Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 55 Mathilde de Clermont
Siren walked through the empty side aisles of the church, past exquisite sculptures and murals, and entered the confessional, locking himself inside.

The confessional was small, with a mesh curtain separating the two sides. Beside him was the Book of Forgiveness and a small lamp.

“Don’t be impulsive anymore.” He rested his hands on his knees, holding his head, and thought, memories of Siren Delland flashing through his mind. “You didn’t act like a coward at all today.”

Those memories still lingered in his mind. Perhaps they meant nothing to Siren Delland, but they were hard for him to accept.

The confessional room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Silence enveloped him, and Xiren wearily closed his eyes.

Suddenly, crisp footsteps echoed from afar, boots tapping on the church floor like water droplets falling on a prison cell floor, like blackbirds startling a fir forest in the early morning.

squeak-

The door to the confessional opened.

“I have come to confess, Your Excellency the Bishop,” she said.

Through the perforated mesh curtain, Xilun could see long, orange-red hair.

He stared blankly at the penitent, his face expressionless.

“Then let’s pray first,” he said.

"To whom should I pray?" she asked.

"god."

“But this is the story of Abraham and Isaac,” Mathilde said earnestly. “That night at the camp, you said you would make God go away.”

Xiren was silent for a moment, recalling that day, his second night in this world.

The wind and snow were heavy. The six people huddled together in the tent, ate a pot of stew, and prayed together.

"Is that so?" he said softly.

"Then please repent."

He closed the Book of Pardons.

“I’ve killed people,” she said.

Xilun didn't react, but simply stroked the brand-new book cover gently and listened quietly.

“The Abbess Mathilde de Clermont, I killed her with my own hands,” she said softly.

“…” Xilun’s hand paused slightly, but that was all.

“That day I was helping someone carry luggage at the hotel—I’ve always been stronger than the boys since I was a child, and I often do this kind of work—Madame Mathilde lived on the second floor of the hotel, and the manager told me that she was a highly respected lady who was about to go north to manage a monastery, to help the poor there, and to provide gospel, healing and comfort.”

"When I went to fetch her the water bucket, I overheard her chatting with a church messenger outside the door—I eavesdropped for a while."

“I heard her say, ‘Spese? That muddy, poor place? It’s awful!’ ‘I hope the bishop there is smart enough to not have supplies to feed dogs.’ ‘When will I be able to finish my term and be transferred back to Southport?’”

"Later, when the messenger complained about the murder of the nearby tax collectors, she also said, 'I'll tell you why those deserving-to-go-to-hell people would do such a thing—because of meat. You fed them meat, and meat breeds the demons within them. The poor don't have the virtuous blood to restrain these demons; an overly strong body only breeds terrible thoughts.'"

“That tax collector was killed by my father because the church’s tithes and mandatory indulgences had become unbearable for us. The Duke then imposed a new tax, saying that he would build a new bell tower. Once it was built, we would all benefit because no worker would miss their work hours.”

“He died in prison for it, but we all think he is a hero.”

“I was very angry when she said that,” she said sincerely.

“I didn’t go to school much, I only attended Sunday school. I didn’t understand anything you said that day about the sea turning into snow or the convent—you must have started to have doubts then, right?”

“But I grew up in a working-class community. I witnessed uncles and aunts dying one by one. We could starve to death even if we tried our best. The men said it was because we were lazy, but I don’t think so.”

“When I was fifteen, a nun at Sunday school told me a story.”

“King David murdered his loyal general and took his wife as his own. Instead of directly accusing him, the prophet told a parable: A rich man had many sheep, but he took the only beloved ewe lamb of a poor man to entertain his guests.”

"On the way back that day, I was thinking: the men already have a lot of money, so why do they still take away the only thing that can save our lives?"

"Matilda asked."

“You know, Abraham loved Isaac. He never had a son, and even his prayers to God were for a son—just like I pray every day for money. The food and money I work so hard to earn are my Isaac.”

"But if God asked you to offer a burnt offering for Him—to take your Isaac—what would you do?"

Xilun remained silent and did not speak.

Or rather, he had already answered that question.

“I don’t have the same devout faith as the Prophet,” she said softly.

"So I was furious—I admit I acted impulsively. My mother died of weaver's cough six months ago, and my father died in prison just two days ago—I went home and grabbed my revolver."

“I don’t care about my fate because I am the only survivor of this persecution.”

“I took her luggage while she was away and hid it in a hotel cubicle. I then told her that her luggage had been stolen, but Scotland Yard officers had already caught the suspect and needed her to come over.”

“I know that road; it takes you through a remote trail to get to Scotland Yard.”

On the way, I asked her, 'Why are we still unhappy even though we've given all our money to the church?'

She said that because we do not keep the precepts, because we are lazy, because we are vulgar and lack wisdom, if we donate enough, perhaps we can enjoy happiness in heaven.

“I asked her, ‘Is heaven really a happy place? Have you ever seen it?’ She angrily hit me on the head with her cane and said that I was not allowed to question God.”

“I said, ‘Since that’s the case, you must have never seen it before, right?’ Then I fired the gun and said, ‘I can send you to meet your god.’”

“It was really easy to shoot her. Her head exploded like a melon. I took her things, read her appointment letter, went back to get her suitcase, and then caught the Northern Holy See train—I also read her diary to prevent being exposed.”

She looked at Xilun quietly, revealing a faint smile, as if she had no energy, yet it also seemed to conceal a burning fire that would consume the world and a helpless sadness.

The silence lasted for several seconds. "So, are you going to swear to change?" he said. "Will you like me to prescribe penance for you?"

Penance is an act prescribed by a priest, such as prayer, self-denial, and good deeds, that helps the penitent express repentance and heal the soul.

“I won’t change,” she said.

"Convince me, Siron, just like you did to others."

Then came a long silence, and through the curtain, she heard a sigh.

“I only perform therapy to alleviate the suffering of others or to correct wrong paths,” he said.

“Isn’t this the wrong path?” she said. “I killed someone, I killed an abbot.”

Her eyes held no remorse, only burning flames. In that instant, Sirén suddenly thought of Paris, of Jean-Paul Marat, of Jacques Roux, and finally of Madame de François.

“Do you have to ask the obvious, Mathilde?” Siren said.

"The first workers to awaken, lacking theoretical guidance, often resorted to pure violence to express their anger. This may be condemned as riots and barbarity, bloodshed and fanaticism, but I do not think it is wrong."

“And I believe even more that as long as I’m here, you won’t go astray.” He looked earnestly into Mathilde’s eyes.

She smiled.

“This is my opinion. As for God’s opinion… didn’t you use Holy Healing?” Siren said.

The use of divine magic can generally only be authorized by the church. The authorization is granted by the church through the combination of the "Sacrificial Divine Magic: Key to the Kingdom of Heaven" and the "Sacred Treatise: Peter's Authority". Only after this authorization can the divine magic be performed.

However, many people have also accidentally gained magical abilities or even divine blessings because of their good deeds.

The most famous of these is Saint Martin, who shared his cloak with the poor. This ordinary soldier gained divine powers after that incident and went on to become a legend, eventually being canonized as a saint.

Mathilde had no right to authorize it, and she was even prepared to be exposed when she performed Holy Healing.

But what she imagined did not happen; she successfully used Holy Healing and even condensed half of a Holy Relic.

That was God's permission.

“Then… will you forgive me?” Mathilde asked.

Xilun smiled.

“I forgive you, and I will guide you,” he said, “Miss Melon Archer.”

Upon hearing this, Mathilde couldn't help but chuckle, "What a terrible nickname."

“If you choose to forgive me—” Siren smiled, “I can stop calling you by that nickname.”

“Ah, that’s not how the price is calculated.” Mathilde placed her hand on the cross. “I was already planning to forgive you, Bishop.”

"As for that nickname—"

"I think I've come to like it."
-
Portuguese month 14th, night.

The spiritual dwelling room is where a group of people gather.

Knights in armor stood guard vigilantly outside the door, their eyes like those of hawks, watching the night outside.

The firewood burned in the deep twilight, casting eerie shadows. People with contorted faces huddled around a table, murmuring ancient whispers.

Bizarre patterns and mysterious curse marks writhe on the dark table, a crazed face accompanied by blood-red eyes.

A red heart flows with greedy blood, while black ink outlines three expanding, multiplying evil circles, each ending in a handle, like a black tree of life, signifying the hidden incantations of esoteric Buddhism.

Suddenly, a red heart was thrown onto the table, beating vividly and pressing down on the three black evil symbols next to it.

The mysterious figure in the black cloak suddenly widened his eyes. In the dim candlelight and deep shadows, the wicked knight issued a solemn declaration—

"Let's eat!"

There was a moment of silence when the Ace of Hearts was placed on top of the three Clubs of Black.

"Kyle, do you even know how to play?!"

Mathilde roared furiously and slammed her hand on the table, startling the knight so much that he fell off his chair and onto the floor.

"I played the Ace of Clubs! It's about to be eaten!! Who eats their teammate's general?!"

"Stop! Stop!" Siren said helplessly, pulling them back. "Weren't we here to celebrate Logan's awakening? Why are you arguing..."

Fifty-two cards were scattered on the table, the strange patterns were the scoreboard drawn on the table, the dim firewood was because Logan wanted to sleep, the manic face was because someone had already lost ten pounds, and the bloodshot eyes were because it was already one in the morning.

Whistler, a card game that has been popular for nearly eighty years, can be found everywhere from high-class salons to poor taverns.

This game can only be played by four people, divided into two teams of two. In each round, all four people must play one card. The person with the highest card takes all four cards and wins the "trick".

Each game has a trump suit. When cards are of the same rank, cards of the trump suit are higher than cards of other suits. In this game, the trump suit happens to be hearts.

Kyle's actions just now... are similar to the situation in Dou Dizhu (a Chinese card game) where the peasant to the left plays a pair of twos, ready to perform, and the peasant to the right plays a bomb and blows it up.

Mathilde clutched her last pound coin, grabbed Kyle by the collar, and glared at him angrily. Kyle could only awkwardly smile and surrender.

Siren pulled Mathilde back into her chair, and people began to chatter about the cards they had just played.

Logan lay on a makeshift bed in the living room not far away, a smile on his lips.

　Note: A book club will be created after the book is published.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)