The three imps carried no weapons. Their only means of attack were their sharp claws and the scorpion tails on their backs. It was no wonder they chose to corrupt a wild dog to ambush the priest.
Of course, this approach had another advantage.
If the villagers found the priest dead, they would most likely kill the wild dog and assume the problem was solved. This would have allowed the imps to easily continue plaguing the area for a long time.
Colin’s Object Positioning Skill hadn’t ended yet.
As long as he could concentrate, the spell could be maintained for about ten minutes.
Wielding the wooden stick, he found the stolen money pouch inside a hollow tree near the puddle. The pouch contained a little over ten Gold Coins in total, which matched what Father John had said.
Colin walked back to Father John and handed him the money pouch.
"Are all the field agents from Thousand Masts City like you?"
"We’re considered Tier Two Black Robes, so I guess we’re a bit stronger than ordinary field agents," Colin said.
"No, it’s definitely more than just ’a bit.’ Imps are much stronger than creatures like goblins. I—in the squad I used to be in, we lost someone when we faced imps."
Father John fell silent for a moment. He put away the money pouch and continued, "I’m sorry, I can’t give you your payment right away. But I can take you to another parish to collect it. Would that be acceptable?"
"That will work just fine."
Father John let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. I was worried you’d be difficult when it came to money."
"If you were some kind of gang enforcer, we might have had a problem," Colin said with a laugh.
The group took the money and made their way back to the Church in the dark.
Father John pulled an oil lamp from a corner of the Church. After lighting it, he said to Colin and the others, "Let me show you to the guest room."
"Lead the way, then," Colin said.
As he turned to lead the way, Father John said, "You all should be heading back to the Monastery to report soon, right? I’ll take you part of the way in my carriage tomorrow."
Colin assented.
The group soon arrived at the so-called guest room inside the Church.
A few small cots had been pieced together from wooden planks in the room. It was barely enough to accommodate them, but Colin and his companions each found a cot, sat down, and began to prepare for sleep.
Father John hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but was holding back.
But soon, he put down the oil lamp and walked out of the room.
A moment later, he returned, now holding a small bag.
Stooping, Father John walked over to Colin. He pulled a small notebook from the bag with his wrinkled hands and said, "This... I’d like to give this to you as part of your payment."
"What is this?" Colin asked.
"After I finish my duties, I gather herbs to make things like salves," Father John explained. "I donate most of them to the Church of Morninglord, and the rest I use for the villagers. This notebook contains herbs I’ve found in the area, plus some I’ve only read about in books. I hope you’ll find it useful."
Colin quickly took it and glanced inside.
The notebook was filled with drawings of various herbs, complete with notes on where they grew and how to use them.
Colin recognized some of them: Golden Thistle Grass, Frost Star Grass, Stone Skin Moss, and even the Smoky Purple Mushroom that had once saved his and Kase’s lives. Apparently, its proper name was "Purple Mushroom."
Most of these herbs could be used to create unconventional potions. Of course, with the skill to craft Magic Potions, they could also be refined into true Magic Potions.
Judging by its thickness, it was practically a pocket encyclopedia of herbs.
"This is incredibly useful. Thank you," Colin said at once.
"And besides that, here are my usual herbalist tools." With that, Father John handed over the small bag.
Inside were long-handled shears, leather gloves, a mortar and pestle, a few glass flasks and test tubes, and several small earthenware jars.
Colin asked, "If you give all this to us, what will you use?"
"I’ll just tell the blacksmith I gave my tools to the heroes who saved the village. They can make me a new set," Father John said. "As for the notebook, I truly hope the knowledge inside will be of help to you."
"Shouldn’t we get the villagers’ permission before we discuss accepting this? Isn’t this against regulations?" Orelia asked, her voice laced with concern.
Father John waved a dismissive hand. "You saved the villagers. We don’t have much money to reward you with. You’ve earned this.
Besides, my sister, let me tell you something. The more you work with the villagers, the less you can afford to rigidly follow the rules. You always have to leave a little room for compassion in your words and deeds."
Seeing her confused expression, Father John smiled. "I have a story, if you’re willing to listen."
The others exchanged a look and nodded in unison.
Father John began, "It’s just an old, tired story, really. When I first arrived in this parish, it was during the autumn harvest. The Mill Master, Thomas, discovered three sacks of wheat were missing from his warehouse. Unlike the other mill masters, Thomas was an honest man, you see.
He wasn’t a wealthy man, and losing that wheat meant he’d have to pay for it out of his own pocket. If he couldn’t, he’d be dragged away to be flogged. I searched from house to house, and eventually, I found half a sack of the wheat, not yet eaten, in Widow Martha’s woodshed.
Her husband had gotten drunk earlier that year, wandered too close to a cliff, and fallen to his death. With three hungry children at home, she had resorted to stealing out of sheer desperation. She knelt and wept before me, offering to work as a hired hand for three months to pay her debt, begging only that her children not be left without a mother.
So, I didn’t follow the rules. I first went to Thomas and explained Martha’s plight. After Thomas gave his nod, I had Martha come to the Church each week to help with the cleaning, and we called that her penance. Then, I asked a few families who had grain to spare to pool together some wheat seeds, and we helped her plant a small plot of land. Somehow, we managed to smooth things over."
"That was definitely the better choice," Colin said. "At least no one starved."
It was, indeed, a very old story.
A good person breaking strict rules to help the poor—there were many such tales in the slums of Thousand Masts City. They were the kind of stories the elderly poor loved to hear.
After all, who wouldn’t want a helping hand when they’re down on their luck?
The little story also showed that while most of the laws enacted by the lords were harsh, they weren’t necessarily so unbearable when handled by the Clergy.
"I don’t think I’ve ever had to handle a situation like that..." Orelia mumbled, seemingly worried about her own future.