hotmtlnovel Chapter 4 The Doctrine of Libra
Chapter 4 The Doctrine of Libra
Fragments of light streamed into the dimly lit room through the window, startling Suren awake from her sleep—this was the fourth time this had happened.
The sinister grin in the mirror was vivid in her mind's eye; the "evil spirit in the mirror" was like a death warrant, subtly influencing Suren.
Suren looked out the window; it was just dawn, and the 6 o'clock bells of the community church had not yet rung.
After getting dressed, Suren pulled an old iron box out from under the bed.
Inside the iron box, a few gleaming gold pounds lay quietly, while the rest were some loose silver shillings and copper pennies.
The obverse of the coin features the emblem of the Libra Church: an open book with a scale dragging behind it.
The Libra Church controls and issues all currency across the continent, and counterfeiting is a serious crime.
1 St. Gold Pound = 20 Silver Shillings = 240 Bronze Pence
Suren was also somewhat puzzled that, despite being under the control of the church, it had still evolved into these three currency systems.
After emptying and counting everything, the total amount was about £11, enough for Suren to move to a better environment.
This was what Suren had saved up over the past six years. He ate only Anthony bread every day, and one penny of this cheap bread was enough to feed him for a day.
He worked odd jobs at the church on weekends and spent the rest of his time selling his physical labor in the church's alchemy workshop.
Apart from rent and the cost of maintaining basic living expenses, there were almost no other expenses. This has been Suren's life for the past six years.
Suren still admires the original owner of the body. Despite this, she still managed to develop good physical fitness, which means she doesn't need to undergo additional special training to improve her body's coordination.
To be fair, if Suren were to continue living like this, he absolutely could not endure it.
"In my past life, I was at least a high-income person with a comfortable life. I could endure hardship, but there was no need for it."
As Suren muttered to herself, she considered whether she should change her accommodation.
After putting the Manuscript of Truth and the letter into the box, Suren took out 2 shillings and some loose pennies, and stuffed the box back under the bed.
Just as Suren was still debating whether to splurge and spend 3 pence on a salted meat sandwich.
"Knock knock knock"
A series of urgent knocks on the door interrupted Suren's thoughts.
After the door opened, a head with messy, short brown hair popped in.
"You must have quite a bit of savings, why do you insist on living in a place like this?"
The person entered the door and started shouting loudly, while simultaneously taking deep breaths of fresh air.
Suren shrugged helplessly. "That's why you don't have any savings, Carl."
Carl Flint and Suren grew up in the same orphanage. Last year, they became friends because they were both preparing for the Deathbird exam.
Karl pulled two sausage rolls wrapped in oil paper from his pocket. He handed one to Suren, took a big bite himself, and mumbled indistinctly:
"Three pence a piece. Today is an important day, you can't eat that disgusting bread again."
Suren counted out three pennies and handed them to Carl, who then took the sausage roll.
Suren was not surprised by Karl's actions, as it was in accordance with the doctrine of the Libra Church.
"Everything given must be returned; every gain must be paid for; every exchange must be kept in balance."
This is not just talk; any behavior that violates the doctrines discovered by the Libra Church will be severely punished.
As a devout believer in the church, Carl's adherence to doctrine reached an extreme of fanaticism, which is why, despite his low level of education, he could become a deathbird.
After finishing their breakfast, the two did not linger and headed towards the "Loren Town Post Office" along the Devout Avenue.
As Suren passed through the church square, he saw an elderly man, about 60 years old, kneeling in the center of the square.
A middle-aged man in a black robe stood before him, loudly proclaiming something.
Suren recognized the robe as the exclusive attire of the Libra Church deacons, which featured a bronze metal emblem on it.
After the reading was finished, a young man in a tight-fitting uniform walked out from behind the man in the black robe.
He held a specially made long whip in his hand, his steps slow but unwavering.
Immediately, the whip fell, slicing through the stagnant air and striking the old man's back.
Karl also witnessed this scene, and seemingly noticing Suren's confusion, he explained:
"Old Vic met a little girl today and gave her a loaf of bread." He paused, then added, "He didn't take any money."
Suren and Karl didn't linger; they continued onward. But Suren couldn't suppress the thought in his mind:
"Will Old Vic be able to withstand this beating?"
As Karl walked through the heavy atmosphere of the square, he deliberately slowed his pace and turned to look at Suren:
"I've made up my mind. I'll become an alchemist. At least I'll be able to make a living by concocting potions."
"I choose the Alchemist," Suren replied, a decision he had already made.
Alchemists are nothing more than servants of the church; given his current situation, he needs a profession that allows him to go out and take action.
"You...would you like to reconsider?" Carl's voice lowered.
"I've heard that low-level battlefield alchemists have almost no direct combat ability and rely more on their personal combat skills."
Suren simply smiled and said, "Don't worry, I've thought it through. The path of alchemy is not for me."
There's no need to worry about his fighting skills; the current Suren is no longer the ordinary teenager he used to be.
What he really values about this job is the freedom it offers, as he won't be assigned logistical tasks.
If it weren't for the existence of the Book of Secrets and the "Evil Spirit in the Mirror," he might have actually considered a stable path as an alchemist.
He needs to grow quickly; traditional promotion methods simply cannot meet this need.
Carl stopped trying to dissuade her. Although he had only known Suren for a year, he knew Suren's temperament well.
Soon, the two arrived at the office, which was a three-story row of narrow buildings.
The glass was so gray and dusty that you couldn't see inside, and it didn't look like a church organization at all.
A brass plaque hangs on the wall beside the door, with neatly written words:
"Deathbird Monks' Order, Loren Town Post"
As the two entered, they were greeted by a spacious hall with a long counter directly opposite the entrance.
A middle-aged man with a receding hairline was sitting behind the counter, organizing documents.
Several benches were placed in front of the counter, where two men and a woman were already sitting.
Suren recognized them; they were the people who had taken the assessment with her before.
"Those who have come to report, sit on the stool and wait." The middle-aged man said weakly without even raising his head.
Suren and Karl exchanged a glance and sat down on the stools.
Suren noticed a huge notice board hanging on the opposite wall, which almost took up the entire wall.
The posters were covered with all sorts of bounties, with rewards typically consisting of money and contribution points.
This place is less of an official organization and more like a scattered mercenary guild.
After an unknown amount of time, a man with short, dark brown hair walked down from the second floor.
He was wearing a faded black uniform with a white raven emblem on the arm, and the loose threads were still visible.
The most striking feature is a hideous scar on his face, running from his right forehead to his left eye.
A man and a woman followed behind him, both dressed in black monk robes, just like the one in the square.
The two men glanced at Suren and his companions, their eyes filled with disdain.
The scarred man saw the two men to the door, then leaned against the doorframe and said flippantly:
"Please take care, gentlemen. This dilapidated town has many muddy roads. Be careful not to slip and fall and get your clothes dirty."
He then closed the door, spat, and said, "Damn it, we're all butlers, but I have to bow and scrape."
He then walked to the counter, patted the table, and handed over a document. "Lawrence, draft a notice for the mandatory mission later."
"A mandatory mission? Our town hasn't had one like this for two years."
The man called Lawrence took the document and asked in confusion.
The idea of a mandatory task didn't sound like a good thing, Suren thought to himself.
The scarred man pulled out a pipe, lit it, took a puff, and said irritably:
"It seems to be an organization called the 'Society of Classical Wisdom' that has caused deaths, and more than one!"