Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 4 - 4: Shepherd

Chapter 4: Shepherd

Lumian bolted upright, determination flickering in his gaze. “Then let’s go find your father.”

Known for being a man of action, he understood that the investigation into the local legend could not be delayed. If he waited, his sister Aurore would surely find out, and she would never permit him to continue.

To Aurore, meddling with extraordinary powers was equivalent to playing with fire.

How could I be unaware of the risks? Aurore wouldn't deceive me about such things. But even if the world is burning, I must keep moving forward. I can’t leave Aurore to deal with this by herself… This thought raced through Lumian’s mind as he rose.

Whenever Aurore mentioned the world’s increasing peril, the gravity and concern etched on her features were undeniably sincere!

Reimund Greg stared at Lumian, his face a mask of bewilderment.

“Why do you want to see him?”

Lumian shot him a look of pure exasperation. “To ask him exactly when the legend of the Warlock took place.”

Why does this fellow find such simple concepts so difficult to grasp? I might need to find an opportunity to evaluate his intelligence.

Reimund remained confused as he looked at Lumian.

“Why do you need those kinds of details?”

Sigh… Is it worth trying to clarify things for this oblivious guy? Or should I just invent a believable story? He pondered his choices.

Lumian’s thoughts spun as he planned his next move. He realized he couldn't keep his secrets from his friends forever, and chasing the truth of the legend was a gamble. However, a plan quickly formed in his mind.

He wore the specific grin he usually displayed right before he was about to trick someone.

“…” Reimund backed away two steps, sensing trouble. “Just say it!”

Lumian straightened his dark shirt and linen jacket, then smiled.

“I think the Warlock legend deserves our full attention.”

“What makes it so important?” Reimund questioned after a moment.

“There truly was a Warlock in our village of Cordu once,” Lumian stated with a grave expression. “Think about it, my friend. When I lie, I don’t include specific details like time, location, and history that anyone could easily check. But this legend specifies a Warlock lived right here in Cordu; if it were a total lie, it would be far too easy for someone to debunk it.”

“But that happened a lifetime ago,” Reimund argued.

“I’m talking about the people who were alive when the story first started,” Lumian clarified, his smile growing broader. “They could have easily verified if a Warlock actually lived in Cordu back then. Since the legend has survived through the generations, there’s a high probability it’s rooted in truth.”

Reimund still didn't look convinced.

“But when you tell tall tales, you usually say ‘over a hundred years ago’ or ‘centuries ago’ or ‘a long, long time ago’ so nobody can prove you wrong.”

“And that is exactly why I have to confirm the timeline with your father,” Lumian answered, a mischievous glint in his eye that suggested: “You understand where I’m going with this, right?”

“That makes sense…” Reimund nodded slowly, buying the explanation, though a nagging feeling of doubt remained.

As they moved away from the square and deeper into the village, a realization hit Reimund.

“Mon Dieu, why are you trying to prove the legend is real?”

“Warlock, mon ami, that is our target! If we can identify his old house and his burial site, we might find his secrets and obtain magical powers that surpass ordinary humans,” Lumian declared, his honest words serving a deceptive purpose.

Reimund looked at him skeptically: “Stop lying to me.”

“Mon ami, most of those stories are just told to frighten children. How could they be real?

“Furthermore, anyone hunting for the power of a Warlock will end up in the Inquisition!”

The Intis Republic was located on the Northern Continent, where the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery were the orthodox deities. These two churches controlled the faith of nearly the entire population, barring the Church of Evernight Goddess, the Church of the Lord of Storms from Loen, the Church of Earth Mother from Feynapotter, the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom from Lenburg, and the Church of the God of Combat from the Feysac Empire from proselytizing there.

The Inquisition of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church was universally dreaded. They had imprisoned and tortured countless heretics in ways too horrific to imagine.

Lumian chuckled.

“Why are you worrying now, my friend? You said it yourself—most legends are myths. The odds of actually finding a Warlock’s remains are almost zero.

“And even if we did find them, we don’t have to use the forbidden power ourselves. We could turn it over to the Church for a massive reward. Besides, a Warlock’s tomb is bound to be filled with gold.”

The Church Lumian referred to was the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun. The Church of the God of Steam and Machinery had no presence in Cordu, as they were typically found in major cities and industrial hubs.

Noticing the greed beginning to show in Reimund’s eyes, Lumian clicked his tongue with satisfaction.

“Do you really want to spend your life as a shepherd, my friend?”

The term ‘shepherd’ here didn't refer to the peaceful, romanticized image city folk imagined. It was a trade. Every morning involved driving a flock of sheep to pasture and guarding them.

Cordu was situated in Dariège, within the Riston Province. Here, being a shepherd was a grueling, solitary profession.

They worked for wealthy livestock owners, moving dozens or hundreds of sheep between the plains and the mountains.

This was the life of herding. Each autumn, as the mountain vegetation died, the shepherds led the flocks through the passes to the warmer, distant plains, sometimes crossing into Feynapotter or Lenburg. By early May, they returned to the villages for shearing and weaning. In June, they climbed into the high peaks, living in crude shacks and producing cheese while the sheep grazed until the cold returned.

Shepherds lived a nomadic existence, always on the move. Their brief visits to the village made starting a family almost impossible. Most remained bachelors, and the few widows forced into the trade were highly sought after by the men.

Reimund went quiet.

After a long pause, he said tentatively, “I’ll follow your lead. It sounds like an adventure, and I need something to kill the time anyway.”

Normally, once a family chose which child would be the shepherd, they would be sent to assist an experienced shepherd between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. This was their apprenticeship. After three years, the youth would become a full shepherd and look for their own work.

At seventeen, Reimund had managed to delay this fate for two years with various excuses. If nothing changed, he would be forced to start his training next year.

“Let’s go,” Lumian said, clapping Reimund on the shoulder. “Is your father at the house or in the fields?”

“There isn’t much to do lately with Lent coming up so fast. He’s probably at home or the tavern.” Reimund sounded envious. “You don't know about this? You aren't a farmer at all. You have a very lucky sister!”

Lumian shoved his hands into his pockets and walked on, ignoring Reimund's complaints.

As they neared the village’s dilapidated tavern, a figure stepped out from a side street.

The man wore a long, dark brown hooded coat cinched with a rope at the waist, and a pair of brand-new, soft black leather shoes.

“Pierre? Pierre of the Berrys?” Reimund shouted in astonishment.

Lumian stopped and turned to see.

“That’s me,” Pierre Berry answered, waving with a wide smile.

He was a thin man with hollow eyes and greasy, wavy hair. His messy beard suggested he hadn't seen a razor in a long time.

“Why have you returned?” Reimund asked, confused.

Pierre Berry was a shepherd, and since it was only early April, he should have been with his flock in the pastures beyond the mountain pass. Why was he in the village?

His journey had only just started; even if he had traveled to Lenburg or northern Feynapotter, it would take a full month to walk back to the Dariège mountains.

With a joyful spark in his blue eyes, Pierre said, “Isn’t Lent almost here? I’ve missed the celebration for years. I couldn't miss it this time!”

“Don’t worry about the sheep. I have a partner helping me watch them. That’s the best part of being a shepherd. Since there’s no boss watching, I can go anywhere as long as I have help. I’m as free as a bird.”

Lent was a major festival in Intis, where people welcomed spring and prayed for good harvests.

Though it wasn't officially tied to the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun or the God of Steam and Machinery, it had become a piece of local folklore that didn't involve pagan gods, so the orthodox churches tolerated it.

“You just want to see who gets picked as the Spring Elf this year, don't you?” Lumian joked with a grin.

In Cordu, a beautiful girl was chosen to play the Spring Elf for the Lent festivities.

Pierre laughed heartily.

“I’d hope for your sister Aurore, but she’d never agree, and she’s a bit past the right age anyway.”

“Anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the nearby tavern. “I’m going to the cathedral to say a prayer. I’ll buy you a drink later.”

Reimund answered distractedly, “Don’t bother. You don’t have much money.”

“Haha, as the Lord said, ‘Even with only one copper coin, we must share it with our brothers.'” He quoted a popular saying among Dariège shepherds.

Lumian smiled at Reimund and said, “Pierre is rich now. He’s definitely buying!”

He pointed at Pierre Berry’s shiny new leather shoes.

Pierre beamed with pride.

“My new employer is quite generous. He gave me some sheep, wool, cheese, and leather.”

Shepherds were paid with food, small wages, and a share of the livestock and products, depending on their contract.

For a shepherd who walked long distances, a sturdy pair of leather shoes was the ultimate luxury.

As Lumian watched Pierre Berry walk toward the square, his expression turned serious and suspicious.

He whispered to himself, Leaving for weeks or a month just for Lent?

Lumian hesitated for a second, looking around before heading into the tavern with Reimund.

The tavern was a plain place with no special name, known simply to the locals as the Ol’ Tavern.

Upon entering, Lumian instinctively scanned the room.

His eyes suddenly locked onto a target.

There sat the foreign woman who had left so quickly the night before.

She was alone, without Ryan, Leah, or Valentine.

She wore a long, flowing orange dress, and her rich brown hair fell in soft curls. Her sharp, sky-blue eyes were focused on the red drink held in her elegant hand.

Looking beautiful and relaxed, she appeared completely out of place in the grimy, dark tavern.