any other profession.
That’s been going on for over twelve hundred years now, so most people in the Empire have come to carry that kind of prejudice.
They’re far too close now, so let’s drop the subject.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
“And you’re still only a protégé, so you don’t even know the formal greetings yet.
The necromancer brought the wagon almost to a halt at the entrance to the village, then slowly reined it in.
The village headman and Medipl stepped forward to greet them.
Thanks to his elven sight, Medipl had already recognized who was accompanying the necromancer, but the headman’s eyes were no longer very good in his old age, so he only realized who the passenger was after the wagon had stopped, and he started in surprise.
Even so, he managed to offer his greeting without being too late.
“Welcome, High Rector.
Welcome to Whitestone.
I never imagined Your Honor the judge would be coming as well.”
“The mage of the overlord’s fief has taken an interest in this case.
On top of that, it is a murder, so I decided it would be better if I came in person.”
The necromancer then answered their greeting.
“I am Aerfey of the Brinis Order.”
Aerfey looked to be in his early fifties which, going by what Medipl had said earlier, meant he was in fact over sixty.
For someone of that age, it was no surprise that he had risen to the rank of high cleric.
And unlike other nobles or MOW, the fact that he kindly gave his name himself was, as Medipl had said, likely due to his attitude of treating those he dealt with as clients.
“I’ll show you where you can park the wagon first.”
When the necromancer set the wagon in motion again, following the village headman’s guidance, Medipl took Rimas with him and slowly walked after it.
Watching the two men who had accompanied their superior sitting rather casually in the back of the wagon, Medipl asked Rimas as they followed behind.
“Do you know the rank of the cleric who just arrived?”
“There were six skulls on the decoration of his left shoulder epaulet, and if you count the scythe and sword around the skull as well, that makes eight, so Tier 8.
Wow!
He’s a High Rector, isn’t he?
A High Rector is equivalent to a viscount in noble titles, right?”
“That’s right.
Exactly.
You really are a student worth teaching.
But you couldn’t work out his subclasses, could you?”
“You’ve never taught me that part.”
“Use this opportunity to learn it.
You’ll study all of this anyway once you enroll in the academy that trains warriors, but there’s no harm in knowing a little early.
Do you remember what the gemstones in the skull’s eye sockets looked like?”
“I only remember that they were red.”
“They were onyx.
Whenever the epaulet that shows a cleric’s Order and tier is set with onyx, it means they’ve trained Monk as a subclass, no matter which Order they belong to.”
“Monk is the class that fights bare-handed without weapons, right?”
“That’s my understanding.
In fact, I’ve been taught that it’s not a common class within the Brinis Order.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Brinis Order also serves as executioners, they handle blades.
And if you’re going to handle blades, it’s better to train with the sword.
Among all the Orders that serve the gods, only three allow their clerics to learn the sword, so there are very few who choose to train in unarmed combat.
That’s what I learned, and that’s what I’ve believed up until now.”
“Then, apart from those three Orders, clerics of other Orders aren’t allowed to use swords at all?”
“The only exception is the Order that serves Shillenos, the god of thieves—they alone are permitted the use of daggers.
Aside from that, the training, use, or even the carrying of bladed weapons is forbidden.
Furthermore, clerics are forbidden from using bladed weapons in any form.
A commoner may take up an axe when it is needed as either tool or weapon, but a cleric may only use one strictly as a tool.
Even a kitchen knife may not be used for any purpose other than cooking.
Needless to say, spears and swords are forbidden.
Clerics may wield only weapons without edges—in other words, most often blunt weapons.”
“I see.
But if everything is denoted by gemstones, wouldn’t that be terribly confusing?
I’ve heard there are many kinds of red gems alone.”
“It is not knowledge that commoners or nobles need concern themselves with, unless they are preparing for examinations as I am.
But you will have to memorize it all soon enough.
Shall I tell you one more discouraging fact?”
“Discouraging?
That makes me want to avoid hearing it—but I’m too curious to refuse.
Please, go on.”
“The same gemstone denotes different subclasses depending on whether it is used by a cleric or a mage.
For instance, the onyx we just mentioned signifies Monk when used by a cleric, but Chronomancer when used by a mage.
That alone doubles what you must learn.”
While they were having that conversation, the village headman and Aerfey, both elderly men, exchanged information in the slow, courteous manner of old folks: where they would be lodging for the night, what arrangements would be made for meals, and some basic details about the man who had died, among other things.
The headman, in particular, seemed to have a great deal to discuss with Aerfey in his capacity as undertaker.
Most villages had cemeteries, but no one to manage them on a regular basis.
So whenever a necromancer came to the village, it would be troublesome to miss the chance to ask favors or settle matters that needed agreement, and naturally the headman had quite a bit he needed to talk over with Aerfey.
In the meantime, Medipl continued instructing Rimas.
“Do you know who the man who came with the cleric is?”
“I heard he’s a judge.”
“In a small fief under a minor lord, the domain is limited, so there are only a few officials to assist him.
The highest-ranking among them is the majordomo, the chief steward.
He oversees the household of the lord’s castle and manages the fief’s internal affairs and administration.
Next is the fief thane, who is responsible for the lord’s protection and military affairs.
The position is usually held by a MOW, most often a warrior.
Occasionally, when someone outside the MOW takes the role, it goes by a different title.
Here in the Shadowfoot fief, that role is held by an Armsmaster named Ixt.
Below him is the assessor, who oversees the fief’s judicial matters and trials—that is the man who arrived today.
His name is Kaohan.
I believe he is fifty-six.”
“An assessor?”
“You can think of him as a judge who sits at his lord’s side.
I didn’t expect him to come in person.
Though we call him an assessor, that’s not quite how things work in practice.
In principle, the lord presides over trials, while the assessor sits beside him on the bench, offering legal counsel and assisting him.
In reality, however, the lord almost never appears in court himself—and that’s for the best.
If a case is serious enough to require the lord’s personal judgment, it would have to be something truly grave.
So for ordinary cases, you can assume the assessor conducts the trials in the lord’s stead.
A judge must be well versed not only in Imperial law, but also in the laws of his realm and the local customs of the region.
For that reason, even the lord frequently seeks his counsel.
Though he ranks third in formal hierarchy, his authority is considerable.”
“Third among the officials of the fief already sounds unimaginably high to me.”
Medipl patted Rimas on the shoulder and continued.
“There’s something else you should know.
Not only the trials themselves, but all judicial matters fall under his authority.
That means the investigation into your father’s murder is also his responsibility.
Once the elders finish their discussion, he will likely come here about it.”
When Aerfey, the village headman, and the assessor had finished their discussions and consultations among themselves, they approached Medipl and Rimas.
From one point of view, Rimas might have felt hurt that other topics had taken precedence over the murder case, but Medipl had warned him that, in a sense, their way of thinking was right: the dead could wait forever.
Since this was not business to be conducted outdoors and there was no better place available, they moved to the headman’s house.
There, the assessor, Kaohan, was the first to speak.
“Let’s open the jar, then.
Rimas, what will you do?”
Medipl had already told Rimas the day before that he would almost certainly be asked this question, so Rimas gave the prepared answer.
“I’ll stay and watch.”
At that, High Rector Aerfey took the jar the headman had been keeping and removed the lid.
A breath of cold air escaped as he opened it.
Reaching in with care, he drew out Rimas’s father’s head.
Though it had been preserved by freezing, there was no frost or meltwater upon it—only a lingering chill as it rested in the priest’s hands.
High Priest Aerfey said,
“The grand fief’s mage did fine work.”
“It’s fortunate that she has Cryomancer as a subclass.
It’s a blessing for Rimas and for all of us.”
At Medipl’s words, everyone nodded.
The High Rector turned to Rimas.
“With only the head remaining, a proper autopsy is not possible.
At best, I can make an external examination.
Will that suffice?”
This, too, was one of the questions Medipl had told him to expect.
“Yes, please.”
He had to endure the sight of his father’s severed head—still lifelike—cradled in another man’s hands, yet Rimas bore the moment with unexpected composure.
Aerfey examined the cut at the neck with close attention.
After a time, he returned the head to the jar and sealed it.
Medipl was the first to speak.
“How is it?”