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The reply from the headquarters contained contents that were as expected for Sophia, but shocking for others.

“Malmö and Gotland, you say?”

Brantley, with a trembling voice as if he couldn’t believe it, asked back. He was not in any way bad. His hometown, the Somz family, was located in Copenhagen, facing Malmö across the strait. The two cities were closer than the port cities of Dover in Caledonia and Calais in Franquia, with ships coming and going several times a day, almost making them part of the same living area.

In that sense, if Malmö was indeed in danger, it was reasonable to assume that Copenhagen would not be safe either.

“After the instrument was detected, regular reports from the church and monastic organizations in the Malmö area have ceased. Fortunately, we are still in contact with the Copenhagen church, but they have also reported that all communication from Malmö has completely stopped.”

“That can’t be…”

Seeing Brantley lamenting, Sophia hesitated for a moment. While communication with the church and monastic organizations in Malmö had been cut off, there were too many suspicious circumstances found in Copenhagen.

Was it really okay to deliver such news to the person involved? After a moment of hesitation, Sophia made up her mind and slowly opened her mouth.

“However, despite the church’s communication being cut off, trade ships between Copenhagen and Malmö are still coming and going as usual.”

Brantley Somz was a court poet from a traditional skald family and a spellcaster well-versed in the mysteries of rune letters. And those who deal with the mysteries of spells are not without a sharp mind. Brantley, who quickly read between the lines of Sophia’s words, soon lost the color in his face.

“That can’t be…!”

After the instrument indicating the appearance of demons was detected, the messengers to the church stopped coming, but the fact that the ships’ movements remained unchanged naturally led to the worst possible scenario.

In his mind, the scene when they first arrived at Aarhus naturally came to mind. The harbor, its true appearance hidden by illusion. And the monsters disguised as harbor workers gathering at the dock.

Perhaps, the ships traveling between Copenhagen and Malmö were no longer in a normal state.

What that fact implied was even more terrifying than hearing that Copenhagen had already been attacked by demons and monsters.

Crash!

The sound of a chair falling echoed loudly. It was the sound of Brantley Somz, unable to contain his shock, standing up abruptly and losing his balance, causing the chair to tumble.

But no one at the scene paid attention to such noise. Because the state of Brantley, the person involved, was too severe. Standing up in a panic, Brantley’s complexion was completely pale, his gaze unfixed, sweating coldly and trembling uncontrollably. To anyone, it was an abnormal sight.

In that state, Brantley’s lips stumbled over words.

“Ah, Co, Co, Co…”

Brantley’s words, unable to continue. With his body trembling and breathing heavily, Brantley stuttered, unable to continue his words.

Just then, Sophia spoke.

“{It’s okay now. Calm down. Time is not that urgent yet.}”

With a soft voice that seemed to seep from soul to soul, Brantley felt his muddled consciousness clear in an instant, and his anxiously pounding heart calmed down.

Unlike the usual anti-communist rhetoric, it was clearly informal speech. But strangely, Brantley felt an indescribable peace from Sophia’s tone.

The principle was simple. In the process of the voice being emitted, the insight akin to foresight originating from Sophia’s upper dantian and azna chakra, combined with the absolute confidence from the middle dantian and manipura chakra, made Brantley feel a strong sense of relief and trust… but Brantley couldn’t possibly know all this.

But regardless of the process, it was a clear fact that with just a few words, Brantley had shaken off an uncontrollable panic. Regaining his composure, Brantley closed his eyes for a moment to organize his thoughts.

Although he had escaped the panic, he needed a clear and organized understanding and overview of the situation. Even if the situation wasn’t immediately urgent, it was clear that his hometown was in danger.

After a moment of catching his breath and weighing the sequence and causality of events, Brantley opened his eyes and spoke in a clear and distinct voice.

“Sir Chazel, please help us. Copenhagen needs your help.”

+++++

The weather was gloomy. The sky was covered with clouds in black and white shades, and not a single ray of sunlight shone through, only a faint light scattering dimly through the clouds.

Against such a sky, the scenery on the ground was even more alien.

White, white, white. All around, all that could be seen was a snowfield covered in pure white snow. The greenery that should have remained a little in this season was completely covered by thick snowballs, and the snowfield covering the world reflected the scattered light, illuminating the ground in place of the sun.

In such a snowy scene, where nothing seemed to exist except for the biting cold, there was one outsider who broke the noisy silence.

Step, step, the sound of footsteps crushing the snow, the man’s attire was quite peculiar.

To describe his attire, it might be said to resemble that of a monk.

Originally, there was no fixed attire for monks. In most cases, it varied according to the rules of the monastic order they belonged to, and if there was no prescribed attire for that order, it was not uncommon for them to wear whatever they pleased.

Nevertheless, there was a somewhat standard style, which included a type of robe called a tunic and a scapular. Underneath, they wore pants and a shirt, and over that, a tunic that reached from the shoulders to below the knees—sometimes even to the ankles—and was tied with a belt. Over that, they wore a scapular, a short cloak-like garment with a hood.

Thus, the man’s appearance was clearly that of a monk, but it was hard to say it was typical.

What he wore was the tunic and scapular that monks generally wore, but the way he wore them was quite strange.

The tunic, which was supposed to cover the upper and lower body, was only covering the lower body, leaving the upper body bare. The tunic was held in place by nothing more than a belt tied around the waist. The part that should have covered the upper body was left hanging below the belt, fluttering in the cold wind mixed with snow.

Underneath, he wore no shirt, so the man was essentially bare-chested. Over that, he wore a single scapular, but one scapular alone didn’t seem sufficient to function as clothing.

Under the tunic, he wore pants, but no socks or shoes, walking barefoot on the snow. Naturally, the snowfield where the man passed bore the clear footprints of someone without shoes.

No matter how you looked at it, his attire seemed inappropriate in the face of the biting cold. However, the man’s face showed no sign of discomfort.

“Hoo…”

In the cold, the man with his bare skin exposed walked briskly through the snowfield, seemingly unfazed.

As he exhaled long breaths, hot breath poured out like clouds. It was hard to believe that such a volume of breath could come from a human’s lungs.

Not only that? Without properly wearing the tunic and without a shirt, the man’s muscular upper body was clearly visible, and the heat emanating from his body caused the snowflakes and sweat that touched him to evaporate, creating steam that rose around him.

Surrounded by breath and steam, the man walking through the snowfield looked as if he were enveloped in mist or haze.

Soon, the man arrived at a tent village.

Except for being a ‘tent village,’ the place was nothing special for a visit by a strangely dressed monk.

Large tents made of animal bones or wooden frames, covered with animal hides as windbreaks, were arranged here and there, with pointed tent tops lined up, forming an unremarkable tent village.

About thirty tents were clustered together, and in one corner, local livestock like sheep, goats, and ponies were scattered, grazing on weeds and tree bark.

However, there was something peculiar: while other places were covered in thick snow, this area alone had dry ground and green vegetation revealing themselves.

The half-naked monk entered the tent village without hesitation and headed straight for one of the tents. The villagers seemed to recognize the man, but they neither greeted him warmly nor shunned him, continuing their daily lives as if he were just a passing scenery.

Entering the tent, the monk smelled the familiar scent he had encountered during his visits. The damp, musty smell of death naturally emanating from a space where someone was dying. Inside the tent, an elderly woman with a sickly complexion lay, breathing weakly.

“Father, have you come…?”

Perhaps sensing the entrance opening, the old woman turned her head towards the entrance and greeted.

The elderly man, the half-naked monk, nodded slightly and stroked his beard.

“Yes, you’re awake.”

“Hoho, I had a feeling someone dear would come, so I woke up without realizing it.”

‘Isn’t it so, Father? You’ve come to me like this,’ the old woman smiled like a flower despite her sickly face.

“Huh, indeed. Truly befitting the village’s ‘Birgit Anika.'”

In response to the monk’s smile, the old woman’s smile deepened.

“It’s just a good sense, that’s all. Rather, isn’t it you, Father, who has become the village’s strength now? Thanks to you, the village youths have been able to relax a bit, haven’t they?”

At the old woman’s words, the monk gave a bitter smile.

This place, Gotland, a large island in the Baltic Sea, was originally a peaceful land with developed commerce due to its geographical advantages. Although commerce was developed, it was only to the extent of the port city Visby, and not all parts of the island were so bustling.

Because it was such a large island, Visby, where ships from various lands along the Baltic coast passed through, was quite bustling, but other parts of the island were inhabited by the Cimmerians, who had settled earlier than the Goths, living isolated lives mixed with the later-arriving Goths.

Perhaps because of this? There was originally no proper church or monastic organization on this land of Gotland.

It was only himself, who had come here immediately after being ordained as a priest and lived among the natives, who was a peculiar case.

In the meantime, the spiritual pillar of the village was the spirit priestess ‘Birgit Anika (Great Grace).’ Like the priestess families of Luxembourg, she was a mediator between spirits and humans.

Since ancient times, Gotland had been inhabited by the ‘Winter Spirit,’ which led the cycle of seasons on the island and its surroundings by harnessing its power according to the seasons. Thus, the existence of a priestess who could communicate with the spirit was indispensable.

However, no one had expected that the spirit’s rampage would bring an endless winter to the entire island.

“Young people should know. They should know who it is they owe their current place of rest to.”

When the entire island was covered in heavy snow and biting cold due to the spirit’s rampage, it was the old woman lying here now, the land’s Birgit Anika, Abelona Mertinger, who provided a place for people to take refuge.

The scenery around the tent village, completely distinct from the snowy landscape outside, was all thanks to the standing stones surrounding the area like guards and the stele with local symbols and letters inscribed on it at the village center.

With the power of Birgit Anika, who could communicate with spirits, the wrath of the rampaging spirit was appeased through these symbolic stones and stele, maintaining a peaceful climate in a limited area. As a result, her health rapidly deteriorated, and now she lay in a tent, being cared for by the man.

Thus, people who had lost their homes due to the sudden disaster could at least find a place to rest in tents… But perhaps due to the increasingly worsening situation on the island? There was a growing tendency among the younger generation to disregard the old woman and turn to the monk, the elderly man.

It wasn’t hard to understand why. Although they had a place to rest and escape the cold thanks to Mrs. Mertinger, many things remained unresolved.

The year’s crops were ruined, and there was no telling when they could sow seeds again. Even if they went hunting, it was hard to expect good game.

At first, there were attempts to fish or go out on boats to catch fish, but as ice began to form on the sea, that too became a difficult option. To set sail, they had to break the ice first.

Even Visby, the once prosperous city the man had visited not long ago, was in similar trouble for the same reason. Thanks to the efforts of several spellcasters, they managed to barely protect their lives from the cold, but there seemed to be no way to stop the daily impoverishment due to the blocked supply of resources.

‘No, rather, the more prosperous a city is, the more vulnerable it is to such sudden disasters.’

Lately, even gathering firewood or medicinal herbs was becoming increasingly burdensome. In such a situation, it was inevitable that the monk, who led the youths to hunt turtles and seals in the mountains, fields, and shores, and healed the injured with light power, would gain popularity.

“So, how long are you going to keep this up? Don’t you think it’s a bit late in our age to be acting like this?”

“Ugh, it’s not like that, you know, Bella. I am a monk, after all. It’s not good for a monk to be too intimate with a widow.”

“Hoho, really. What a worry. Who in the village would doubt the relationship between Jorgen and me? Everyone knows Jorgen is a wallflower.”

“Wa, wallflower? No, this woman…? No, no. Sigh, getting angry at a patient only hurts me. Ahem!”

Jorgen Erik Petterson, a monk from this land of Gotland and the childhood friend of Abelona Mertinger, was exactly that.

Pretending to be sulky and acting spoiled, Jorgen suddenly spoke up as if he had just remembered something.

“So, how long will this winter last?”

“Well… I think it will be difficult until the root cause is resolved.”

“Damn those demon bastards…”

The monk swallowed his curses as he recalled the demons who had dared to invade the spirit’s dwelling. Unexpected things had happened at unexpected times, and the damage was entirely borne by the humans living on the island.

Unless the demons who had invaded the spirit’s dwelling were eliminated and the rampaging spirit was appeased, the winter would not end. In that case, the fate of those living on the island was clear. Either sit and wait to die or leave the island before it was too late.

‘It’s the worst-case scenario.’

The possibility of these people, who had lived their entire lives in isolation on the island for generations, adapting and living properly on unfamiliar land was not high. This was especially true for him, who had grown up on the island, left to experience life outside, and then returned.

Ultimately, the monk Jorgen’s thoughts turned to the church order he belonged to.

He had heard that there were special strongmen in the church order who made demon hunting their profession. If they came to this island, perhaps a way to solve the problem would open.

‘But expecting them to come to this remote island is too much to hope for.’

Gotland was a remote place with no churches or monastic facilities. Even in this tent village, if it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t have known what a priest was. No matter how much there were those who considered demon hunting their mission, it was hard to imagine them coming to such a remote place without a church.

‘Oh great and holy teacher, what should I do?’

Looking at his childhood friend lying on the sickbed, spinning around without a care, the monk’s heart echoed with worry and concern.

 

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