Berserk of Gluttony (LN) - Volume 4 - Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

The Old Church

MYNE AND I STOOD staring at the incredible line of people snaking its way out from the entrance of the church, our heads tilted in shared confusion. At first, I thought perhaps all these people had come to pray, but I knew better than anyone else that very few of those in the slums could be called faithful.

No one here had received the divine blessings of a useful skill, and because of this misfortune, they’d been forced into lives of great hardship and suffering. For those the gods had forsaken—the very reason for their place in society—faith was a horrible thing.

Some people tried to paint a prettier picture, spouting lines like “The gods are testing your faith,” but by and large, those optimists had been born with valued skills or social standing. They wanted nothing more than to convince the forsaken to listen and obey.

For myself, when I’d lost my father, a man of strong faith himself, I had given up on prayer. Even now I believed that I’d made the right decision. In fact, I was sure of it.

My own struggles with faith aside, a staggering number of people were lined up in front of the church. As I moved into the crowd, a man saw me and let out a shriek of pure fear. He fled out of my way as quickly as he could. As more people became aware of my presence, they stared at me like they would at a fearsome beast. Their terror pulled them to the sides of the road. Some even dropped to their knees, hiding under their arms.

Myne glanced around at the panicking crowd, then looked directly at me with a sly smirk. “Did you do something to these people, Fate?”

“Of course not!”

Was it my skull mask? Or maybe the fact that I was a holy knight? No, unlike a holy knight, I wore all black. The family crest sewn into my clothes indicated my rank, but not everyone could see it right off the bat. Maybe these people were unconsciously reacting to the Domain of E and the overwhelming difference in our stats. The people of the slums lived in fear of the powerful, so their terror of me was perhaps unavoidable.

Myne shook her head, drawing the same conclusion. “You’re not even that strong yet.”

“You won’t hear me disagreeing with you.”

Judging by the look on her face, I expected I was in for a heavy sparring session when we returned to Barbatos Manor. If recent sessions were anything to go by, she’d leave me half-dead. She didn’t let me off lightly anymore, and even with my Health Regen skill—plus Health Regen Boost—she went way too hard. Thanks to her, I’d become acutely aware of just how much damage I could take before I died.

Now that we both stood in the Domain of E, we could actually train together on (somewhat) equal footing. But because Myne was so much stronger than me, her attacks literally shattered my bones. Every time, she waited for me to heal…and then we repeated the process all over again. I feared my very bone structure was changing from the constant breakage. Fortunately, having gone through a similar hell in Galia, I could endure just this kind of punishment.

Myne walked through the parting crowds, largely oblivious to their frightened stares. At the end of the line, we encountered a modest booth made of cloth drapes. Even before we reached it, I could tell what it contained from the delicious smell. Just as I’d suspected when we first spied the long line, the church was providing food to the people of the slums.

The people in the booth only made and served one dish: soup, boiled in a huge pot filled with vegetables. The scent gave away the fact that the soup contained no meat. But in the depths of winter, and especially on particularly chilly days like this one, anyone would be grateful for a chance to warm their body—even if they could only do so through a humble bowl of vegetable soup. Proof of that need lay in the length of the line stretching out from the tent.

One thing still puzzled me: Where had such a run-down old church found the money to make and serve so much soup?

“I want a bowl,” Myne said, staring at the cauldron.

“Well, you can’t have one,” I said, pushing Myne into the church. “That soup’s not for us—it’s for the less fortunate. Let’s keep moving.”

The church was far better maintained within than without. In particular, the statue of the god upon the altar was made of much finer materials than the church housing it. I cleared my throat as I looked at it, then called out to one of the praying nuns.

The nun’s eyes widened when her gaze landed on the family crest on my armor. The names and symbols of all five esteemed families were well-known throughout these lands. “That family crest,” the nun stammered. “You’re a holy knight of the Barbatos family. But…what are you doing here?”

“My name is Fate Barbatos. I’ve come to ask for your assistance.”

I gave her a quick rundown on the current state of Hausen and how we needed help rebuilding. Then I explained that I wanted the church’s help finding people to assist us because I specifically wanted to recruit those who were considered forsaken. At first, my request confused the nun, but when I explained that we had full permission from the king, some of the tension bled out of her features. I couldn’t help but be acutely aware that even if I used pleasant words like “assistance” and “help,” my status meant the nun likely considered my request an order.

“Let me be clear,” I said. “I won’t force anyone to go to Hausen against their will. But if anyone who has nowhere else to go wants to start a new life, I hope you’ll introduce them to me.”

“Ah…I see. May I be so bold as to ask a few questions?” the nun asked apologetically.

I nodded.

“Will everyone who goes to your estate be properly fed? Will there be security on the way to the estate? Also—”

The nun had more than a few questions, and all of them concerned the workers’ basic welfare. From this, I came to understand that living conditions in the slums had only worsened since my departure. It seemed a major factor in the shift was simply that the knights of the Hart family were no longer around to protect the people who lived here. Not only had Lady Roxy’s father died in Galia, but his daughter had been sent there in his stead. Without the shield of the Hart family, the slums had become a playground where the other holy knights came to vent their frustrations without consequence.

Now I knew why so many holy knights had scowled when I requested permission to take charge of Seifort’s forsaken. They were infuriated by the thought that someone would dare to take their toys.

I wanted the nuns—and anyone overhearing us who had concerns—to understand the entirety of my plan, so I invited the nun I was speaking with to visit Barbatos Manor, and even Hausen, at her convenience. Ideally, she would be able to come and see our work for herself. We would never gain her trust through words alone. Real confidence would take hard work and clear results.

Just as we finished up our discussion, I realized Myne had vanished. I scanned the area and found her curled up asleep on one of the pews. Ah, of course. High-level adventurers like her took each and every opportunity to rest. Still, what had happened to the firm, strong glare she’d promised me? Regardless, I knew waking her up the wrong way would leave me with hell to pay, so I let it slide for the moment.

The nun looked upon Myne’s sleeping face and gave me a gentle smile. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

“When she’s asleep? Yes, I guess you could say that.” I sighed. “Sometimes I can’t help but wonder how much easier my life would be if she stayed asleep forever.”

“That’s a rather cruel thing to say, don’t you think?”

I laughed sheepishly. The nun was right. “It’s okay, I’m joking.”

I turned to the statue of the god upon the altar, and as I stared at it, I felt the nun’s gaze move past me to rest on the statue as well.

“Are you curious about our god, Laplace?”

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t heard that name in some time. I put my faith aside some time ago, but…standing here brings back memories. I think I’ll always carry a bit of it with me.”

“I see…” The nun frowned. “Please, just…remember that Laplace is the creator, the genesis of our world. I know you are a holy knight, so I hope you’ll refrain from saying such impious things in these halls.”

The faceless god towered over us in silence. The creator, Laplace. The one who had seen fit to bestow skills upon the people of this world. But Laplace’s gifts were not distributed equally. There was a clear divide that separated the world into the chosen and the forsaken. Two separate sides of the world, and no way to change your fate besides death.

The nun looked at me as though she could sense the reasons I’d lost my faith. Then she said the same thing I’d heard so many times before: “When we gaze upon the unfortunate, we must remember that Laplace is testing their faith.”

If that was at all true, what was I to the gods? Was the Gluttony hungering within me just another one of their tests?