Teaching Black Magic in a Church
The northern sky is wide and desolate. Except when a floating city descends.
Only the rare blizzards and storms are instead artificial phenomena, such as the descent of a floating city. A mage’s brazen act of occupying the sacred space that is the sky for nearly a month.
The masses tend to cheer when someone defies stagnant authority. The central region of the Celsius territory, where the floating city touched down, was now bursting with activity.
However.
Far, far away from all that. In lands so distant they were but a moon to the Floating Fortress, it mattered not at all.
“Housekeeper. Is this considered an Outlying Ward?”
“Yes. This is where that boy went. Also where I made a long and arduous journey to and fro.”
The housekeeper grumbled the reply. My feelings were none of her concern, yet I could concede she’d suffered some hardship.
The Kelvin River bisected the Celsius Estate. Thanks to the Estate’s inherent chill, the river’s surface was frozen solid, no different from the earth itself. But because the ground was ice, a biting cold emanated upwards, and in summer, the snow melted, rendering it unsuitable for dwellings. Nothing but detriments to settlement.
Upon this inhospitable ice, the Outlying folk erected makeshift shacks, eking out a living through ice fishing, day by day.
Two hundred or so visible shacks. Hundreds of igloos, built from ice blocks cut from the riverbank.
A settlement of Outlying people, lacking magic or any noteworthy magical tools, merely adapted to survive.
“Guide me.”
“Where to?”
“To the boy’s home.”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
“What is this? You followed him but didn’t ascertain his residence, family situation, or his condition? What exactly *were* you doing?”
“Am I supposed to be some kind of stalker?! Why would I need to figure that out?!”
*You practically *are* a stalker*, aren’t you…? Hmm.
The housekeeper huffed, turning her head and marching ahead.
“I’m merely a housekeeper on an errand!”
“You returned his shoes, though.”
“I entrusted them to a suitable person! Follow me. I’ll take you to that person who can guide you further.”
Her expression sharpened, the housekeeper led me toward a building adorned with a large crucifix.
A church fitting for the North. Transparent ice served as windows instead of glass, and the towering crucifix fractured the clear Northern sunlight into brilliant shards.
“We have a guest.”
Opening the door, a missionary in a black cassock greeted us with a welcoming smile.
“Ah, you’re the kind soul who brought Richard’s shoes by the other day. Richard was most grateful.”
“Was he, really?”
“He didn’t say so, but I’m certain he was grateful deep in his heart.”
The priest continued his conversation with the housekeeper, his face warm and benevolent. Behaving as a priest assigned to such an isolated location should be: detached and unassuming.
Concluding his chat with the housekeeper, the priest turned to me, recognizing me.
“You must be Hughes. The mage who descended from the Floating Fortress to teach the children. Bestowing instruction even while delving into the mysteries of magic… the Heavens must surely bless your endeavors.”
Word of me had spread even here, it seems.
“Hughes is my name. And you are?”
“Casas, of the Eastern Missionary Society, Celsius Parish.”
The missionary rested his hand on a closed bible, as he introduced himself.
Missionaries. Affiliated with the Eastern Missionary Society, dedicated to spreading knowledge and teachings in the uncivilized lands, thus ‘enlightening’ them. Choosing to reside in places utterly divorced from the mundane world, subjecting themselves to endless hardship…
They were truly insane.
A distant, savage land. The extent of the dangers was impossible to grasp. Most people were wary of strangers, particularly those who suddenly interfered and offered unwanted advice. The land’s rulers felt fear and unease toward missionaries preaching foreign customs.
Such sentiments could easily turn into hostility, claiming the missionary’s life. Far from their homeland, no one could offer assistance. They risked annihilation, vanishing without leaving a trace in history. Only an ‘x’ marked on the Eastern Missionary Society’s dilapidated registry commemorated their deaths.
That madman, willingly throwing himself into endless suffering, offered a pleasant smile and spoke amicably.
“You spoke harshly to Richard, I hear. I had trouble soothing the boy who wept all night.”
“I wouldn’t say it was particularly harsh.”
“I told him the same thing. However cruel the words, can they compare to the cold reality? To reveal reality beforehand… that was Hughes’ kindness, surely.”
*Kindness?* He just stated the facts.
“Knowledge is a curse that plunges mankind into unending suffering, ignorance a sweet slumber that gently envelops us. We each call them life and death. I said it was Hughes’ will that Richard live on in knowledge.”
“Oh…”
Facing him, I felt it. This missionary is truly mad. How can he find benevolence in such frigid words? Finding gold dust in a river would be easier.
“And that fact was completed by Hughes coming here.”
“What do you mean?”
“A heartless man wouldn’t have been troubled by those words enough to come looking.”
He’s a good man, really. That’s why he became a missionary, teaching letters and knowledge to the outcasts of the Celsius territory.
If he wants to think well of me, so be it. It means he won’t resist what I’m about to do.
Without adding or subtracting a single word, I glanced around, still wearing my coat.
“May I borrow this place for a while?”
“Of course. The Mission inherently serves as a place of education. Though I speak irreverently, education is often prioritized over worship in the Celsius parish. We teach them to learn the word of God, but they only learn to read before leaving for other academies. Ha ha.”
I looked around. Long wooden benches, evenly spaced, allowed the person in front to use the backrest as a desk. Illegible letters were scribbled densely on them. The church was clean, but the traces of study were everywhere.
“Seems you know how to read. You learned it here, then. Don’t you teach magic?”
The missionary let out a hearty laugh at my question.
“Ha ha. You jest, surely. How could a church teach magic?”
“Why not?”
“Are you truly asking me that in earnest?”
Uh, why? Is it wrong to not know? Was asking here a mistake? Am I sounding too ignorant?
“…I suppose the age-old conflict between the Mado Federation and the Eastern Mission wouldn’t pique the interest of someone as talented as Hughes.”
“I can learn about it while I’m here at the Mission.”
“That is also true. Knowledge is more important to draw out than to lock away. My worn knowledge too may be here to draw out on this very moment. Well, let me tell you.”
After waiting for me and my housekeeper to sit down, the missionary opened the Bible and began to speak.
“Long ago, a group of refugees settled in this cold, northern land. The only ones living here were a small number of natives, and the harsh environment meant they had to cooperate to survive rather than fight, so there were no problems with settling. However, survival was still a challenge. Each winter, they had to bury those who had frozen to death.”
“Upon hearing of this difficult situation, the Eastern Mission sent missionaries in several waves. The missionaries established Missions throughout the north, preaching and providing relief to the natives and refugees. They put particular effort into collecting and organizing the methods of surviving in this cold.”
“The natives possessed the know-how to survive in this land, but their knowledge was fragmented and habitual, making it difficult to learn. The Mission spent a long time interacting with them, writing down and organizing the methods of surviving in this harsh land. The settlers would come to the Mission to learn how to survive. The Mission even built a large building and rented out rooms for nearly a year at a time, teaching them how to survive.”
So, there was such a history. I guess the Mado Federation didn’t just start casting spells from the beginning… wait a minute. The shape is kind of familiar.
“It sounds like the Missions were the forerunners of the Magic Towers?”
At my question, which cut to the core, the missionary closed his eyes for a moment before opening them.
“…In those days, the power of the Mission in this region soared to the heavens, as they say. Comparable to the Magic Towers of today. The Mission’s help was essential to surviving in this land. But the Mission did not forget its purpose. They integrated the natives and settlers, sharing knowledge with both. However, there was knowledge that the Mission did not share, that they hid.”
Well, given this flow, there’s only one thing that can come out. The missionary said:
“That is ‘magic.’ Rune magic passed down in the depths of the north, shamanistic arts used by the natives using animal oil, knots of prayer that would trap souls. All the knowledge was woven together to create magic, but fearing its power, they hid it and shared it only among the missionaries.”
“The origin of magic was the Mission?”
“According to our records, yes. Though the Mado Federation wouldn’t admit it.”
The missionary made the sign of the cross and continued.
“Until Saint Rene drew the maps, there was conflict between the Mission and the mages. But knowledge is like the wind, no matter how hard you try to contain it, it will leak out. Eventually, magic was revealed to the world, and people no longer relied on the Mission.”
After listening to the story, I uttered a short comment.
“They brought it on themselves.”
“I figured you’d say as much. And it’s not wrong either.”
The missionary nodded somberly, continuing.
“Magic is a potent and therefore dangerous force, but in such harsh lands, such power is needed for survival. If knowledge can save more souls, that too would be a deed the Holy Maiden would smile upon.”
“Rather progressive views for a priest.”
“Death is always the most dreadful of tragedies. The more often one encounters it, the more deeply one understands that truth. And what is a missionary of the Magic Federation to hide?”
“Well, I understand now. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Magic originating from a missionary. That’s an unexpected fact. I didn’t study the history of magic in depth on the floating city.
It’s not a lie, and the possibility of being mistaken is low. It’s already known that the Magic Federation was pioneered land, and between refugees and missionaries, the missionaries are clearly the more erudite. At first, the missionaries must have been the center of power and knowledge.
While we were talking, the church door opened. It was the Outcast who infiltrated the schoolhouse back then. The Outcast familiarly closed the door and walked inside, saying,
“Father, you called for me?”
“Richard, welcome. You have a valued guest who has come to see you.”
“…!”
The Outcast flinched, startled upon seeing me. I just said a few harsh words, what a fuss. This level of bluntness is common in the militarized nation, you know?
I fluttered my coat and spoke to the Outcast.
“I’ve come to offer you a proposition, seeing as you wished to learn magic.”
*‘Richard is a talented child. His environment doesn’t support him, so he hasn’t received proper education, but if a skilled mage were to take him in and teach him, he would surely accomplish great things.’*
The missionary looked on approvingly. A good person doing good deeds.
It’s just a pity that I’m about to betray that person’s expectations.
I reached out my hand to the Outcast in pure good will.
“Would you be interested in learning Formal Magic?”
*