Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 32 Shepherd

Mathilde left the bishop's residence with a letter in her hand.

It was from Sirén, and it read, "I earnestly request the assistance of Abbey Mathilde de Clermont of Spesce in the work of the Evangelical Fellowship. She is a venerable lady with unforgettable orange hair and brown eyes..."

Below is Xilun's personal signature and the sealing wax seal of the ring.

"Proof, please..." She placed the letter and the letter of appointment together and walked into the wind and snow.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Xiren sat comfortably in the concert hall, rocking back and forth in his chair, and even found a blanket to cover himself with.

The wound on my right chest is still painful, but it feels much better when I sit in a chair.

He rocked back in his rocking chair and fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, Celen suddenly woke up from a deep sleep. The fire in the fireplace had gone out at some point, and the room was so dark that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face. His limbs were frozen and he had lost all feeling in them. His whole body was stiff.

"Ah..." He chanted a prayer, and a golden-red holy fire appeared. He managed to move his hands and feet and stand up from the chair.

The house was theoretically heated, but Renn was clearly unhappy about it, so he had the boiler room shut down the heating.

He poked at the ashes in the fireplace with the tongs; the firewood inside had burned out. The inexperienced Siren poked at it haphazardly a few times, but the flying ash choked him.

He threw the firewood from the iron rack next to him into the room, then lit it with the Holy Fire spell. The orange-red flames immediately illuminated the room and gradually dispelled the chill.

In theory, he could have easily hired a servant to help him, but he didn't want to exploit other people's labor. Otherwise, what right would he have to give alms and provide relief to people? At least he wouldn't feel right about it.

Moreover, since divine magic is so convenient, at least starting a fire doesn't require the laborious effort of striking a fire with a flint and steel—this is how Xilun convinced himself.

Warm light illuminated the wooden table and chairs beside him, as well as a grand piano. Xiren, wrapped in a blanket, moved a few steps and sat by the window, looking out through the frost-covered window and the eaves hanging with icicles.

By this time, Speyside had fallen silent. The black steel fortress stood still, like a traveler resting in the snowstorm. The massive fortress seemed somewhat weak at this moment. The snow fell heavily, covering the ground and the sky, as if to embrace the whole world into a white tomb. The noise of the underground steam engine could still be faintly heard, like the gasps of someone on the verge of death.

The era of Queen Victoria was coming to an end, Florence was coming to an end, and the once prosperous and bustling world was falling into silence—this thought suddenly surfaced in Xilun's mind.

Even though the great figures foresaw the coming of the apocalypse long ago, they were powerless to stop it. The world fell into an uncontrollable silence, like a primeval ice-covered forest tens of thousands of years ago, when humanity had not yet risen to power. Creatures awaited the arrival of tomorrow in the cold winter, and wild beasts with thick furs roamed the ice plains, their eyes gleaming with a hungry green light.

Where is the world headed? And what should we, the survivors, do?
Having broken free from the power struggle, Xiren leaned against the window, counting the snowflakes falling on the windowsill, lost in thought.

In the quiet of the night, he was wrapped in a blanket, and the only sound in the room was his breathing.

Why is my time travel so miserable? I didn't get to experience the prosperity of Lundinia. I only had a quick bite of fries and toffee tea, and I didn't even get to eat fish and chips... I guess that glass café is closed in the cold wind now? Are those carriages and people still there? Will the cobblestone streets and city parks be covered in snow?
There's no cheat code, no system, and while my master and senior brother are very powerful, they're both gone. My status is high-end for a transmigrator, but I'm basically all alone. Even if I wanted to farm or advance in technology, not to mention that I'm just a liberal arts student who doesn't know anything, the Governor of Rennes is still above me!
As he thought about it, Xilun felt a little tired again.

I still feel angry, but anger is useless. Who can I blame? The thing that made me travel through time? But at least I survived, which is not bad.

His thoughts wandered in confusion, half-dreaming and half-awake. The orange firelight reflected dreamlike images on the glass. The wind howled outside the window, threatening to destroy everything. The glass was repeatedly struck, like the knocking of a white demon.

"Boom, boom, boom."

Xilun was asleep, but he moved his fingers slightly.

"Boom, boom, boom."

The wind and snow are so noisy; I should plug the windows tomorrow.

"Boom, boom, boom."

No, that sounds like knocking on the door?
Siron jumped up suddenly, clutching the cross, and cautiously surveyed his surroundings.

"Knock knock." The knocking weakened, but it seemed to be coming from the front door.

Xilun rushed to the front hall and then carefully opened the door.

Two people wrapped in black felt stood outside the door, their faces marked with frost. As soon as Xiren opened the door, they staggered weakly.

“You…you are…” Xilun felt that they looked familiar, but it was too dark and their faces were covered in frost, so he didn’t recognize them at first.

“Bishop… Your Excellency…” The woman pointed to a bundle of firewood behind her, then knelt down on the ground.

Siron recognized them; they were Alexander and Amelia, a couple who had previously helped the recorders identify the characteristics of livestock in the church and were farmers from a nearby village.

"Come in quickly! What happened to them!" Xilun hurriedly dragged them in, but he was also a little weak, so he had to throw out two Holy Heals and warm them with Holy Fire.

Five minutes later, hot water was boiling on the stove, and the couple and Xiren sat together by the fireplace to warm their hands. Beside the fireplace was a large bag of chopped firewood wrapped in black cloth.

“We…we went to ask the boiler workers why there was no heating, and they said it was the governor’s order, and even the bishop didn’t have it,” Amelia said, rubbing her hands together. Looking at Siron’s slightly angry face, she seemed a little guilty and uneasy.

"Then we went home to get firewood. Alexander was chopping wood nearby. He said that the bishop didn't have any servants, and it wouldn't be good if we ran out of firewood... so we brought a bag of it with us..."

"But it was colder outside than we expected. We put on blankets, but they froze immediately... It was still very dark at night, and we couldn't see anything. We searched for a long time before we finally found the church..."

Amelia explained, shivering several times in succession.

Her husband sat silently beside her, his expression earnest. Time had left its mark on his face, but only his earnest eyes, filled with deep faith, looked at Siren.

"Glug glug—" Xilun took down the kettle that had been boiling water and brewed tea for them.

He didn't know what to say or how to face them; his eyes just stung with tears.

Perhaps his fate wasn't as smooth as many books portray, but it was still much better than the people in front of him, who braved the wind and snow in the dead of night to bring him firewood, nearly freezing to death by the roadside, just because they were worried he wouldn't have any firewood to burn...

But I haven't given anything in return; I've only asked them for a favor, and I even owe them something.

"Drink up, warm yourself up. Don't do this again next time, your health is the most important thing," Xilun comforted her.

“We…” Alexander seemed a little nervous. He looked at Siron’s fireplace, then at the iron basket for storing firewood, and finally at the large bag of firewood he had brought.

Xilun smiled and said, "Thank you very much. Look, my firewood is almost finished burning."

He patted the iron basket containing firewood; although there wasn't much firewood inside, it wasn't exactly scarce either.

However, after saying that, Alexander finally felt somewhat relieved.

Xilun took a sip of tea, looked at the simple and honest faces of the believers, and suddenly realized that he had been being pretentious all along.

He didn't know why he had come here, nor did he know which way to go tomorrow.

But we should at least let these lovely believers live on and give them a good life.

Perhaps he didn’t know what to do, but Siron Dellandt had to know, and Bishop Speyer had to know.

Because he is the shepherd, the flock may lose its way, but he cannot.

Now that you have the shepherd's staff in your hand, you must lead the flock to the next pasture.

(End of this chapter)