Holding the flower basket in hand, Arnold followed the brown-haired girl toward the church.

  “What a gentle man you are, sir!” Mary chirped.

  “Sweet tongue won’t get you anything,” Arnold replied flatly.

  “You see right through me!” she laughed, utterly unashamed.

  The church rested on a sloping hill to the left of the village, occupying a surprisingly large tract of land, almost as massive as Ben the shepherd’s estate. From afar, it looked like a somber guardian watching over Winterin.

  They walked between patches of green. Wild grass grew waist-high in some corners, trimmed short in others; clumps of colorful flowers planted with varying degrees of skill; old birch and elm trees swaying gently in the breeze. Their branches cast shifting shadows across the earth.

  Arnold looked over the church. Although it was old, it still emanated a Gothic majesty. Constructed of gray brick and rough-cut stone, with tall windows. The slate roof was weathered and flecked with fallen leaves. Blackened iron gutters clung to the edges, carrying decades of rust.

  At the top, a simple square bell tower rose into the sky. A dull bronze bell hung inside, yet still carried a small echo of solemnity. When the wind blew just right, one could almost imagine it ringing.

  Compared to Izzy’s mansion in the forest, though, this place felt humble. Benjamin’s land dwarfed this by a full quarter.

  Behind the church lay several tombstones. Pale stone markers carved with names worn down by time: former village heads, priests, respected elders. The area was fenced with wrought iron, forming neat rows of gravestones.

  “Only the village head or important figures can rest here behind the church. The rest of us peasants are all burned; our ancestors’ ashes are stored in our own abodes,” Mary explained as they passed the graves.

  Around the church, the small yard was alive with activity. A bare patch of ground served as the children’s playground, dominated by an oak tree whose branches provided cool shade.

  Girls sat beneath the shade, sewing pieces of fabric together with mismatched needles and colored thread. Boys practiced cutting firewood with small axes, their faces red from exertion.

  There was also a group of children raking the earth or pulling weeds, clearing sections of the churchyard. This was part of their schooling or perhaps working part-time for the church, a “lesson in diligence and service,” as Mary proudly put it.

  As for the rest, they ran around holding hands, skipping through the grass, laughing loudly.

  “Ah, morning, Mary!”

  “Morning, our bright Mary!”

  “Mary!”

  Upon seeing her, the girls looked up and waved, but they kept their distance from Arnold. Every time their eyes drifted toward his bandaged face and noble attire, they flinched and stepped back.

  “Morning, everyone!” Mary beamed a bright smile, making the other male children blush and look away, pretending to be very busy with their chores.

  Mary clapped Arnold’s hand and tugged him forward.

  “Come on! Inside!”

  They pushed open the wooden double doors and stepped into the single-room sanctuary.

  Inside, the space was smaller than Arnold expected. The walls were painted white, with a little dust and a few black marks. They were adorned with moral maxims

  "Cleanliness is next to Godliness,

  Diligence is a gift to the soul.”

  Beside them hung religious paintings, ink drawings of holy figures, and alphabet charts to help the young remember their letters.

  “This is the schoolroom of our church!” Mary announced proudly.

  Tall windows flared outward at two sides, letting in shafts of filtered light. The stained, opalescent glass bore intricate patterns.

  Pews, a type of long, wooden bench, filled the room from front to back. The wood was old, scratched by decades of restless children carving initials into the sides.

  At the front stood a raised platform where the teacher’s desk resided, giving a commanding view of the entire room. A large fixed blackboard hung behind it, covered in faint chalk smears.

  “Our village church is very generous,” Mary continued. “They give us kids free school! Every Sunday and Moonday, teachers come from the next town and teach us. On the other days, the head priest reads the bible and assigns some of us to work for a few coppies.”

  “Coppies?” Arnold looked back, awaiting clarification.

  Mary puffing up in pride. “Oh, you don’t know, sir? Hehe, It seems my education is better than yours~”

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  Arnold’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want your head to roll off?”

  “Oh no, please spare this poor girl! I was only joking!” she squeaked and laughed out loud.

  ‘This girl… she is too nonchalant for a commoner. Even Erin had more sense than this.’ Arnold rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled.

  “In any case,” Mary said, shaking off the threat with ease, “our currency is called coins! The gold coin is called an Alan, named after Pope Alan from the Church of White.”

  Arnold blinked. ‘They engrave a pope on a coin?’ That was either strong devotion, or very aggressive branding, coming from the church.

  ‘So that old man on the golden coin’s face is Pope Alan. The more you know…’ That guy loved to show off. Arnold noted in his mind.

  “Next is the silver coin, called a shilling. One Alan is worth twenty shillings.”

  She raised a finger and wiggled it around.

  “And then the coppy! One shilling equals ten coppies!”

  ‘It is just copper…’ Arnold nodded.

  Mary continued, “Our curriculum teaches the three R's: Reading, ’Riting, and ’Rithmetic! The younger ones sit at the front, the older at the back. We write on our little slates using chalk and copy everything the teacher writes on the blackboard.”

  ‘Writing?’ Arnold thought. ‘So they learn more than expected…’

  “We girls, sir, are taught needlework, and the boys learn to cut wood!” Mary said proudly. “And every morning before class, we drill! Marching, stretching, jogging. The teacher says it’s good for our health.”

  She then tilted her head, casting a doubtful glance at herself. “I know not if it truly does much good…”

  “There he is, sir, our good Father Victor, the head priest,” Mary announced, pointing a finger, her usual bright demeanour somewhat subdued. “He came from the city to help us all.”

  Arnold followed her pointed finger.

  From a side room connected to the sanctuary, a figure slowly emerged.

  He was an aged man with a slightly hunched back. His auburn hair, thinning at the top, was tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a small black ribbon. His face was clean-shaven, without a trace of beard or stubble. Crow’s feet framed his eyes, but his expression was gentle.

  Father Victor wore a white vestment, layered with an immaculate amice. A long stole lay draped over his shoulders, embroidered with delicate yellow patterns.

  “Young Mary, what brings you here?” Father Victor’s tone was gentle, almost weary, like a schoolteacher catching a student wandering outside class.

  Mary stepped back behind Arnold, as she gave her attempt at a curtsey. It was awkward, stiff, but at least earnest. Considering no villager ever received formal etiquette training, it was acceptable.

  “Good morning, Father. I’m just introducing this sir to our village.” she said, gesturing to Arnold.

  Arnold stepped forward and politely lifted his hand for a handshake.

  Victor stared at the offered hand without moving.

  ‘…What now?’ Arnold frowned subtly beneath his bandages.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d offended the priest. Before he could withdraw his hand, Victor’s focus softened, and he offered an apologetic smile.

  “Young man, it’s improper to shake hands while wearing gloves.”

  Arnold blinked. ‘Oh?’

  He glanced at his own gloved fingers. ‘So that’s the local etiquette here?’ He quickly removed the gloves, folding them into his palm, and extended his bare hand again.

  This time, Father Victor accepted it.

  The handshake lasted only a second, but Arnold’s Fiend Vision caught the micro-expression Victor probably assumed he could hide.

  The priest’s eyebrows twitched, ever so slightly. A flicker of surprise, and… unease, if Arnold assumed that right.

  Victor released his hand abruptly and took half a step back, straightening his stole. His gaze very naturally drifted to Arnold’s bandaged head, lingering there for a long moment.

  “Young man,” Victor said gently, “what has befallen your head? If you seek treatment, I recommend the city church; the priests there will care for it duly.”

  Arnold’s interest piqued. ‘Ho?’

  “They can treat burn marks?”

  “They can, only if,” Victor smiled kindly and raised his hand, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a slow, deliberate gesture.

  ‘...’

  Money.

  ‘Great. It’s still a money-only world.’ Even in the other world, he couldn’t escape this universal language. A treat behind a paywall? Even the apocalypse probably came with a subscription fee. Arnold complained in his head.

  “I’m sure you understand,” the priest continued smoothly. “Now, how may I be of assistance to you here?”

  Arnold thought for a moment.

  Truthfully, he didn’t intend to enter the church at all. He was a vessel, that alone should’ve been enough to keep him far away from holy ground.

  Stories always painted the church as the place where demons were purified by mere presence. One step inside the sanctuary and the “evil spirit” gets burned to ash.

  However, School sparked an idea in his head. Since Izzy and Isa were essentially immortal, why not utilize it?

  If anything happened, they’d simply retreat to the main body in the attic. It might be painful, but it’s worth it.

  “Can I join this school?” Arnold asked with a flat tone.

  Mary gasped, her brown eyes widening like saucers. But Father Victor? His expression didn’t even twitch. He merely smiled as if he’d been waiting for that question.

  Then, very calmly, he raised his fingers.

  *Rub. Rub.*

  “...” Arnold’s eyelid twitched.

  ‘You fucking priest, go burn in hell!’

  Suppressing the urge to strangle him, Arnold reached into his inner pocket and pulled out an Alan coin. The priest’s gaze flickered toward it instantly.

  “A wealthy young master,” Victor said sweetly. “Indeed, the church would always extend a hearty welcome to you at our esteemed parish school.”

  He accepted the Alan coin with a gracious bow and slipped it into his inner pocket with movements far too practiced.

  ‘I’m going to take that back later. Just you wait.’

  Arnold clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  Moonday is not grammatically wrong. Moon-day, Sun-day, get it? xD But I will see if I will remember these small details later.

  shillings (silver) = shillings, and coppies (copper) = pennies. Just a couple of changes in name.

  'Izzy thinking in this.' It's not different. The thing is, I copied and pasted from ggDoc. But these two text format styles are different, and sometimes my ggdoc format changes by something, so I sometimes copy them raw.