4 Shepherd
Lumian sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing with determination. âThen letâs go to your father.â
He had always been a man of action, and he knew that investigating the village legend couldnât wait. If he dallied, his sister Aurore would surely catch wind of it, and she would never allow him to proceed.
In Auroreâs eyes, delving into the realm of extraordinary powers was tantamount to playing with fire.
How can I not know that thereâs danger? Aurore wouldnât lie to me about this. But even if the world is ablaze, I have to keep walking. I canât let Aurore face this alone⌠As he got up, this thought flashed across Lumianâs mind.
Every time Aurore mentioned that the world was becoming more dangerous, the seriousness and worry on her face couldnât be any more genuine!
Reimund Greg looked at Lumian with confusion etched on his face.
âWhy are you looking for him?â
Lumian fixed him with a withering look. âAsk him how long ago the legend of the Warlock took place.â
Why is this guy struggling to comprehend such a simple matter? Perhaps I need to find some time to test his intelligence.
Reimund still looked baffled as he gazed at Lumian.
âWhy do you need to know such details?â
Uh⌠Should I bother trying to explain it to this clueless fellow? Or should I simply come up with a plausible excuse? He weighed his options.
Lumianâs mind raced as he considered his next move. He knew that he couldnât keep his investigations a secret from his friends, but he also knew that pursuing the truth about the legend was a risky move. However, he quickly came up with an idea.
He flashed a grin that he usually reserved for moments when he was about to deceive someone.
ââŚâ Reimund took two steps back, sensing that something was amiss. âSpill it!â
Lumian adjusted his dark-colored shirt and linen jacket before smiling.
âI believe the legend of the Warlock is worthy of our attention.â
âWhatâs so important about it?â Reimund asked after some thought.
âThere was indeed a Warlock in our very village of Cordu in the past,â Lumian said with a serious expression. âThink about it, my friend. When I lie, I donât provide specific details like the time, place, and background that anyone could easily verify. However, this legend mentions a Warlock who lived in Cordu, and if it were a fabrication, it would be too easy for someone to expose it as such.â
âBut that was ages ago,â Reimund countered.
âIâm also referring to the people who were around when the legend first started circulating,â Lumian explained, his smile widening. âThey could have easily confirmed whether or not a Warlock lived in Cordu at that time. And since the legend has been passed down through generations, itâs highly likely that itâs based on a real event.â
Reimund remained unconvinced.
âBut when you make up stories, you often use phrases like âmore than a hundred years ago,â âcenturies ago,â âlong, long ago,â to make it impossible for anyone to verify.â
âThatâs precisely why I need to confirm it with your father,â Lumian replied, a sly look in his eye that said: âYou see where Iâm going with this, donât you?â
âThatâs trueâŚâ Reimund nodded slowly, accepting Lumianâs explanation, but he couldnât shake the feeling that something wasnât quite right.
As they left the square and delved deeper into the village, Reimund had a sudden epiphany.
âMon Dieu, why do you want to confirm if such a legend is true?â
âWarlock, mon ami, thatâs what weâre searching for! If we can confirm the house where he lived and the place where he was buried, we might uncover his secret and gain magical powers that go beyond mere mortals,â Lumian replied, his truthful words dripping with deceit.
Reimundâs expression turned skeptical: âDonât tell me lies.â
âMon ami, most of those tales are created to scare little children. How can they be true?
âAnd on top of that, anyone who seeks the power of a Warlock will end up in the Inquisition!â
The Intis Republic lay on the Northern Continent, where the orthodox deities were the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery. These two churches divided the faith of almost all the people, and they didnât allow the Church of Evernight Goddess, the Church of the Lord of Storms from the Loen Kingdom, the Church of Earth Mother from the Feynapotter Kingdom, the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom from Lenburg, and the Church of the God of Combat from the Feysac Empire to come in and preach.
The Eternal Blazing Sun Churchâs Inquisition was feared by all. Countless heretics had been locked up and subjected to unimaginable torture.
Lumian laughed.
âWhy are you fretting now, my friend? You said it yourself, most of those legends are false. The chances of finding a Warlockâs remains are slim to none.
âBesides, even if we do stumble upon the remains of a Warlock, we donât have to take on his forbidden power. We can give it to the Church and get a handsome reward. Oh right, a Warlockâs grave is sure to be overflowing with treasures.â
The Church that Lumian spoke of was the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun. The Church of the God of Steam and Machinery wasnât found in Cordu, instead it was usually located in large cities and places with factories.
Seeing the temptation growing in Reimundâs eyes, Lumian couldnât help but click his tongue in satisfaction.
âDo you really want to be a shepherd, my friend?â
The âshepherdâ here was not talking about the romanticized idea of a pastoral shepherd that city dwellers often had. No, this was a profession. Every morning, they would have to lead a flock of sheep out to graze and watch over them.
Cordu was located in Dariège, Riston Province. Being a shepherd was a profession here, a tough and lonely profession.
They worked for sheep owners, herding dozens, even hundreds of sheep back and forth between the mountains and plains.
This was known as a herding. Every autumn, the mountains around Cordu would wither, and the shepherds would lead the sheep out of the mountain pass to the warmer plains far away, sometimes crossing borders into Feynapotter, Lenburg, and other countries. By the beginning of May, they would have brought the sheep back to various villages to shear them and wean the lambs. In June, they would trek up the mountains and into the tall ranges. Theyâd live in shacks and make cheese while grazing the sheep until the weather turned cold.
The shepherds spent their entire lives on the move, traveling from place to place. They only had a small window to return to the village, which made starting a family nearly impossible. Most of them were single, and the few widows who had no choice but to herd sheep for a living were highly sought after by the shepherds.
Reimund fell silent.
After a long while, he hesitantly said, âIâll listen to ya. It does sound like fun, and I could use somethinâ to pass the time.â
In the ordinary course of events, once the family decided which child would become a shepherd, they would dispatch him to a certain shepherdâs location to assist between the ages of fifteen to eighteen. There, he would learn the ropes of shepherding. Three years later, the youngster would officially become a shepherd and seek employment elsewhere.
Seventeen-year-old Reimund, however, had found several reasons to postpone this matter for over two years. If his circumstances did not alter, he would have to start learning how to herd next year.
âCome on,â Lumian said, patting Reimundâs shoulder. âIs your father in the fields or at home?â
âRecently, there hasnât been much work. Lent is approaching swiftly. Heâs either at home or at the tavern.â Reimund let out a voice of envy. âYou donât know anything about this? Youâre definitely not a farmer. You have a fortunate sister!â
Lumian put his hands in his pockets and sauntered ahead, disregarding Reimundâs lamentations.
As they approached the rundown tavern in the village, a person emerged from the side street.
This individual was dressed in a lengthy dark brown coat with a hood. A rope was tied around his waist, and he wore a pair of brand-new, supple black leather shoes.
âPierre? Pierre of the Berrys?â Reimund cried out in surprise.
Lumian halted in his tracks and turned to look.
âThatâs me,â Pierre Berry replied with a wide grin and a wave of his hand.
He was a scrawny man with sunken eyes and greasy, curly hair. His stubble suggested it had been quite some time since he last shaved.
âWhy are you back?â Reimund asked in confusion.
Pierre Berry was a shepherd and it was only the beginning of April. He should be tending to his sheep in the fields beyond the mountain pass. How in the world did he find himself in the village?
He had only just begun his journey, and even if he had gone to Lenburg or the north of Feynapotter, it would take him a month to return to the Dariège mountains.
With his warm, smiling blue eyes, Pierre exclaimed joyfully, âIsnât it almost Lent? I havenât celebrated it for years. I canât miss it this year!â
âDonât you worry. I have a companion to help me look after the sheep. Thatâs the beauty of being a shepherd. Without a supervisor, as long as I can find someone to help me, I can go wherever I please. Iâm free as a bird.â
Lent was a widely celebrated festival throughout Intis. People welcomed the arrival of spring in different ways and prayed for a fruitful harvest for the year.
Although it had nothing to do with the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun or the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, it had already turned into folklore and didnât involve the worship of pagan deities. Therefore, it had gained the tacit approval of the orthodox factions.
âYou want to see whoâll be chosen as the Spring Elf this year, donât you?â Lumian teased, flashing a grin.
In Cordu, the people selected a gorgeous girl to play the role of the Spring Elf for Lent. It was all part of the celebration.
Pierre laughed along.
âI hope itâs your sister Aurore, but she definitely wonât agree, and sheâs not the right age either.â
âAlright,â he said, pointing towards the tavern just a stoneâs throw away. âIâll head to the cathedral to pray. Drinks on me later.â
Reimund absentmindedly replied, âNo need. You donât have much dough.â
âHaha, as the good Lord Himself has said, âEven if thereâs only one copper coin, we have to share it with our poor brothers.'â He recited an adage that was well-known among the shepherds in the Dariège region.
Lumian beamed at Reimund, saying, âPierreâs loaded. Heâs definitely treating us to a drink!â
He pointed to Pierre Berryâs spanking new leather shoes.
Pierre Berry was thrilled.
âMy new boss is not too shabby. He gave me a few sheep and some wool, cheese, and leather.â
The shepherds were compensated with food, a small sum of money, and communal animals, cheese, wool, and leather. The amount they received was dependent on the agreement they had signed with their employer.
For shepherds who had to travel long distances, having a good and suitable pair of leather shoes was the most pressing and practical desire.
As Lumian watched Pierre Berry strut towards the town square, his gaze gradually became solemn and filled with suspicion.
He silently muttered to himself, Going away for a week or two or maybe even a month just to attend Lent?
Lumian paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the area before he turned and strode towards the local watering hole with Reimund.
The tavern was a nondescript establishment with no fancy moniker to speak of. The townsfolk affectionately referred to it as Olâ Tavern.
Upon entering, Lumianâs eyes darted around the room in their habitual manner.
Suddenly, his gaze came to a halt.
There, before him, was the foreigner who had departed so hastily the night before.
She was alone, not in the company of Ryan, Leah, and Valentine.
Her dress was a long, flowing orange garment, and her locks were a rich brown, tousled in gentle curls. Her piercing, sky-blue eyes were fixed on the scarlet-hued drink that graced her delicate hand.
Beautiful and languid, she seemed out of place in the seedy, dimly lit tavern.
Sponsored Content