How to Survive as the Second Son of a Mage Family - Chapter 595

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magic Noble Family (595)

“The door would have been locked.”

The priest dipped his fingers in the holy water beside the door and made the sign of the cross as he spoke. After finishing his prayer, he walked through the nave at a moderate pace. Soon the sound of his footsteps stopped. I turned my head to the side and looked at the elderly clergyman wearing moderately worn priest’s robes. The dawn light coming from behind cast shadows on him. He wore rimless glasses, his hair was slightly thinning, and he had a long graying beard. However, judging by his silhouette alone, he was tall enough to be mistaken for an Esper. He seemed to be over 180cm, though a bit shorter than me. His gaze turned to the rosary wrapped around my hand.

Speaking to me while making the sign of the cross meant he was unqualified as a clergyman.

I lowered my voice and answered with a smile.

“It was not.”

“Is that so?”

The clergyman answered indifferently and headed toward the altar. He set down the Bible he had brought in an appropriate place and prepared for today’s mass. I watched him quietly.

How much time had passed? When I was entrusting everything to the floating dawn air, the clergyman spoke.

“You didn’t come here to pray.”

“I came to pray. Living life, there are times when one grows weary of the secular world and wants to leave.”

“You’re taking refuge in the cathedral.”

“That’s how everyone becomes. Whether entering a temple, going into the mountains, or entering under a cathedral dome…”

I said this while laughing at the silhouette of the clergyman reflected in the floating dawn mist.

“Being young, it might be hard to understand why I’m already saying such things.”

“Paradoxically, it’s the young people themselves who say such things most freely.”

The clergyman continued to respond in an indifferent tone. I asked back without expectation.

“Why is that?”

“Those very words are proof of immaturity. Those who know how to bow their heads understand that being able to definitively judge and belittle others’ pain, through whatever dialectic, only reveals one’s limitations.”

“Priest, if you say that, some people would say that according to your own words, you shouldn’t make such definitive judgments either.”

“Making that very statement shamelessly and boldly without knowing what difficulties it contains is the most decisive proof of immaturity.”

Laughter burst out. The clergyman also smiled, raising the corners of his mouth. I said while moving the rosary beads one by one.

“Interesting. I agree as well.”

“So it seems.”

“That’s why I seem to be in this place.”

“Regardless of the timing of weariness, once a person is tossed about by a storm, they seek religion.”

I maintained my smile throughout. If a third party had been here, they wouldn’t have understood our conversation. Unfortunately, we too were speaking according to the flow of consciousness. I had to do so, and the clergyman followed suit even though I hadn’t instructed him to. The clergyman speaks.

“I can’t tell you not to worry about it. Suffering from ignorant fools is unreasonable, and because you cannot escape that unreasonableness, it continues to be unreasonable.”

From what I hear, he thinks the ‘pain’ that brought me to the cathedral probably originated from people. That’s probably because of ‘Priest, if you say that, some people would say that according to your own words, you shouldn’t make such definitive judgments either.’ Through this information I didn’t even directly state, he concluded that I have a hobby of analyzing people, so I must have been burned by people. He doesn’t listen carelessly to the words I throw out.

“You speak just like Kierkegaard.”

“That’s a difficult name to even understand. Who is he?”

“There was a scholar who discussed philosophy I don’t prefer in a way I don’t prefer.”

“He must enjoy word games.”

“Subjective description is his characteristic, but by my standards it’s not very coherent, so for me, every paragraph produces something to nitpick. That kind of speech and his gloomy sentiment are about a hundred million light-years away from me. His insights weren’t bad, but the insights I consider not bad weren’t his unique philosophy but insights that had emerged hundreds of years before him, so what determines meaningfulness for me at this point is the scholar’s unique orientation. But the orientation he presents is incomplete to me.”

“To that extent, it seems your sentiment and that scholar’s don’t match.”

“That’s right. The scholar is not at fault. I just feel his philosophy is like telling one to cultivate alone in the forest and seek utopia.”

“I see.”

We converse with limited knowledge. These weren’t words meant to be understood, and he has no intention of understanding either. I said that while I would understand how someone’s philosophy came about, it’s far from my orientation, and he understood it only to that extent. That was sufficient, and to that extent we were distant. I look at the priest standing quietly with his hand on the cathedral chair. Conversely, he stands on the stepped altar and looks down at me quietly. Since we were distant, we didn’t need to particularly raise or lower our heads to look at each other. He has finished his preparations and is looking only at me completely. And he speaks for my sake.

“But regardless of what you think, to make it certain once more, you must endure the unreasonableness. Still, there is hope. Ordinary people, when they think a scholar and I don’t match, say I’m right and the scholar is wrong, or at minimum, those who want to gain public opinion deploy ridiculous false equivalency saying both I and the scholar are wrong to increase the credibility of their statements, but you didn’t subordinate your own value judgment to the scholar.”

“You’re going to evaluate me favorably.”

“I’m saying your mind, contrary to appearances, seems to be experiencing the ailments of old age. It’s like barely standing with a cane in winds blowing from both sides.”

“I’ll retract that.”

“The vigor in your cheeks is merely formal, utterly useless for confusing the world. However, that storm-beaten fatigue isn’t entirely wrong, so one could say the world can be left as the world is and you’re prepared to live your own life. That fatigue basically comes from understanding too much, having seen too much and containing too much within, making it typical of certain old people who have been too thoroughly refined. They don’t close their mouths because they lack physical strength, but because they lack mental strength. Too many possibilities prevent hasty judgments. But because clouded reason certainly leaves only the guess that much exists for them while eliminating honed judgment, they keep their mouths shut even more. You have a good memory, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

Finding the answer in silence, he said.

“The blessing of youth is that he is a blank slate. Trivial incidents are forgotten by them, and substantial realizations accumulate one by one on the blank slate. So the curse of old age is that his knowledge is no longer a blank slate. In other words, you don’t need my advice, and probably didn’t need to break into this place before opening the cathedral doors. Because you already know the answer. If I’m wrong in making such hasty judgments after hearing just a few words from you, it can’t be helped, but then having made hasty judgments, I should think I’m still young.”

I didn’t speak this time either. Because it wasn’t difficult to notice what he was conveying. He doesn’t speak either.

I threw out a joke.

“Now I see you’re like a different philosopher.”

“That philosopher was probably someone who habitually went too far.”

“That’s right. I don’t like his philosophy very much either.”

“Who is it?”

“Nietzsche?”

“There are quite a lot of philosophers using pseudonyms these days.”

“Indeed.”

Like standing on glass, no one moves. Our silence has that same appearance. Between two people dressed in black like mourning clothes, there’s a candle, but it might as well not be there. The crucifix mounted behind the priest looks down at us.

We now know. Having realized that we know each other’s knowledge, it’s time to modify our strategies.

I’m performing an impromptu play. From when this priest asked me if ‘people are the problem,’ I began acting as my past self. And this priest, whether it was acting or not, saw through that I essentially didn’t come to pray because I was troubled. He doesn’t believe I came to the cathedral with worries, and he revealed his disbelief. He knows how to speak indirectly rather than saying ‘I’ll call the police, so leave.’

But what must be considered at this point is that he wouldn’t speak indirectly for no reason. He knows I’m a mage and is thinking of stalling for time to call colleagues, or he’s willing to listen to my story. He participated in my play.

If I retreat now, the play ends. So I decided to approach falsehood without falsehood.

“What path do old people who know too much usually take?”

To that question, the clergyman said matter-of-factly.

“Old people who study philosophy, law, medicine, and theology but still can’t find truth often make contracts with demons.”

It’s from the beginning of Faust Part 1.

“As expected, Goethe is a national writer. Then Priest, you should save me.”

“Do you know that you look like Mephistopheles right now?”

“In some book I read, alchemy was a symbol of the old-fashioned. Austrian nobles who couldn’t accept change appear. Alchemy functions as an allegory revealing their delusions and denial of reality. There’s a book called The True Story of Ah Q, and that scene is quite similar to this book.”

“A provocative book.”

“One will be written in 2391. The other already came out in 1291 but exists only in my imagination. However, knowing that alchemy is treated that way today, I came to pay respects to His Lordship the Bishop. I heard about an incident where our ‘Peter Philip von Dernbach, Bishop of Würzburg’ became interested in ‘alchemy’ and gave 2,000 imperial dollars as advance payment to a dealer who said he could synthesize gold, but ended up being swindled.”

Even during this conversation designed to drive one mad, the clergyman remains still. That Würzburg diocesan clergyman watches me blankly with thoughtless eyes, and that’s intentional. I notice that he became that way because of the topic ‘Bishop Dernbach’ more than anything else. Because his expression gradually regained composure. At this point, I recalled that he had spoken to me while making the sign of the cross.

“Priest, you are right. I’m here knowing there’s no answer. I have no idea what to do in front of people.”

He remained there with a face that seemed indifferent whether I said more or not.

“It wasn’t a problem with peer relationships. It’s not that getting along with people is difficult. I don’t seek to be understood either.”

“If that last statement is truth and not just words, it’s proof that despite your young face, you’re experiencing the ailments of old age.”

Now he speaks. Unfortunately, since it was true and I was stung, I almost said with my eyes to stop mentioning old age ailments, but looking at my ending, it wasn’t entirely wrong either, so I maintained composure.

“I simply wish to be respected as a human being. However, when I make such a request, those who don’t show respect think they’re being respectful and believe they’re speaking wisely within the bounds of respect. Only those who were already showing respect endlessly reflect on whether they said something wrong and ultimately keep their mouths shut in all situations. Sometimes when they should speak up to provide balance, they disappear, so only the twisted ones remain, thinking they’re healthy, not respecting people as people, leaving only garbage made of writing and words. Then they say that level counts as being respectful. Because in the sentiment of postmodernism, that’s legitimate expression of opinion and admonishment, and that right to speak is legitimate guidance toward public figures. Also, because they didn’t speak publicly, they say their whispering insults about someone are justified.”

He didn’t mind even when words he didn’t know came up in the middle. He just stood there quietly like a wooden statue.

“However, I can look into newspapers that recorded their drunken ramblings, and I can look into newspaper editorial sections. I can hear through other people what was written in newspapers. Even if I didn’t subscribe to newspapers, the moment they’re allocated a voice, they’re speaking publicly. From the moment others can see what they’re saying, there’s no private information, and the moment they share and communicate their opinions with others through the train station called newspapers, it’s happening publicly. They are undeniable murderers. I have the fate of having to accept people who want to kill me.”

The clergyman observes my expression. He’s thinking of gaining new information through analysis.

“…But when I say this, they’re bewildered, asking when they ever wanted to kill me, and they think they’re close to rational cultured citizens. They believe they did nothing wrong because I didn’t actually die. If someone actually dies here, then they start pointing swords at each other, stabbing others to argue they did nothing wrong. All of this seems like a comedy to me. I was somehow pushed into the arena by bloodline and grew up that way, inevitably working as a gladiator, but there’s no way out. Even when I left the arena, people would catch me again and put me back inside.”

“You must live by enduring. That’s fate. Someday the world will recognize the truth.”

At this point, I discover light. The clergyman is waiting for me to object. He wants to know how far and in what way I can react when I do so. Why?

Through the borrowing records, I see the combination of Würzburg, Bishop Peter Philip von Dernbach of Würzburg, and alchemy, and decide to go to one place. Since I don’t know where alchemy takes place, I go to the cathedral – that was my first step. It was also a good decision as an opposing combination since Catholicism rejects occult practices like alchemy.

But strangely, here I met a clergyman as peculiar as myself. Not knowing how it will end, but having come this far, I have no choice but to act properly to the end. Feeling novelty, I snapped my fingers.

“That’s it. That’s why I can’t find meaning. What is truth?”

“Truth is truth.”

“This word game, really.”

We speak quickly and bleakly. I spoke with emotion but didn’t put emotion in my tone.

“I don’t understand why I came down this path. Why did it have to be this way? People are overwhelming. Unknown beings talking about me makes me unable to breathe. Their predictions are not only wrong but essentially impossible to guess correctly.”

“It’s ridiculous. Just laugh it off. Like saying ‘foolish brat…’ and such.”

“Since truth is predetermined anyway?”

“That’s right.”

“What is truth?”

I asked once more. Now I drew out my words slowly.

“The lives they’ve lived are too different from mine, and their current relationship with me is too different from mine. They don’t know how to self-correct and establish the ‘me’ who is another person, but that’s not me, yet they don’t know this fact and believe that reflection of themselves that isn’t me is me, while excreting all sorts of things. Thus, when I close my eyes and open them, a me that isn’t me is there. Even if you say you know me, wrong is wrong. I never had such thoughts, never did such acts, never behaved that way. Your belief that I had such intentions has nothing to do with the real me. So where did that vulgar notion come from? I always thought this way. When I completely didn’t know that such vulgarity was possible, or that such strange culture existed somewhere in peer groups, and heard it for the first time today, I realize the speaker’s life is steeped in that strange culture. So he speaks to me without knowing shame. Asking, ‘Did you live this kind of life?’ Since such life is daily routine for them, even though I learned all of this for the first time thanks to that speaker, I’ve already become the same kind of being as them from the outside. Because they don’t know life that isn’t such life.”

The end of my voice is intentionally slightly hoarse. But there’s no trembling.

“How long will truth that no one believes remain truth?”

“…”

“Let me give a trivial example. For instance, in one place, from some teenage student’s perspective, I become someone who intentionally gets along with other peer students to gain popularity. On the other hand, if I get along with other peer students, in someone’s view, I become a shameless person who doesn’t think about people who like me. However, I can’t understand their logic and thought processes, because I wasn’t mainly in the culture that students enjoy, and the emotions they speak of didn’t exist in me. However, my unremarkable actions were perceived differently from my intentions, and lies became truth and returned to me. Because all students of that age were divided and misunderstood my intentions that way.”

“What did you do?”

“I said it wasn’t the truth.”

“What did they say?”

“What the truth is doesn’t matter. They said that what the public believes is the truth. So I became an insane person in an instant just for being close with my friends. I can’t be close with same-sex friends or opposite-sex friends. There’s no such thing as ‘moderately.’ Since it’s up to them to interpret and spread rumors, there’s no right answer. Living alone is the answer. So I had to make a vow never to act that way in front of others again. My life was a series of vows. One thing I can tell you is that what I just mentioned wasn’t among the most burdensome things. Everything was troublesome, but the events that led me here lie elsewhere.”

The Clergy now raises his hand and strokes his chin. It’s the first reaction he’s shown. Even so, his eyes remain indifferent.

“So I become troubled. When truth ceases to be truth, where should I lean? God is not saving me either. You would tell me to believe in God, but in today’s suffering, that’s not easy to do. Shall I tell you one more thing? In another place, I’m interpreted with new perspectives, becoming a bastard who was born well-off with good parents, without worrying about jobs, born with a superior appearance in a wealthy family. In this case, they don’t even bother inferring my intentions. I just become someone to kill. I can encounter prayers earnestly wishing for my downfall anywhere.”

“You do look that way.”

“At times like this, I wonder if scarring my face would make you people never say such things again.”

“They’d be delighted. And then they’d forget. Because to them, you’re not an important person.”

“That’s it, Priest. I stand before such ugly malice. Before malice they themselves don’t even recognize. People kill others with such psychology and don’t know they’ve killed. …This is why I came to sit here.”

Then the Clergy answered in a mechanical tone like mine.

“I wondered why a Young Man suffers from old age ailments. You’ve never been treated as a young person. You’ve never been treated as a Child. You’re currently hearing voices telling you to ride the donkey and voices telling you to get off and walk simultaneously. Trying to understand that, you’ve aged according to people’s will. The energy you should have used throughout your lifetime has already been exhausted and depleted. I should pour some priming water for you.”

“You understand well. That’s why I came to the Cathedral, Priest.”

“If I drive you out, you’ll soon die from worsening old age ailments.”

Good words. My sincere impromptu performance is succeeding in its own way. Did he believe that would serve as a sign when he said it? Since it’s not important, I returned to the Bishop story he had reacted to.

“I can understand Bishop Dernbach. That act of handing over the enormous sum of 2,000 Empire dollars to an Alchemist he was seeing for the first time.”

The Clergy seemed to have a different opinion. Like someone who had spoken to me while making the sign of the cross, rather than defending his Bishop, he tries to tell the truth with an indifferent face.

“You believe Bishop Dernbach was devoted to alchemy because he had some wish.”

“I hope so.”

“Why?”

“Because it would comfort me in the fact that I’m doing futile things chasing vain hopes. The point that even such a great Person as a Bishop made futile attempts…”

“Sorry, but as you know, that era was the renaissance of alchemy. Bishop Dernbach simply offered funding to a fraud who said he could produce gold because he needed money. He was naive.”

“I suppose that happened while trying to repair the damage from the Thirty Years’ War. It’s regrettable that he lost such a fortune doing so. But as you’ve heard, I’m not afraid of losing it. I’m in the mood to make a contract with a demon.”

“You speak blasphemous words in the Cathedral.”

“Then save me before I do, Priest.”

“Have your tear ducts dried up?”

“That’s what happened.”

We have an incomprehensible conversation. It’s amazing enough that he caught on to my words and answered. And just as he catches on, I’m gradually catching on too.

First, considering the dynamics, choosing the Cathedral was a good choice. Starting from Here and trying to narrow down the information network was the right answer.

Second, Bishop von Dernbach is either a real Mage or at least accepted as such. The reason his Servant borrowed publications containing Dernbach’s story was because the ‘people involved in the occult’ who gave orders to the Servant had talked about ‘von Dernbach of Würzburg.’

Third…

“Do you often hear that you have good intuition?”

“Somewhat so.”

The Clergy slowly came down from the Altar. He walked quietly along the Nave, then stopped beside me. A small letter knife he took from his pocket is placed in my hand. The blue blade flashes on my palm.

I look up at the Clergy, but he shows no expression. It seemed like he was saying to save you from the crisis of making a contract with Mephistopheles. I took off my glove and cut across my palm.

Then the Clergy also took the letter knife and drew blood on his own hand. When we clasped hands, the wound stung. We both don’t mind. He solemnly chants an incantation. Something seemed to faintly touch my heart.

Third, surprisingly, combining the first and second points, the Antagonist of the witchcraft incident is most likely these Cathedral Priests. I recall once again how he had committed disloyalty while making the sign of the cross.

Fortunately, I succeeded in acting out my desperate goal. I had torn down one gateway of distrust.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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