Chapter 2 : The Great Bathhouse

"Ahhhh, lighter, lighter, it hurts!" Georgeia didn''t like being massaged, nor did she enjoy being scrubbed, but every time she used the bathhouse''s hot springs, the matrons would grab her, toss her onto a bed, and begin pounding her legs and kneading her shoulders.

This was all because, after one particularly grueling mission, she had become so stiff in bed that even breathing was a struggle, and she couldn''t get up at all. A healer-priestess came to see her and immediately understood the problem.

"No magic is needed at all. She''s being punished for using her divinely gifted body without restraint. Let me ask you—does she never use the bathhouse? Does she never go to the sisters for massage?"

And so, every time she returned to the Hexagram Temple, before she could even debrief her mission, her teammates would drag her straight into the bathhouse.

What followed was the entire bathhouse echoing with her screams: "Ahhhh, lighter, ahhhh, I can''t take it!! It hurts so much!!! I''m going to pass out! If I pass out, I''ll forget everything about the mission! Then you won''t understand what I''m saying!"

"Don''t worry," the scribe who traveled with her giggled, lying on the bed beside her, enjoying the matron''s pressing. "I''ve written everything down."

Last time she returned, she had originally been dragged toward the bathhouse by her teammates, but she''d found an excuse—said she''d forget what she needed to report and had to rush back to write her report—and escaped.

After that, one of the Twelve Scribes volunteered to accompany her. This time, it was the same scribe who had coaxed and tricked her into the bathhouse.

The matrons also said, "If you don''t get more massages, your body will seize up completely. Last time you were found lying in bed. What if that happens during a mission?"

"But it really hurts. My eyes are already tearing up."

"You use a sword, and yet your body is this sensitive…"

"Ow ow, it hurts! Waaah, my muscles are already relaxed, I''m leaving!" She was pressed back down by two matrons, her hand still reaching out in protest. "To touch me, you''d have to get close first. And even the most skilled Silver Star Knights can''t get near me."

The matron massaging her calves said, "Oh ho, then I guess I''m more skilled than a Silver Star Knight."

"Hey hey hey! Don''t choke my neck."

"Honestly." The scribe teased, "Anyone would think we''re slaughtering a piglet in here."

"There''s no difference anymore… ahhh it hurts so much!" Georgeia gave up struggling. "Why don''t the matrons press you this hard?"

The matron massaging her immediately retorted, "Surveyor-General, you can''t say that. Look—her neck is already red from the pressing."

Georgeia shuddered. "You people are terrifying. Am I really in the Hexagram Temple? It feels like I''ve fallen into a demon''s den."

"I was wondering who was screaming bloody murder over just a massage—turns out it''s you, Mentor."

A white-haired woman in an outer robe pushed aside the curtain and walked in. Her eyes were a clear, golden yellow, like the sun.

She was from the Aquina family of light mages, thirty-nine years old, serving as the high priestess of the Holy City of Ilantris.

"Your Holiness," everyone greeted her, but their hands never stopped moving, going about their work as before.

She lay down on the bed to Georgeia''s right and commanded, "Press harder! When I misquoted a proverb, she hit my hand so hard with her ruler—I couldn''t dodge at all."

"No, no! Fine, fine—how terrible. You only remember the bad things I do, not the good. I really am the teacher you priests hate the most."

"Exactly," the scribe turned her head. "We were among the first victims of the High Priest''s reforms."

She was referring to Vasily Aquina''s religious reforms. When it was discovered that some monks and priests were misinterpreting proverbs to deceive the people, Vasily the High Priest initiated a top-down reform to preserve the purity and sanctity of scripture and divine authority. He placed Georgeia Yang into the Inquisition.

Anyone who misquoted a proverb was struck. Anyone who argued sophistically during theological debates was struck. Apprentices? Priests?

Everyone who made mistakes was struck by her ruler and whip.

Even now, when she had no missions, she still bore the responsibility of teaching.

At first, she only held priests to a strict standard. Eventually, she demanded the same of the knights—though she was slightly more lenient with them.

Memorizing scripture was basic. The knights themselves could choose the topics for theological debate—but so far, no one had ever defeated her.

She had even promised that anyone who could beat her in a debate could make one request of her.

"So one of you became a scribe, and another became a cardinal-priest, and you still hold a grudge against me…" Georgeia pouted.

The Holy Priestess let out a satisfied sigh and challenged the matron: "You can press even harder."

Then she looked at Georgeia. "But honestly. The reason your body is so sensitive is that you''re always fasting. For as long as I can remember, you''ve only ever drunk the Waters of Pure Light for sustenance."

"Don''t you all drink it too?"

"Once a quarter, for thirty days. Plus two or three days during festivals and sacrifices," the scribe said.

"That''s definitely not sustainable. Eventually, if someone touches you, you''ll melt like the Waters of Pure Light themselves." The Holy Priestess suggested, "After you debrief, come with me to Ilantris. I''ll treat you to good food."

"I don''t need to eat to survive."

"Don''t say that, Mentor. You need to set an example. What if everyone starts imitating you and drinking only Waters of Pure Light? They''re only human. They can''t handle what you put your body through."

"Mmm… it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts." Georgeia cried out seven times in a row, and the matron finally lightened up.

"Drinking Waters of Pure Light makes the body more permeable, better able to perceive divine grace."

The scribe said, "That''s true, but as I recall, that practice originated in times of crisis—when mages needed to accumulate power quickly and master grace-fueled magic to fight the Shadow. Those days are over."

She reached out and pinched Georgeia''s cheek. "In peacetime, Mentor, don''t be so hard on yourself. You should try new things. But honestly, the food in Mahani-Dan is even better than Ilantris''s—both delicious and artistic."

"Hey, don''t change the subject. Ilantris''s food is lighter and better suited for Mentor."

When it came to matters of daily life rather than theological debate, Georgeia could never win against these people. She gave up and whined, "…I''m not going. I''m not going anywhere. Until this pain in my body goes away, I''m not going anywhere."

"Just one month. But that said—drinking Waters of Pure Light isn''t really a fast for you. For you, that''s just normal."

"Are you saying that eating mortal food would be a fast for me?"

"We''re not debating right now." The Holy Priestess added, "Mortal food is the Creator''s great gift. If you never taste it, how can you claim to know all of God? When faced with divine gifts, you must experience them with your own body."

"Fine, fine, I''ll go with you. But you''d better warn your priests in advance. If they run into me in the Holy City, I will be quizzing them on scripture."

The last priest she''d quizzed had been in the Holy City of Pokin. After that, everyone gained a profound understanding of what it meant to have a Surveyor-General, an Executor, and a Mentor all rolled into one.

"Heh—we''re the Holy City that ''speaks truth through lies.'' The reforms hit us hardest in Ilantris. They all remember you. I can''t wait to see everyone''s faces when you show up wearing that mask of seven sorrowful tears." The Holy Priestess grinned maliciously.

When the cardinal-priest''s carriage appeared in Ilantris Square, everyone stopped to bow.

The high priestess wore her everyday red robes and her All-Seeing Eye mask, her hair tucked into a red veil—a symbol of the most majestic power in the world.

As the All-Seeing Eye swept across the square, the other priests began to bow. But when they looked up, they saw someone else climbing out of the carriage behind her.

A person in black robes.

If the sash on those black robes had been red or gold, they wouldn''t have been so alarmed. But it was purple.

And then—the black veil. Beneath the golden All-Seeing Eye hung seven golden tears, glinting with a terrible luster in the setting sun.

Everyone felt a chill run down their spine. They froze in place.