Stone Tablet?

(A/N: Don't be surprised if the chapter next week is considerably delayed. I had to scrap the chapter I was supposed to use and am writing a new one, and it kinda destroyed my stockpile. Good news, though: it'll be straight to another mission. I think.)

The stadiums were still rambunctious, and even after a minute or two of questioning from Ansel as to whether or not there were additional comments to be made or questions to be voiced, no one volunteered.

Thus, the discussion was adjourned. If any new details came up, or if popular demand requested it, the proceeding would be reassembled. For now, however, we were all free to go - not that attendance was mandatory in the first place.

Unimportant, as were the pats on the back and words of kindness from my fellow Exorcists as I left the stadium. My true concerns were elsewhere, now that this matter had been taken care of.

How am I supposed to get a lasting, plentiful, independent source of Holy Energy that I can easily and reliably access, as Vasco so astutely suggested? Must I accidentally 'misappropriate' a certain amount of Monastery Minds - the jewel-esque things, one of which Cael and Alessandro had tried to use to make up for their incompetence in basic, timely intercommunication during their recruitment?

Monastery Minds are creations of God that are preprogrammed to provide information of the supernatural and potentially restore one's memory, reusable as long as one fills it with Holy Energy, so perhaps I will have to pilfer their stock. Or, better yet, simply steal one as a temporary source off some poor Exorcist who had been granted it during his promotion ceremony. Just one of them should last me a few weeks, given that I have no demanding assignments and ration my usage.

The Sub-Dimensions are also creations of God that work as long as they are supplied with Holy Energy - the Angels who serve this function are known as Power Angels - and so, as I saw during my first meeting with Vasco, their environments are saturated with a certain amount of Holy Energy over centuries of a supply.

If I am justified in snapping a rosary bead out of fear for my life, I am more than justified in doing any of these things out of fear for my ability to slay Devils in the upcoming war. The question to ask is not relating to the 'moral questionability' of the matter - it is which choice is most optimal.

Perhaps prayer will solve my issue. Or perhaps a pilgrimage?

I will have to ask Wojchiech.

…

I ended up asking Wojchiech.

Wojchiech's main place of residence is a storehouse he possesses, wherein there are boxes upon boxes, shelves upon shelves worth of both enchanted and unenchanted military ordnance and such things. It certainly has security enchantments layered all throughout, but otherwise, it is largely normal, with concrete floors, concrete walls, and a metal roofing - which stretches quite high.

All of it is neatly organized, where one can find anything as long as they know how - and despite the ridiculous amount of weaponry, there is ample space to work.

The most ample space is in the middle of the warehouse, where rather than shelves on the wall near it, there are tables, and rather than boxes forming makeshift corridors throughout the space, it is empty. Meant to be an expanse in which work is done.

And the work currently being done by Wojchiech was self-flagellation. [1]

He sat in a wooden stool, and on the ground was a tarp - meant to prevent the spillage of blood on the floor - and in his hands was a spiked whip, with which his back was getting welted.

"Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatæ Mariæ semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni Baptistæ, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et tibi, pater: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," he recited, accentuating the prayer with a laceration for the completion of every phrase.

"Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Ioannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et te pater, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum. Amen." [2]

He does this often. It is a form of penance, and I know better than to interrupt.

Personally, I do not engage in such conduct. I have no sins to repent for.

He recited the Confiteor three more times before getting up, storing away the whip and tarp, sitting back down, and greeting me.

"How was your discussion? Was the fifteen minutes spent worth it?"

"It went quite well," I replied, leaning on the wall. "All the Exorcists rallied to my call. And yes, fifteen minutes is much less than what I was willing to wait for the perfect opportunity."

"I suppose that is nice to hear. Now, please come and cast a healing spell; I have an assignment to do later today and can't spare the effort. You may tell me whatever is on your mind in the meantime."

I waltzed over, placed my hands on his back, and began casting the White Magic healing spell.

To cast White Magic, one must make use of the inherent Light Element in their body - of which I have much, and so it is unbelievably easy for me. Most people don't even have a noticeable amount of any Element, and having more means that there is something more concrete for you to try and grasp, making the process much easier. It is quite literally an entirely different branch of Magic than Basic or Advanced Magic - it doesn't follow a single rule that they do and is based upon a vastly different premise and foundation.

For a healing spell - one of the most basic types of White Magic for the simple reason that healing is an inherent property associated with Light - all I needed to do was direct some Light into his wounds with some restraint and will to heal.

Wojchiech had not made this clear to me on my first time, so when I tried to heal a small bird with a broken leg, I simply dumped my Light into its body.

It exploded from the inside out. Almost crushed, in a way - as if a tidal wave had descended upon its frail little body.

However, I wished to avoid the severance of my mentor's spinal cord, and so I eased it into the wounds specifically little by little with the intent of healing.

"I would like to go on a pilgrimage," I said. "Is there any way to do so?"

"A pilgrimage?" he asked, now focused on counting the amount of explosives he had in a nearby box. The man likes to keep himself occupied. "For what, exactly?"

"That cretin I call my Sacred Gear Instructor has decided to refrain from supplying me with any Holy Energy, and I am now, as I told him, marooned on an island full of feral dogs with nothing but an empty gun. I have theorized various ways to get some, but I hope to get a sign from the divine as to what exactly I should do. Mount Tabor or Mount Sinai would be good choices, no? Both are high up, close to the Lord, and are places where He had graced us with His presence and wisdom. Moses and Elijah of us, specifically."

He multitasked, continuing his tally during our interaction, and replied. "Well, I suppose it is not the worst idea. Priska is still in recovery and you two thus won't be going on any missions, so now would be a better time than ever. It shouldn't be an especially lengthy vacation as long as you use the teleportation spots - a few seconds to arrive and a few days total, maybe, as I know you would like to savor the experience. I would recommend Mount Tabor out of the two places, although one shouldn't forget Mount Moriah. [3] Simply state your worries to the administration and tell them your plans. They should accept - who knows, perhaps they'll even supply you with a sustainable way to acquire Holy Energy themselves."

I scratched my chin. "I did not think of that last part. Although, I wouldn't know a sustainable way for them to do so - I train with my Gear and thus use Holy Energy all the time, even excluding true combat scenarios."

"There is no point in questioning haphazard hypotheses. It is merely a possibility. Now, do you have any other questions before you go?"

"Do you have replacements for the firearms I had lost during my fight?" I asked, gazing at the lines of cabinets along the wall stocked full of neatly organized ammunition and explosives. Surely he does - this man collects them with the same zealousness he flogs himself with.

"Yes, a multitude. I couldn't find your original ones even after returning, but the only real inconvenience will be the magazine of Holy Bullets you carried."

"We have plenty more of those," I waved him off. "I am finished with the spell. Now, which way were the administrative chambers?"

…

I tapped my finger on the office worker's desk as he rifled through a cabinet for a paper.

Eventually, the brown-haired, black-eyed bum of a worker ant found what he was looking for and laid it out across the desk, placing a pen right next to it as if it was the cherry on top.

I read his nameplate, saw that his name was Françoise - no last name was printed - and promptly burned this memory into my psyche so that I can come and inconvenience him whenever I need assistance.

"You may sign here," he jabbed at a line on the paper with the pen a few times before dropping it again. "It is simply a document to catalog your usage of the teleportation gates. When you use them for the purpose of an assignment, it is someone else who does so - usually the one who orders it in the first place. It is your responsibility today as the one who wishes for its activation, however. Remember the signature you write; you will be expected to inscribe it on all such documents in the future, so as to prevent confusion in the archives and officiate the signature."

"In the Latin alphabet, yes?" I asked, the ink pen hovering over the line.

"Yes, yes, in the Latin alphabet. Again, to prevent confusion in the archives."

I simply wrote 'Ioann' with a few curves in the letters, much to the seeming displeasure of Françoise here.

"Now write where you wish to go."

Our conversation and interaction stalled as I pondered on which mountain I should go for my pilgrimage.

Eventually, the sound of a pen scratching on paper returned, and Françoise promptly placed the document on a tray near his desk after I was done.

"Now, follow me," he announced, standing up with the tray and presenting his thin frame and strange gait in all their glory. "It is this way to the teleportation room."

"I know where it is, thanks," I replied, brushing him off and walking past.

He speedwalked to catch up to me. "That is not how it works. I shall accompany you."

I sped up my pace.

"I must be with you as an officiate to verify that you can indeed use the teleportation room. Why do you think I am bringing this paper?" Françoise proclaimed, waving around the document, which I swiftly snatched out of his hands.

It serves him right for daring to impede my path of pilgrimage.

"If I have it, then there is no issue, no?" I questioned.

Françoise tried grabbing it back, failed, and resolved himself to still jog to keep up with my pace. "I am the officiate, remember?! Who is to make sure that you return it to the archives and don't just burn it to a crisp after leaving to prevent a record of your journey?! Whoever presented you with the document must be there for various reasons! Now hand me it, you oaf!"

"Very well," I responded, having to dodge out of the way of the poor sod whose job it was to haul off carts of trays full of papers all day, every day. Glancing back, I was surprised to see that the cart driver was jovial and merry, with a large smile on his face, for whatever reason. Perhaps it's because he's young. "You can have it back."

Françoise was more than happy to seize the document and put it in the tray, acting as if it was the manifestation of his self worth.

From there, we walked in silence.

The administrative chamber is quite large. It is, as the name implies, an extremely, extremely large room where there are hundreds of pencil pushers pretending to be well-read scribes - like our Françoise here - scattered all throughout in neat, orderly rows and columns of desks.

When I arrived, however, not being one to ask for directions, I simply meandered over to whoever wasn't busy - my pick this time being quite unfortunate - and stated my intentions. God's grace was with me, because apparently, the job of the man I chose was quite literally to assist whoever needed help.

After walking out of a side door of the administrative chambers to save time - walking out of the main entrance and then going to the teleportation room would've taken longer - we eventually arrived at our destination, having marched past various sloth-ridden desk slaves.

I had already been to one of the teleportation rooms of the Vatican - there are three throughout its magnificent halls - and this was apparently one of the other ones.

It was still largely the same, simply being a decently sized, empty marble room. You step into it, whoever is currently posted at one closes the door and does something, and then an unseen Angel watching over does something and you get teleported.

The specific details of how intradimensional teleportation works are not made available to me.

"Yes, yes, he signed the paper and I officiate his wholly authorized journey. May I leave now? I have things to attend to, such as putting this… gentleman's SIGNED document into the archives, which also records his requested destination on it," grumbled Françoise, who tried waddling away back to whence he came.

"And what is that destination?" the man asked, snatching away the paper for an inspection before giving it back to the fuming Frenchman. "Ah, yes. Mount Sinai. You may go."

I have also heard that the men posted at the teleportation rooms tend to be very scrutinizing and aggressive to most uses that are not for missions, as there have been numerous cases of bad actors using them throughout history. The men manning the teleportation rooms when such incidents occur are punished; namely, whatever fool made the blunder is executed for allowing evil to run unimpeded into Church territories. Considering the recent tension, they are more anxious than usual.

As is seen by how the stocky man who interrogated Françoise slammed the door shut as soon as I walked in.

How barbaric.

However, his unruly behavior cannot smother my delirious zeal. This is the beginning of my pilgrimage. This is where I will - hopefully - learn how to achieve energy independence, and will be the site of my first religious journey - outside of going to the Vatican.

But that hardly counts. I was dragged here unconscious.

A knock on the door - which promptly opened - interrupted my musings.

"What? Did you happen to forget my destination again?" I asked, thinking it to be the undisciplined, handsy man from before.

Although, since when was the door behind me?

"You have arrived," someone announced. "Welcome to Sinai."

Oh. That makes much more sense.

Well… may the Lord be with me.

###

[1] To quote my friend, Wikipedia, 'Self-flagellation is the disciplinary and devotional practice of flogging oneself with whips or other instruments that inflict pain. In Christianity, self-flagellation is practiced in the context of the doctrine of the mortification of the flesh and is seen as a spiritual discipline.'

[2] Wojchiech is reciting the Confiteor (Confession, although it literally means 'I confess' or 'I acknowledge', but Confession is what people call it in English) prayer, and the English translation of the Latin is this:

I confess to Almighty God, to Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, to Blessed Michael the Archangel, to Blessed John the Baptist, to the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the Saints, that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word and deed, through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

Therefore, I beseech Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, Blessed Michael the Archangel, Blessed John the Baptist, the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and all the Saints, to pray to the Lord our God for me. Amen.

[3] Mount Sinai is where Moses received the Ten Commandments, Mount Tabor is where the transfiguration of Jesus took place, and Mount Moriah is where the binding of Isaac (almost) happened (the binding of Isaac is when Abraham tried to sacrifice his son, Isaac, to God before God stopped him).

###

Not that much happened in this chapter. It was mainly meant to be a setup to get to the site of pilgrimage - in which MC will have to do plenty of investigating to confirm his suspicions.

What do I mean by that? I don't know, but I can tell you I'm not going to introduce a grand conspiracy plot or something by MC stumbling across it like some… well, MC, so there's that.

###