Our eyes met, and there was a mischievous glint in his. Poison, perhaps? No, it couldn’t be. I warily brought the cup near my lips and inhaled a strong vapor that bore the scent of a distilled spirit aged in a wooden barrel. This was the first time I’d come across such a thing in this world. Even the feast in Kerulgarz hadn’t supplied it. The only alcoholic beverages I’d encountered so far were ale, mead, and wine.
I took a slow sip, then nodded my approval.
“It’s wonderful.”
“I see you’ve had it before.” Worion looked somewhat disappointed, as if he had hoped for me to choke at the liquor’s strength. Distilled alcohol had to be a real rarity in this world.
“Yes. They have even more potent spirits back where I come from.”
“I see. You really are so far ahead there. Here we call it refined holy water. Since ancient times it’s been known to prevent wounds from festering. Almost a hundred years ago, a scholar found the means to produce it, but the technique has been kept a secret.”
He filled his own cup.
“This refined holy water has some extraordinary properties. For instance, it’s said that those who drink it are unable to lie.”
I assumed the effect he mentioned was because a drunken man tended to loosen his mouth, but I wasn’t sure it was only that. I watched him take a little sip himself.
“Are you sure you should be drinking that, then?”
“I’m allowed to have it during interrogations. Only those of the firmest faith are allowed—those with beliefs strong enough to triumph over the drink. Though, of course, even I would be criticized if I were to drink it in public.”
Meaning these high-ranking priests enjoyed it in secret. I’d thought I was in for a scolding, but Worion seemed more gregarious than I’d expected. I knew I would have to ask what I could before the drink got to his head.
“Please tell me, is an orc understanding words really such a dangerous thing?”
Worion placed his cup down and nodded solemnly.
“Yes, such a pursuit is strictly prohibited.”
“But why?”
“I do not know. I did not even know it was taboo until my predecessor committed the sin himself and was punished for it.”
“So few know of the taboo despite it being such a serious matter?”
“Very few are curious enough to study those filthy beings, their language—as such—even more so. Perhaps those up top believe that spreading word of the ban would only stimulate more curiosity in these matters, even academic curiosity.”
Understandable enough.
“Regardless, my predecessor continued doing his research even after being warned. He ignored these warnings until he was finally driven from the temple and had his sacred name tarnished. Publicly, he was punished for defacing a statue of God.”
“What is a sacred name?”
“It is a name received upon being ordained as a priest. We are made to discard our original names. Having one’s sacred name revoked would make one nameless; it is the second-harshest punishment a priest can receive, after death. It is hardly better than a death sentence. The law will not protect the nameless.”
Worion took in a little more of the concoction.
“You should stop trying to learn the orcish language. If the head priest heard, even the hero could be excommunicated.”
Excommunicated? The rat-priest had threatened to do just that, but honestly, it didn’t bother me too much. Worion seemed to pick up on this, and went on to say, “Of course, you are the hero from another world. You would not step off the path even if our God abandoned you. However, please do not forget that it is our temple that recognizes you and guarantees your position in this world. Without our support, it would be quite hard to gain anyone’s trust.”
That was a strong threat, but from his expression, I could tell he was speaking from the heart.
“Thanks for the warning,” I said, bowing my head. However, I had no intention of calling off my research. His kind words weren’t wasted, in that they impressed on me the need to be more careful.
The intuitive head scholar sighed. “You do not plan on stopping, do you?”
I shook my head wordlessly.
Worion closed his eyes, tilted his face to the heavens, and offered a prayer. Once he had finished, he downed the rest of his cup in one gulp. He then looked me straight in the eye.
“Hero, are you able to read and write our language?”
I was a bit surprised by the sudden question. “Well, I can read, but writing is a bit…eh.”
My translation ability didn’t go beyond reading his language for some reason. When writing was necessary, I would have to dictate to another, though in this world it wasn’t uncommon for even nobles to be unable to write. In fact, it was rare for people above a certain level of power to pick up a brush themselves.
“Then allow me to introduce you to a good teacher.”
“Oh! Please do.”
I didn’t really get his reasons, but it was a welcome offer. It would obviously be more convenient for me if I could write on my own.
“Northwest of here, farther north than Chezarith Castle, there is a poor village called Aenidem. A desolate place, facing the sea. From there, it is two days through the mountains to the nearest temple, which is the farthest north of our places of worship. In a cave near Aenidem, there lives a hermit. At times, he teaches the local children to write in exchange for food. They call him an eccentric, but he is the best teacher I know of. Hero, why not learn writing from him?”
Chezarith? I almost doubted my ears.
The country there was enclosed by a crescent-shaped mountain ridge, open to the west. Chezarith Castle lay at its northernmost edge. According to Rigel, it was the farthest castle from the royal capital. To go beyond that point would seem like falling off the edge of the map.
“May I know the hermit’s name?”
“He has none. It was taken from him.”
Ah, so that was what this was about.
“He is known to be incredibly hard to get close to. Gaining his trust will be no simple matter. However, if you bring this to him, I’m sure any old man would open his heart.”
With that, Worion pushed the cork back into the bottle we had been drinking from and nudged the incredibly valuable liquor toward me.
“Why are you doing this?” If only certain people were allowed to partake of this refined holy water, he was encouraging me to commit taboo. How could someone of his position do such a thing?
“Watching you play with orcs reminded me of my predecessor. My master.” I didn’t consider my studies “playing,” but I didn’t interrupt him. “Like you, my master also sought to communicate with an orc. He was quite a clever orc, but he was killed when my master was exiled. A waste, in my opinion.”
Worion’s eyes, bloodshot from drink, peered deeply into mine.
“I presume you do not want to learn orcish purely for the sake of knowledge. You hope to change something.”
He made swirling motions with his cup, but it was empty. His eyes roamed the table, starved until they spotted my cup. He reached out, took it, and downed its contents too.
“I do not know what you’re trying to change, Hero, but there is one thing I do know. Those above me closed off the path to knowledge, and they drove out my master because they feared change.”
His face had flushed red, the extra drink hitting him hard.
“Walling up truth and knowledge is against the very duty of scholars! Could there be anything more frustrating, more humiliating? I have no power or courage to oppose them, so you will have to overcome them for me. You will have to take my revenge.”
“I don’t know if I can fulfill your expectations, but I won’t waste this opportunity you’ve afforded me.”
Worion seemed satisfied enough with my answer. After a nod, he slumped forward in his seat. He was not a heavy drinker, evidently, and had pushed himself, perhaps to gain the courage to reveal what he had.
The conversation was over. I stood, turned away, and reached for the doorknob, but I paused when I heard Worion mumbling behind me.
“Hero… If you can…please protect him. The law no longer does, and he has little left to his name. Please… My master… My friend.”
Then he fell silent, except for the deep breathing of slumber.