A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"This is truly admirable. At my monastery, the collection barely has a double-digit number of books."

Eric felt a pang of pity just thinking about the dismal state of King’s Bridge Monastery.

Several successive Abbots of King’s Bridge had paid no mind to the library’s collection.

He hoped Philip would be able to make some improvements in that area.

"Alas, those days are gone like smoke. What is the point of having countless books if they are locked away in a dark room? A long time ago, this was a meeting place for scholars from the Land of Three Islands, and even the entire Catholic World.

This place used to be filled with cultivators from all over the world. Some would only stay for a short while to copy manuscripts unavailable elsewhere before taking them back to their own monasteries. In turn, they would bring other precious manuscripts for us to copy, causing the treasures of our Monastery to grow with each passing day.

Others would stay for much longer periods, some even living out their days here, because this was the only place they could find the books relevant to their research.

In the past, our Monastery had monks from the Germanic lands, Dhaka, and Spain, as well as France.

But now... ignorance reigns supreme, leaving the wise with no path to follow."

Though Aldred feared Torod’s authority, he couldn’t help but speak ill of him in the end.

The corridor was quiet. The few cultivators who passed by were all silent, which made Aldred’s voice seem rather loud in comparison.

"What do you mean? You’re not normally allowed to enter the library?" Eric asked.

"That’s right. Dean Torod detests ancient wisdom, believing it to be the work of Heresy. Since his arrival, the only person who can freely enter and exit the library is the dean’s assistant.

All the books are under his management. A cultivator may request to borrow a book, but only the assistant can decide how, when, and whether to lend it. Dean Torod believes that not all truths are meant for all ears, and that even a heart full of Devotion cannot necessarily discern every falsehood."

"Platonic philosophy and Christology are but different ways of understanding the same God. As Saint Augustine said, the Egyptians had their idols and heavy burdens, which the children of Israel detested and fled from. But the Egyptians also had Golden Artifacts, silver artifacts, and clothing, and when they left Egypt, Moses still allowed the Israelites to take those with them," Eric said, echoing Aldred’s sentiment.

At Eric’s mention of Israel, Gwen, who was beside him, glanced over at him, her expression unreadable.

"Precisely. Though ancient wisdom may originate from Heresy, it still contains truths that worship the one true God. The treasures of God are scattered all over the world; it’s just that they are being misused, illicitly, to worship the Devil.

We are perfectly capable of separating these truths from their unfortunate context, taking them, and using them for their proper purpose: to spread the Gospel."

A nostalgic look flickered in Aldred’s eyes.

"A truly excellent argument."

"Haha, of course. Those were words often spoken by our old dean. He was a great scholar who studied in Córdoba in his youth. And though it was a heretical seat of learning, it definitely had its merits.

It was there that Brand came to understand the world’s greatest truths. Anyone who met Dean Brand, regardless of their own intelligence, would say he knew almost everything. There was no question he could not answer..." Aldred’s voice was filled with admiration.

Just as Eric was about to ask more about Brand, they arrived.

"Ah, we’re here."

Aldred opened the door.

Unlike the guest room Eric had imagined, this was a large dormitory.

Furthermore, the sleeping mats were all pushed together, with clothing placed beside them. It was clearly occupied.

"Your monastery’s guest accommodations are certainly... unique," Eric remarked, forcing a smile as he looked at the communal room.

"My apologies, Brother William. This was not my wish. Our Monastery has many spacious rooms, but it was the Dean who requested you be placed here.

He said that as a cultivator, you should live a communal life, and visiting cultivators are no exception. I even tried to argue your case." Aldred shrugged.

"I see."

"There are two sides to every coin. It’s not all bad. The cultivators of our Monastery generally don’t return to rest until after dusk, so the room is empty during the day. You can rest here as you please. I have some other matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave."

Aldred took a few steps, then seemed to remember something. He turned back to Eric and said, "By the way, the Seric Monk is very close to the Dean’s assistant. You could try asking the assistant about him."

With that, he walked out of the room.

Soon, only Gwen and Eric remained in the room.

Eric did a quick inspection of the dormitory’s cleanliness. It was acceptable.

The sleeping mats were arranged in neat rows, with three empty spots left at the very end, against the western wall.

"Er... why don’t you get some rest first? You probably shouldn’t expect too much from a monastery dormitory."

He pointed to the empty spot farthest in, against the wall.

"I’ve seen worse. By the way, do all cultivators live like this? It’s my first time spending this much time in a monastery."

Gwen climbed onto a sleeping mat and pushed open the window beside it. The room was on the second floor, so the window offered a wide, open view.

From there, she could see the Monastery courtyard perfectly and watch what the cultivators below were doing.

"It depends on the person. In fact, very few monasteries are as strict as this one."

Eric shrugged and climbed up onto the sleeping platform next to Gwen.

’The Cluniac reforms were a good thing, but as an ordinary cultivator subject to their discipline, Eric wasn’t exactly a fan.’

’He’d rather just read a few more books.’

"What are they doing down there, O wise Eric?" Gwen’s gaze fell through the window onto the cultivators in the courtyard.

Several cultivators were gathered in the courtyard. Their mouths were shut, not a word spoken between them, but their hands moved in a flurry of different gestures, and the others responded in kind.

"It’s monastic sign language. According to the Rule of Saint Benedict, cultivators are to maintain silence within the Monastery. But because of the practical need to communicate, the monks developed sign language."

"That’s pretty interesting. It’s a bit like thieves’ cant. Is every monastery like this?" Gwen turned to look at Eric, her curiosity piqued.

"It depends on the person. And on the monastery."

Eric looked a little awkward. ’At King’s Bridge Monastery, the cultivators lived more freely than the secular Nobility.’

’Rules? What rules?’

"And you?"

"What about me? You mean the sign language?"

"What else?"

"Of course. That’s nothing. The signs vary a little from one monastery to another, but it’s not a problem. What, you want to learn? If you do, I can teach you."

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