A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

"So what are they talking about?" Gwen asked, pointing to a group of Cultivators gathered not far outside the window.

"Ahem." Eric coughed twice to clear his throat, then adopted a different tone.

It was a clear sign that the words to follow were not his own.

"Hey, everyone, what do you make of what happened today?"

"What do I make of it? I’m watching it unfold from my seat. He’s the dean, and I’m just a Cultivator goofing off until I die. What am I supposed to do? Pin him to the ground and make him smell my stinky socks?"

"If he were one of the English, I’d say he’s being a bit harsh. But he’s one of the Normans, so I didn’t expect much from him in the first place."

"At least we don’t have to prepare for that annoying morning prayer. I think it’s fine."

A portion of the Cultivators chose to compromise, admitting the new dean had caused them trouble, but they felt it was still within an acceptable range.

"So you’re all ready to surrender? Come on, everyone. Since he arrived, the library—our Monastery’s pride and joy—has become his private property. It used to belong to every Cultivator. Now, even the Copyists are forbidden from entering. It’s utterly absurd."

"Yeah, I had to jump through hoops just to borrow a book of poetry the other day. Nothing like this ever happened when Dean Brand was around."

"He’s always going on about Heresy this, Devil that. But our Monastery has operated this way for centuries. Countless predecessors stored their wisdom here. How did it suddenly become Heresy?"

However, quite a few people held a positive view of Dean Torod.

"Oh, that’s enough. Wenstan, you read a few books and now you’re showing off. I think the library is fine as it is. Back when Dean Brand was here, we were forced to write book reports every week."

"What a joke. I came here to coast... er, no, I came here to serve God, not to become a scholar."

"I agree. I think this new Dean Torod is alright, too. He has a point—it’s not good to read too many of those kinds of books. Demons can dwell within their pages and corrupt the most brilliant minds. Weren’t all the great heretical leaders of ancient times scholars?"

"Take Eusebius of Caesarea, for example. No one can deny he was a brilliant scholar. And no one can deny he was an undeniable heretic, can they?"

Then there were the optimists.

"Stop arguing, everyone. Maybe you’re all being a bit extreme about the library restrictions. I think Dean Torod’s decision was just influenced by the recent incident where the Seric Brothers fell to their deaths in the library."

"Once this whole thing blows over, the library will probably go back to the way it was."

Of course, there were also the troublemakers who just liked to watch the drama unfold.

"As a Cultivator, I have five things I refuse to learn."

"First: Things I already know. Why would I study what I already know? I can’t learn anything from it."

"Second: Things I don’t know. How am I supposed to study something I don’t know? It’s impossible to learn."

"Third: Important things. Important things are bound to be difficult. Why would I bother learning something that difficult?"

"Fourth: Unimportant things. They’re not important, so why would I learn them?"

"Fifth: Things I don’t want to learn. I already don’t want to learn them, so why on earth would I study them?"

"What’s so great about studying? I don’t study, and I’m still more devout than anyone. Studying? A load of crap!"

.....

Gwen watched Eric vividly reenact the Cultivators’ conversations in the courtyard and was left speechless.

"It doesn’t seem like anyone cares about the dead Cultivator."

"The death of a Cultivator isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s usually said that they’ve been summoned by the Lord, embraced by God."

"You Cultivators are so hypocritical, using pretty words to mask your own selfishness and indifference."

"Perhaps," Eric said slowly. "But they’re no more hypocritical than anyone else of this era."

Gwen was about to argue, but a strange tickle in her nose made her sneeze.

Something wet dripped out. Gwen quickly clamped her hands over her mouth and nose. Noticing Eric looking at her, she hurriedly turned her head away.

"Find me something to wipe this with."

"What do you think I have..." Eric shrugged, looking a bit pleased with her predicament.

The next second, she grabbed his sleeve, and a loud HONK followed as she blew her nose.

’This sleeve is a lost cause.’

Gwen had no time for Eric. She realized her once-clear nose was now completely stuffed.

Eric pulled a bottle of Calendula Potion from his coat and offered it to Gwen.

"I’m not being your guinea pig. Alchemy is unstable. Agnes just got lucky last time."

"Fine, keep suffering then," Eric said irritably.

Just as Eric was putting the Calendula Potion away, a middle-aged man appeared beside them and pressed a thumb-sized vial into Gwen’s hand.

The man was bald, short, and very stout, seeming almost as wide as he was tall.

"Grind the root of a Sheep’s Foot Rhubarb Tree into a powder and boil it in water. It’s very effective against a cold. It’s a rather potent remedy from ancient times. Consider it a welcoming gift. Ancient wisdom. It may have its origins in Heresy, but it’s quite useful."

"I trust that God led me to discover it for a purpose."

"And you are...?" Eric asked, stepping in front of Gwen.

"Oh, with all that talking, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Delang, the Herbalist Cultivator of this Monastery. I’m in charge of the bathhouse, the infirmary, and the gardens. Aldred sent me. He said you might need my help."

Delang, the bald Cultivator, then glanced around. Once he was sure no one was listening, he whispered to Eric:

"I’m familiar with every path in this Monastery and the schedule for every activity. If you need anything, come find me in my laboratory. I can show you the way or help in other ways. In the past, Seric and I were the only two Ornament Painters in this Monastery. I was mainly responsible for the botanical illustrations, while he handled everything else."

Delang seemed very enthusiastic.

"May God bless you," Eric said politely to Delang. "I will never forget your sincerity and warmth."

"It’s nothing. Aldred said you were a wise and learned man, so I’m sure we’re on the same side. Oh, let me take you to my laboratory right now. I have boiling water there, so we can brew the potion and make this brother here a bit more comfortable."

Naturally, Eric wasn’t about to refuse.

Delang then led them out of the building and toward the Cathedral.

Between the two buildings was a lush garden filled with both medicinal and ornamental plants.

"In the spring and summer, all the different plants blossom, and the garden sings a beautiful hymn to the Creator."

"Even in the Winter, an Herbalist’s eyes can see past the withered branches to the life waiting to sprout again. I can tell you, this garden is more lush and its colors more complex than any botanical encyclopedia’s records. It’s as beautiful as any illustration you’d find in a book."

"A decoction of wood-mold root can be made into an ointment for skin diseases. Crushed snakewood rhizome can treat dysentery and certain women’s ailments. Pepper aids digestion, coltsfoot suppresses colds, and gentian helps with gastric absorption."

"I know and have preserved many, many different herbs and potions," Delang chattered on.

"Are any of them hallucinogenic?" Eric asked.

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