Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"That can't be..."
"Her candidacy for canonization has been submitted. They hid their identities in Lenos, but she had many among the nobility that supported her. The petition for her canonization to the pontiff has been submitted and even now is on the desk of the cardinalate. What do you think?"
When she finished speaking, Fran closed her mouth, as though her mind was entirely made up. And it was true—what she said carried weight.
Fran, the dauntless, lonely silversmith. She had made an irritatingly pragmatic decision in perfect keeping with her reputation.
Lawrence swallowed. "When Sister Katerina becomes Saint Katerina, everything in that cottage, including her body, will become holy relics."
At the words holy relics, Col raised his voice in a surprised "Ah!"
That seemed to be the signal for Fran to finally succeed at smiling a thin, faint smile. "When the landlord learns how much holy relics can be worth, he'll give up on the water mill. If you doubt me, let's go back to the cottage and look at her diary. It's filled with the names and details of lords from many different lands. Even the fact that the cottage has been left alone is probably because the canonization proceedings were stalled."
It was the sort of thing that Lawrence had only ever heard in rumors.
When someone was canonized as a saint, anything connected to their person could for whatever reason be sold for huge amounts of money. If they were reputed to have performed miracles, then pilgrims would come, and not just from the Church, but also the surrounding region. Noblemen would sometimes band together in order to get clergy from their area canonized, but the application required an extravagant amount of money.
From the perspective of the nobility, it was a large gamble involving their happiness in the afterlife against their wealth while they still lived.
It was said that many had gone bankrupt trying to accomplish it, and yet it kept being tried because the potential gains were enormous.
Katerina Lucci was destined to be dragged into someone's scheme.
"So you want me to sell...a saint?"
"I have heard that you're experienced in business." She smiled the same smile she had used at Hugues's shop when she claimed a map of the north would cost him fifty lumione. But this time, he could not let it go.
Lawrence delivered his reply. "This is madness. There is no way a merchant like me can handle holy relics. Even if I passed myself off as one, it would last but a moment. With the narwhal in Kerube, it was Kieman who handled the bulk of the exchange, along with another merchant who was former nobility. And in Winfiel, I was on the edges of a deal involving a holy relic, but to be blunt, it wasn't on a scale that involved me."
Money was not something that just accumulated. Its quality and nature could change from one moment to another. From an amount that could purchase a good to an amount that could purchase a person's heart to one that could change a person's destiny.
A holy relic was in that same company.
But Fran never took her gaze from Lawrence, and standing her ground, she played her final trump card. "In exchange, I'll draw you a map of the northlands. Right away, if you like."
A moment passed.
"...What?" he replied out of simple shock.
It was as though she felt it was entirely fair to offer a simple map in return for him fabricating a saint and undertaking the dangerous business of dealing in holy relics constructed from lies.
Fran looked at him evenly.
"Do you truly believe that's a fair trade?" Lawrence could not help asking.
In that moment, Fran's face was somehow charming. Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, as though she might reply at any moment, "I do indeed!"
But unlike when Lawrence had told her about the villagers who had come to the cottage, something else poured into her expression, replacing her fading surprise.
That brown skin and those black eyes.

Output:
Lawrence glanced over at Holo.
Holo was expressionless, staring at Fran, while Col was obviously distraught.
If it had only been about the danger, then of course he could have taken the risk. But to take Katerina, who had already endured being called a witch, and to now claim she was a saint and sell her off to some landlord was flatly impossible.
After doing such a thing, how could Lawrence then take Holo's hand with a clean conscience?
"To falsely approach the landlord and then negotiate with him on the pretenses of selling a saint? I cannot do it."
"I see," said Fran and began to walk away.
Lawrence did not move. So smooth was her motion that after she passed by Lawrence, she held in her hand the map that he had previously tucked near his breast.
"Where are you going?" He knew it was a stupid question, but could not help asking.
Fran stopped as though mulling something over, then came slowly walking back. "You got Hugues to talk to you, so I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
He thought back to how Hugues had endured Fran's haughty treatment. His first, biggest priority was to have Fran create paintings of his homeland. And it was true, Lawrence had convinced Hugues to talk.
Fran continued. "I thought you were the same as me. But I was wrong."
"What do you—" Mean, Lawrence was going to finish, but he did not have the chance.
"Do you think you're going to get a map of the north with only that much resolve?"
***
Lawrence felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Fran started walking again.
His feet refused to move; they felt sewn in place. He could not even think. He felt as though they had all been playing some kind of prank, and she had just dumped freezing water on them.
Why not just say it, plain and simple: To what lengths was he willing to go to find a map of the northlands? His resolve was insignificant.
He wanted to travel with Holo. It was a lukewarm promise they had made to each other, not to give up. Chasing after the wolf bones and tracking down a map of the northlands, these were not meaningless things. Taken individually, they could not be overlooked.
But as to what sort of foundation they made when taken as a whole—he understood that all too well. It was the simple, childish wish to simply stay with Holo. And only a very meager tower could be built upon such a foundation.
Lawrence knew that, but to have it so clearly pointed out made him feel deeply wretched.
He was standing there, nailed to the ground, when Holo took his hand. "She certainly hit you hard."
He looked at her, and her eyes seemed almost relieved, like a girl whose mischief had been uncovered.
"But do you suppose she truly plans to sell that dried-out, old thing?"
Impossible, Lawrence immediately thought.
In which case, the course of events was obvious. Holo's eyes said as much as they admonished Lawrence.
Holo's righteous anger had been roused before, to say nothing of when it was for the sake of helpless villagers.
But he was not thinking to use Katerina for their own aims after she had died following a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the villagers and the landlord.
So many regrets remained. And yet he could not approve Fran's proposal. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up killed to keep things quiet.
"We should run," said Lawrence, and Holo nodded.
It was Col who raised his voice, having listened carefully to the conversation. "We're going to leave Fran behind?"
Lawrence and Holo exchanged a look. There was no argument about Fran's importance.
"Once we've escaped to a safer place, we can ask Holo or even Hugues for help. We'll make sure she's safe. There are many people who need Miss Fran, after all."
No one was going to let her die pointlessly.
But Col seemed on the verge of tears. "No, I mean...are you giving up on the legend of the angel that Miss Fran was chasing?"


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Lawrence glanced over at Holo.
Holo was expressionless, staring at Fran, while Col was obviously distraught.
If it had only been about the danger, then of course he could have taken the risk. But to take Katerina, who had already endured being called a witch, and to now claim she was a saint and sell her off to some landlord was flatly impossible.
After doing such a thing, how could Lawrence then take Holo's hand with a clean conscience?
"To falsely approach the landlord and then negotiate with him on the pretenses of selling a saint? I cannot do it."
"I see," said Fran and began to walk away.
Lawrence did not move. So smooth was her motion that after she passed by Lawrence, she held in her hand the map that he had previously tucked near his breast.
"Where are you going?" He knew it was a stupid question, but could not help asking.
Fran stopped as though mulling something over, then came slowly walking back. "You got Hugues to talk to you, so I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
He thought back to how Hugues had endured Fran's haughty treatment. His first, biggest priority was to have Fran create paintings of his homeland. And it was true, Lawrence had convinced Hugues to talk.
Fran continued. "I thought you were the same as me. But I was wrong."
"What do you—" Mean, Lawrence was going to finish, but he did not have the chance.
"Do you think you're going to get a map of the north with only that much resolve?"
***
Lawrence felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Fran started walking again.
His feet refused to move; they felt sewn in place. He could not even think. He felt as though they had all been playing some kind of prank, and she had just dumped freezing water on them.
Why not just say it, plain and simple: To what lengths was he willing to go to find a map of the northlands? His resolve was insignificant.
He wanted to travel with Holo. It was a lukewarm promise they had made to each other, not to give up. Chasing after the wolf bones and tracking down a map of the northlands, these were not meaningless things. Taken individually, they could not be overlooked.
But as to what sort of foundation they made when taken as a whole—he understood that all too well. It was the simple, childish wish to simply stay with Holo. And only a very meager tower could be built upon such a foundation.
Lawrence knew that, but to have it so clearly pointed out made him feel deeply wretched.
He was standing there, nailed to the ground, when Holo took his hand. "She certainly hit you hard."
He looked at her, and her eyes seemed almost relieved, like a girl whose mischief had been uncovered.
"But do you suppose she truly plans to sell that dried-out, old thing?"
Impossible, Lawrence immediately thought.
In which case, the course of events was obvious. Holo's eyes said as much as they admonished Lawrence.
Holo's righteous anger had been roused before, to say nothing of when it was for the sake of helpless villagers.
But he was not thinking to use Katerina for their own aims after she had died following a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the villagers and the landlord.
So many regrets remained. And yet he could not approve Fran's proposal. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up killed to keep things quiet.
"We should run," said Lawrence, and Holo nodded.
It was Col who raised his voice, having listened carefully to the conversation. "We're going to leave Fran behind?"
Lawrence and Holo exchanged a look. There was no argument about Fran's importance.
"Once we've escaped to a safer place, we can ask Holo or even Hugues for help. We'll make sure she's safe. There are many people who need Miss Fran, after all."
No one was going to let her die pointlessly.
But Col seemed on the verge of tears. "No, I mean...are you giving up on the legend of the angel that Miss Fran was chasing?"

Output:
Had Col not heard Fran's goal? Had she not confided in him the reason why she was so determined to claim Katerina's sainthood and deceive the landlord?
Lawrence was just about to explain how unreasonable it would be to take the risk of chasing the legend now—but bit the words back because of a book.
Col, nearly crying now, thrust a single volume at him. "I know I forced myself off on you and Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, but I just can't abandon Miss Fran like this," he said, and handing the book to Lawrence, he shouldered his pack and set off after her.
Lawrence never even had a chance to say anything.
Col was a kind, gentle boy. If Fran's quest was a sincerely felt one, then once he heard her reason, he could not help but be moved by it, Lawrence assumed.
But his assumption was soon scattered to the wind.
The book Col had handed Lawrence—from the writing on its cover, he could tell that it was a book of scripture.
Lawrence's face stiffened, but not because he had just had a holy book shoved at him. It was because the cover of the book was discolored by large bloodstains.
"What's that?" Holo asked, bringing Lawrence back to his senses.
"Seems to be a book of scriptures..." Lawrence gently opened the book. The pages' edges were torn here and there, and some were stuck together with blood. It didn't seem like overstatement to say it had been through the hell of war.
Then Lawrence noticed there were several folded pieces of paper stuck between the pages of the book. He opened them and saw the terse notes there, written in needle-sharp handwriting.
"Dear Kira...vai...en...Kirjavainen Mercenary Troop?"
There, on a piece of paper between the pages of a bloodstained scripture book, was written the name of a mercenary band. Lawrence brushed the soot away and looked more closely, reading the writing there. Next to the band's name, there was another name, the addressee of the letter.
"Fran...Vonely."
It had come from the pack Col had carried in Fran's place, so it was not surprising he had been carrying something that was addressed to her. Lawrence found himself murmuring her name, because in front of it was also written a title.
"Troop Chaplain, Fran Vonely."
The moment he saw those words, Lawrence felt a great shock, as though he had been struck on the head with an iron rod. He did not even hear Holo trying to get his attention as he paged through the letter.
The characters were blurred in places and smeared with blood, soot, and grime, sometimes too badly to be read. But Lawrence could tell that it had been written by someone in the Kirjavainen mercenary troop—and by someone who was far away from Fran. At the top of the second page, the scribe had written, "May they reach your prayers from this far-off land," followed by a simple list of facts, all in a peculiar hand.
"Decurion Martin Ghurkas killed in the battle of Lydion."
"Betrayed on the Lavan plains. Pursued by the soldiers of Marquis Lizzo. Cursed by God. Lienne the sutler died that night of injuries. He went in his sleep and left no will."
"Heimann Rosso, the centurion who'd been sheltered by the count, was betrayed and arrested. He passed in the dungeon in fine form and was always worried about you."
And then, the last piece of paper.
"In the town of Miligua in the Nacculi diocese, in the month of Saint Rafenne, executed by hanging. A last message for you was 'I'll see the angel before you...'"
The last page was badly crumpled, and there was more written, but it was so thoroughly blurred that it was not legible.
Lawrence stood there silently, and when he finally spoke, it was a simple, low "Ah" of understanding.
Young but trusted by nobility. Used to hard physical labor. Bold and fearless as a mountain bandit. And for all that, still graceful and refined.
Kieman had said she was a silversmith born on the battlefield. Fran herself had told Hugues she had been a slave—and those two meanings now connected.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Had Col not heard Fran's goal? Had she not confided in him the reason why she was so determined to claim Katerina's sainthood and deceive the landlord?
Lawrence was just about to explain how unreasonable it would be to take the risk of chasing the legend now—but bit the words back because of a book.
Col, nearly crying now, thrust a single volume at him. "I know I forced myself off on you and Miss Holo, Mr. Lawrence, but I just can't abandon Miss Fran like this," he said, and handing the book to Lawrence, he shouldered his pack and set off after her.
Lawrence never even had a chance to say anything.
Col was a kind, gentle boy. If Fran's quest was a sincerely felt one, then once he heard her reason, he could not help but be moved by it, Lawrence assumed.
But his assumption was soon scattered to the wind.
The book Col had handed Lawrence—from the writing on its cover, he could tell that it was a book of scripture.
Lawrence's face stiffened, but not because he had just had a holy book shoved at him. It was because the cover of the book was discolored by large bloodstains.
"What's that?" Holo asked, bringing Lawrence back to his senses.
"Seems to be a book of scriptures..." Lawrence gently opened the book. The pages' edges were torn here and there, and some were stuck together with blood. It didn't seem like overstatement to say it had been through the hell of war.
Then Lawrence noticed there were several folded pieces of paper stuck between the pages of the book. He opened them and saw the terse notes there, written in needle-sharp handwriting.
"Dear Kira...vai...en...Kirjavainen Mercenary Troop?"
There, on a piece of paper between the pages of a bloodstained scripture book, was written the name of a mercenary band. Lawrence brushed the soot away and looked more closely, reading the writing there. Next to the band's name, there was another name, the addressee of the letter.
"Fran...Vonely."
It had come from the pack Col had carried in Fran's place, so it was not surprising he had been carrying something that was addressed to her. Lawrence found himself murmuring her name, because in front of it was also written a title.
"Troop Chaplain, Fran Vonely."
The moment he saw those words, Lawrence felt a great shock, as though he had been struck on the head with an iron rod. He did not even hear Holo trying to get his attention as he paged through the letter.
The characters were blurred in places and smeared with blood, soot, and grime, sometimes too badly to be read. But Lawrence could tell that it had been written by someone in the Kirjavainen mercenary troop—and by someone who was far away from Fran. At the top of the second page, the scribe had written, "May they reach your prayers from this far-off land," followed by a simple list of facts, all in a peculiar hand.
"Decurion Martin Ghurkas killed in the battle of Lydion."
"Betrayed on the Lavan plains. Pursued by the soldiers of Marquis Lizzo. Cursed by God. Lienne the sutler died that night of injuries. He went in his sleep and left no will."
"Heimann Rosso, the centurion who'd been sheltered by the count, was betrayed and arrested. He passed in the dungeon in fine form and was always worried about you."
And then, the last piece of paper.
"In the town of Miligua in the Nacculi diocese, in the month of Saint Rafenne, executed by hanging. A last message for you was 'I'll see the angel before you...'"
The last page was badly crumpled, and there was more written, but it was so thoroughly blurred that it was not legible.
Lawrence stood there silently, and when he finally spoke, it was a simple, low "Ah" of understanding.
Young but trusted by nobility. Used to hard physical labor. Bold and fearless as a mountain bandit. And for all that, still graceful and refined.
Kieman had said she was a silversmith born on the battlefield. Fran herself had told Hugues she had been a slave—and those two meanings now connected.

Output:
Given all that, Fran's reason for seeking out the legend of the angel must have naturally changed. The last piece of paper was wrinkled, the writing blurred—and it pointed to one thing.
The dear friend of whom Fran had spoken had been the centurion that was hung.
He had only to recall the legend of the angel. The doors to the heavens were flung open, and the angel ascended.
He had been looking for a special meaning in those words, but all that was needed were the words themselves.
There were countless stories of the misery that was life in the latter days of a mercenary troop. For Fran to have lived through it meant she passed through that hell. The words "from this far-off land" betrayed that much.
And it was just as Hugues had said. Those with teeth and claws are the first to die.
The troop chaplain could do nothing but pray. And since prayers did nothing to stop a sword, they were spared participation in battle.
And so Fran had lived.
"Come, you."
Holo's words brought Lawrence out of his reverie, but she said nothing more.
"Sorry."
She could probably guess what he was going to say next just by his expression. A wind blew from downriver, skimming along the surface of the waning flow, through the space between Lawrence and Holo and up into the forest, taking some snow with it as it went.
"Can we not help her?" Lawrence said simply.
Instead of replying, Holo held out her hand as if asking for the scripture book.
"So?" she said, looking up after she finished reading the letters and the scriptures.
She might not have worked out the details, but she probably understood the larger plan. After all, Col had expressed his own opinion for once and had gone chasing after Fran. That alone was not something they could ignore.
"I know all I've got is my cheap sympathy."
"So why, then?"
Lawrence smiled in response, but not because he was trying to fake it. What he had to say was simply embarrassing.
Holo glared at him dubiously and grabbed his ear. But Lawrence's smile remained. His thoughts were just that foolish.
"I was just thinking that it would be nice if the world were a gentler place."
Holo did not let him go.
Lawrence's eyes remained on her.
"I was thinking how lovely it would be if things would go just a little more smoothly. How nice it would be to get past reality and common sense. Something like that."
Fran's mercenary troop had been unable to avoid reality. Fran had lived on, and Lawrence could not imagine that she truly believed she could find the miracle that had so eluded her comrades.
A water mill would be constructed, and if her luck was bad, Fran would be killed. And even if things did not go that way, comparing those who had died to those who had lived still showed the truth of the world. Any child who had been beaten for misbehaving knew that much.
But Katerina had contented herself with being called a witch, with being reviled, abiding in that cottage with nothing but her faith, all to glimpse a legend that common sense dictated she would surely not see.
She concerned herself with neither cheap sympathy nor false miracles.
The world had its kinder moments. That was what she had believed.
"You truly are a fool." Holo made a baffled face and sighed a deep sigh. She let go of his ear as though she could no longer stand to go along with such a fool. But with her other hand, she curled her little finger around Lawrence's ring finger. "You know the world really isn't that happy a place?"
Holo was a wisewolf. She could see right through the silly notions of her companion.
"I know. Still—"
"Still, what?"
If he answered wrongly, she might leave him right then and there—or so he would have thought until quite recently.
Lawrence took Holo's hand and drew her close. "Don't you want to help this stubborn girl, with her painful past and a goal she can't give up?"
Holo bared her fangs. They were very white. "If you fail, I won't forgive you."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Given all that, Fran's reason for seeking out the legend of the angel must have naturally changed. The last piece of paper was wrinkled, the writing blurred—and it pointed to one thing.
The dear friend of whom Fran had spoken had been the centurion that was hung.
He had only to recall the legend of the angel. The doors to the heavens were flung open, and the angel ascended.
He had been looking for a special meaning in those words, but all that was needed were the words themselves.
There were countless stories of the misery that was life in the latter days of a mercenary troop. For Fran to have lived through it meant she passed through that hell. The words "from this far-off land" betrayed that much.
And it was just as Hugues had said. Those with teeth and claws are the first to die.
The troop chaplain could do nothing but pray. And since prayers did nothing to stop a sword, they were spared participation in battle.
And so Fran had lived.
"Come, you."
Holo's words brought Lawrence out of his reverie, but she said nothing more.
"Sorry."
She could probably guess what he was going to say next just by his expression. A wind blew from downriver, skimming along the surface of the waning flow, through the space between Lawrence and Holo and up into the forest, taking some snow with it as it went.
"Can we not help her?" Lawrence said simply.
Instead of replying, Holo held out her hand as if asking for the scripture book.
"So?" she said, looking up after she finished reading the letters and the scriptures.
She might not have worked out the details, but she probably understood the larger plan. After all, Col had expressed his own opinion for once and had gone chasing after Fran. That alone was not something they could ignore.
"I know all I've got is my cheap sympathy."
"So why, then?"
Lawrence smiled in response, but not because he was trying to fake it. What he had to say was simply embarrassing.
Holo glared at him dubiously and grabbed his ear. But Lawrence's smile remained. His thoughts were just that foolish.
"I was just thinking that it would be nice if the world were a gentler place."
Holo did not let him go.
Lawrence's eyes remained on her.
"I was thinking how lovely it would be if things would go just a little more smoothly. How nice it would be to get past reality and common sense. Something like that."
Fran's mercenary troop had been unable to avoid reality. Fran had lived on, and Lawrence could not imagine that she truly believed she could find the miracle that had so eluded her comrades.
A water mill would be constructed, and if her luck was bad, Fran would be killed. And even if things did not go that way, comparing those who had died to those who had lived still showed the truth of the world. Any child who had been beaten for misbehaving knew that much.
But Katerina had contented herself with being called a witch, with being reviled, abiding in that cottage with nothing but her faith, all to glimpse a legend that common sense dictated she would surely not see.
She concerned herself with neither cheap sympathy nor false miracles.
The world had its kinder moments. That was what she had believed.
"You truly are a fool." Holo made a baffled face and sighed a deep sigh. She let go of his ear as though she could no longer stand to go along with such a fool. But with her other hand, she curled her little finger around Lawrence's ring finger. "You know the world really isn't that happy a place?"
Holo was a wisewolf. She could see right through the silly notions of her companion.
"I know. Still—"
"Still, what?"
If he answered wrongly, she might leave him right then and there—or so he would have thought until quite recently.
Lawrence took Holo's hand and drew her close. "Don't you want to help this stubborn girl, with her painful past and a goal she can't give up?"
Holo bared her fangs. They were very white. "If you fail, I won't forgive you."

Output:
"But what exactly do you plan to do?" Holo finally gave in and asked as they made their way back to the cottage.
"Nothing too difficult. I'm just going to refer to Katerina as a saint."
"...So you'll sell her?"
"No. Not at all—all I have to say is that we've been employed for the service of confirming her application for canonization."
That implied nothing less than that the powerful figures responsible for canonization decisions were paying attention to this region. If Lawrence and his companions met with an unnatural accident or if mysterious action was taken against the villagers, the landlord would immediately find himself in serious trouble.
"But even the most foolish lord would investigate the matter, especially if he's a coward. Even if she is being considered for canonization, he'll soon discover that we've nothing to do with that. So what would that possibly...?" Holo said but trailed off as she realized.
Her displeased expression was just as Lawrence predicted.
"I did say I needed your help, didn't I?"
"...I thought you meant my knowledge," grumbled Holo, her lips twisted in a sneer. But she said nothing further.
"In the legend of the angel, it's said that there was the howl of a great beast. If you'll lend your help, it'll be simple to put on a show that will prove Katerina's sainthood beyond any doubt."
"Mm."
"The truth is that Katerina's canonization proceedings have stalled. So long as the Church doesn't publicly confirm her sainthood, there will be no financial incentives in the form of valuable holy relics. And if there's nothing of value, how could I sell it?"
"A rather makeshift plan, if you ask me," Holo interjected, unamused.
"You could at least call it 'cunning.'"
Holo sighed, as though to say they were one and the same.
"So all we need to do is tell the landlord as much. As money and faith are intertwined, if rumors start to spread, it won't do him any good, we'll say."
For a landlord trapped between the Church and the pagans, this would constitute a strong argument indeed. He ought to stay as quiet as a well-trained hound.
Of course, there was no telling whether they would be able to hold the landlord off for long. But Lawrence was sure this would buy them enough time.
Enough for Fran to be able to give up on the angel legend, anyway.
"Well, I suppose it's better than turning tail and running away," said Holo, tossing another piece of firewood onto the cottage's hearth.
Katerina Lucci was one step away from being publicly declared a saint by the Church.
Her diary was less a diary than it was a simple record of her daily activities. But that was more than enough to come to understand the person Katerina had been and the circumstances in which she had lived.
She had been consulted by an archbishop whose name was known even to Lawrence, as well as a noblewoman and a wealthy merchant. She spent her days replying to such correspondence, as well as studying topics of concern to the Church and translating the scriptures and copying important documents.
Those activities alone were evidence of a serene and pious life, but in her diary, Katerina had also recorded some of her innermost thoughts.
She had turned over her translation of the scriptures to a bishop upon receiving his request to do so, but when the lending period had ended, he had refused to return it. A book merchant had held her manuscript against her will in exchange for money. The Church council had deemed theology not a subject suitable for women to consider, and she had been forced to write under a false name.
But the greatest revelations were the letters from the many powerful figures who had heard of her reputation and written her for advice. Though the archbishop's letter was phrased in all sorts of complicated religious language, the ridiculous gist was that he was constantly being invited to this or that nobleman's banquet and eating to excess, and he wanted to know what he should do.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"But what exactly do you plan to do?" Holo finally gave in and asked as they made their way back to the cottage.
"Nothing too difficult. I'm just going to refer to Katerina as a saint."
"...So you'll sell her?"
"No. Not at all—all I have to say is that we've been employed for the service of confirming her application for canonization."
That implied nothing less than that the powerful figures responsible for canonization decisions were paying attention to this region. If Lawrence and his companions met with an unnatural accident or if mysterious action was taken against the villagers, the landlord would immediately find himself in serious trouble.
"But even the most foolish lord would investigate the matter, especially if he's a coward. Even if she is being considered for canonization, he'll soon discover that we've nothing to do with that. So what would that possibly...?" Holo said but trailed off as she realized.
Her displeased expression was just as Lawrence predicted.
"I did say I needed your help, didn't I?"
"...I thought you meant my knowledge," grumbled Holo, her lips twisted in a sneer. But she said nothing further.
"In the legend of the angel, it's said that there was the howl of a great beast. If you'll lend your help, it'll be simple to put on a show that will prove Katerina's sainthood beyond any doubt."
"Mm."
"The truth is that Katerina's canonization proceedings have stalled. So long as the Church doesn't publicly confirm her sainthood, there will be no financial incentives in the form of valuable holy relics. And if there's nothing of value, how could I sell it?"
"A rather makeshift plan, if you ask me," Holo interjected, unamused.
"You could at least call it 'cunning.'"
Holo sighed, as though to say they were one and the same.
"So all we need to do is tell the landlord as much. As money and faith are intertwined, if rumors start to spread, it won't do him any good, we'll say."
For a landlord trapped between the Church and the pagans, this would constitute a strong argument indeed. He ought to stay as quiet as a well-trained hound.
Of course, there was no telling whether they would be able to hold the landlord off for long. But Lawrence was sure this would buy them enough time.
Enough for Fran to be able to give up on the angel legend, anyway.
"Well, I suppose it's better than turning tail and running away," said Holo, tossing another piece of firewood onto the cottage's hearth.
Katerina Lucci was one step away from being publicly declared a saint by the Church.
Her diary was less a diary than it was a simple record of her daily activities. But that was more than enough to come to understand the person Katerina had been and the circumstances in which she had lived.
She had been consulted by an archbishop whose name was known even to Lawrence, as well as a noblewoman and a wealthy merchant. She spent her days replying to such correspondence, as well as studying topics of concern to the Church and translating the scriptures and copying important documents.
Those activities alone were evidence of a serene and pious life, but in her diary, Katerina had also recorded some of her innermost thoughts.
She had turned over her translation of the scriptures to a bishop upon receiving his request to do so, but when the lending period had ended, he had refused to return it. A book merchant had held her manuscript against her will in exchange for money. The Church council had deemed theology not a subject suitable for women to consider, and she had been forced to write under a false name.
But the greatest revelations were the letters from the many powerful figures who had heard of her reputation and written her for advice. Though the archbishop's letter was phrased in all sorts of complicated religious language, the ridiculous gist was that he was constantly being invited to this or that nobleman's banquet and eating to excess, and he wanted to know what he should do.

Output:
The wealthy merchant very directly posed the question of exactly how much he would need to give to the poor in order to assure his own entrance into heaven.
Katerina replied seriously and conscientiously to every letter she received, and some of her drafts remained. However, in between her replies to these absurd questions were written short sentences, apparently to herself. Are these trials God has sent to test me? she wondered. They wrung distress from this nun, who was only trying to deepen her faith.
It seemed that the process for canonization had taken place entirely outside of Katerina's participation. She had written many times attempting to decline, but the letters that came back only showed growing support and that sainthood was close.
As Lawrence committed to memory the names and doings of the many powerful people in the letters, he felt progressively worse and worse.
It was written in the diary that a representative of the village had come to her one day and, having explained the circumstances to her, asked for permission to begin calling her a witch.
Katerina had sympathized with the villagers and had agreed, as long as she would be the only one to suffer the consequences. Just as Fran had said, she had lamented the weakness of humans, writing in a tangled and distraught hand.
And then suddenly, the diary became much more diary-like. She wrote of the changing seasons, of her dogs, and later their puppies. When she had to hunt birds, she asked God's forgiveness for doing so. So her diary went.
Meanwhile, letters from nobles continued to come, but no evidence remained of her replies. She had even ceased to write about the condition of the villagers.
Lawrence wondered if she had freed herself of their burdens, realizing that her own faith could not change them, nor could it change the world.
Toward the end, her diary seemed filled with pleasant, joyful things. Lawrence slowly closed it. It was beginning to grow dim outside, and the sun would soon set.
He added a log to the hearth and went past the skin partition into the back room. Holo wanted to check the bookshelves for anything else that might be of use, but upon reaching the room, Holo opened a wooden window there and gazed out of it.
Katerina seemed to be sitting in the chair, and for a moment it seemed that she and Holo were looking out the window together.
"I can see the falls," Holo murmured. "'Tis a good view."
Drawn over by her words, Lawrence stood behind Holo and looked out the window. He could indeed see the waterfall past the trees. Looking opposite the waterfall, there was a small space that seemed to have been plucked free of underbrush and was covered in a layer of snow.
It wasn't hard to imagine it being a flower garden, perhaps.
"She might have just sat down here and closed her eyes for an afternoon nap," said Holo, and she poked Katerina's head very lightly.
One might reasonably conclude from her diary that she had indeed had such a lovely last moment. Lawrence smiled a sad smile, and Holo put her hand to the window. "The wind's gotten cold," she said and closed it tight.
Holo wasn't usually the type to close a window. Perhaps she was scared of continuing their conversation here.
Any conversation carried out in the presence of a body, no matter how happy the memories it might be regarding, would always end up sadly—all the more when the person in question, who had been called a nun, a saint, and both in life and death, was at the mercy of the whims of others.
Once she had closed the window, Holo returned to the room with the hearth. Lawrence followed, but could not help looking back over his shoulder once.
They might call the villagers or the landlord presumptuous, but he, too, was using Katerina's sainthood for his own purposes. But he decided not to think about it and followed after Holo.
A merchant chased profit and only profit. He held that indulgence, that excuse in his heart.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
The wealthy merchant very directly posed the question of exactly how much he would need to give to the poor in order to assure his own entrance into heaven.
Katerina replied seriously and conscientiously to every letter she received, and some of her drafts remained. However, in between her replies to these absurd questions were written short sentences, apparently to herself. Are these trials God has sent to test me? she wondered. They wrung distress from this nun, who was only trying to deepen her faith.
It seemed that the process for canonization had taken place entirely outside of Katerina's participation. She had written many times attempting to decline, but the letters that came back only showed growing support and that sainthood was close.
As Lawrence committed to memory the names and doings of the many powerful people in the letters, he felt progressively worse and worse.
It was written in the diary that a representative of the village had come to her one day and, having explained the circumstances to her, asked for permission to begin calling her a witch.
Katerina had sympathized with the villagers and had agreed, as long as she would be the only one to suffer the consequences. Just as Fran had said, she had lamented the weakness of humans, writing in a tangled and distraught hand.
And then suddenly, the diary became much more diary-like. She wrote of the changing seasons, of her dogs, and later their puppies. When she had to hunt birds, she asked God's forgiveness for doing so. So her diary went.
Meanwhile, letters from nobles continued to come, but no evidence remained of her replies. She had even ceased to write about the condition of the villagers.
Lawrence wondered if she had freed herself of their burdens, realizing that her own faith could not change them, nor could it change the world.
Toward the end, her diary seemed filled with pleasant, joyful things. Lawrence slowly closed it. It was beginning to grow dim outside, and the sun would soon set.
He added a log to the hearth and went past the skin partition into the back room. Holo wanted to check the bookshelves for anything else that might be of use, but upon reaching the room, Holo opened a wooden window there and gazed out of it.
Katerina seemed to be sitting in the chair, and for a moment it seemed that she and Holo were looking out the window together.
"I can see the falls," Holo murmured. "'Tis a good view."
Drawn over by her words, Lawrence stood behind Holo and looked out the window. He could indeed see the waterfall past the trees. Looking opposite the waterfall, there was a small space that seemed to have been plucked free of underbrush and was covered in a layer of snow.
It wasn't hard to imagine it being a flower garden, perhaps.
"She might have just sat down here and closed her eyes for an afternoon nap," said Holo, and she poked Katerina's head very lightly.
One might reasonably conclude from her diary that she had indeed had such a lovely last moment. Lawrence smiled a sad smile, and Holo put her hand to the window. "The wind's gotten cold," she said and closed it tight.
Holo wasn't usually the type to close a window. Perhaps she was scared of continuing their conversation here.
Any conversation carried out in the presence of a body, no matter how happy the memories it might be regarding, would always end up sadly—all the more when the person in question, who had been called a nun, a saint, and both in life and death, was at the mercy of the whims of others.
Once she had closed the window, Holo returned to the room with the hearth. Lawrence followed, but could not help looking back over his shoulder once.
They might call the villagers or the landlord presumptuous, but he, too, was using Katerina's sainthood for his own purposes. But he decided not to think about it and followed after Holo.
A merchant chased profit and only profit. He held that indulgence, that excuse in his heart.

Output:
Fran looked at Col and then back to Lawrence.
In his hand was her past and the present that continued from that past.
Fran's gaze dropped to the floor.
A merchant had to pursue profit at all times.
"You'll be drawing that map for us, then." Lawrence felt he could hear the sound of her fists clenching the fabric of her robe. "We have our own convictions, too, after all."
Fran nodded, still looking down. A droplet of water fell to the floor. "...I understand. I promise." She wiped the corner of her eyes and then looked up. "Thank you."
Lawrence smiled, accepting Fran's thanks, but his gaze was elsewhere.
The embers in the hearth collapsed, sending up a puff of sparks.
Lawrence's eyes were directed outside the cottage. "It's still a bit early for thank-yous."
Fran, having been a chaplain, seemed to understand what he meant. She nodded again and asked him the question directly. "What do you plan to do?"
"As before, you're a silversmith dispatched by the bishop, that should be fine. But as another goal, I'd like to add that we're here to confirm particulars regarding the canonization."
Fran seemed confused for a moment, but she was a clever girl. She soon realized Lawrence's aim and slowly nodded.
"I've no intention of selling Katerina off. Instead, I'll state that her canonization is ongoing, so that the landlord won't give us any trouble."
Fran nodded again and spoke more clearly this time. "Understood." The sound of distant hoofbeats could be heard. Fran wiped her tears again, holding close the bloodstained scripture book she had taken from Lawrence. "Let us go, then."
When she looked up, her face was firm and undaunted, the words she spoke worthy of the girl who had lived on the battlefield.
***
Consider the term high horse.
The old knight was on a literal high horse as he looked down at Lawrence, backlit by torches.
"You're the one they say came from Ruvinheigen?"
Had they decided to run, without Holo's aid they would probably have been caught by these knights somewhere on the road to town. Behind the old knight was a contingent of soldiers mostly comprised of farmers from the area wearing hastily thrown-on leather armor. It would not have been a good idea to attempt to escape into the night with them in pursuit.
From that perspective, waiting in the cottage was the right choice. But it was still unclear whether things would go well or not.
Just as they had discussed, Holo and Col were still in the cottage, with only Lawrence and Fran venturing out.
"That's right," Lawrence replied, and the old knight turned to his soldiers and gestured with his chin.
He had introduced himself as the landlord appointed governor, so Lawrence thought he might produce a document proving as much.
But instead what was thrust at Lawrence was the point of a spear.
"You saw nothing and heard nothing here. Or else you never came at all." If they did not understand his meaning, they did not value their own lives, he seemed to imply.
But if he had planned to kill them, he would not have bothered with a conversation. Lawrence calmly looked up at the governor.
"What's your answer?" The governor's tone did not waver. If they did as ordered, perhaps they would be allowed to leave. And whatever Lawrence and company might tell the Church after that, it would be after the fact. It would not be hard to keep their heads in the sand.
But if they defied the order...
They were in a forest. No one would answer their cries for help.
It did not take a clever merchant to arrive at the obvious course of action.
And yet this is how Lawrence answered.
"We have been sent by the bishop in order to render the legend of the angel in silverwork."
The governor's right eyelid twitched. "And you may tell them you failed in your goal. Ruvinheigen is very far from here. No one will doubt you."
"Yes, that is quite true."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Fran looked at Col and then back to Lawrence.
In his hand was her past and the present that continued from that past.
Fran's gaze dropped to the floor.
A merchant had to pursue profit at all times.
"You'll be drawing that map for us, then." Lawrence felt he could hear the sound of her fists clenching the fabric of her robe. "We have our own convictions, too, after all."
Fran nodded, still looking down. A droplet of water fell to the floor. "...I understand. I promise." She wiped the corner of her eyes and then looked up. "Thank you."
Lawrence smiled, accepting Fran's thanks, but his gaze was elsewhere.
The embers in the hearth collapsed, sending up a puff of sparks.
Lawrence's eyes were directed outside the cottage. "It's still a bit early for thank-yous."
Fran, having been a chaplain, seemed to understand what he meant. She nodded again and asked him the question directly. "What do you plan to do?"
"As before, you're a silversmith dispatched by the bishop, that should be fine. But as another goal, I'd like to add that we're here to confirm particulars regarding the canonization."
Fran seemed confused for a moment, but she was a clever girl. She soon realized Lawrence's aim and slowly nodded.
"I've no intention of selling Katerina off. Instead, I'll state that her canonization is ongoing, so that the landlord won't give us any trouble."
Fran nodded again and spoke more clearly this time. "Understood." The sound of distant hoofbeats could be heard. Fran wiped her tears again, holding close the bloodstained scripture book she had taken from Lawrence. "Let us go, then."
When she looked up, her face was firm and undaunted, the words she spoke worthy of the girl who had lived on the battlefield.
***
Consider the term high horse.
The old knight was on a literal high horse as he looked down at Lawrence, backlit by torches.
"You're the one they say came from Ruvinheigen?"
Had they decided to run, without Holo's aid they would probably have been caught by these knights somewhere on the road to town. Behind the old knight was a contingent of soldiers mostly comprised of farmers from the area wearing hastily thrown-on leather armor. It would not have been a good idea to attempt to escape into the night with them in pursuit.
From that perspective, waiting in the cottage was the right choice. But it was still unclear whether things would go well or not.
Just as they had discussed, Holo and Col were still in the cottage, with only Lawrence and Fran venturing out.
"That's right," Lawrence replied, and the old knight turned to his soldiers and gestured with his chin.
He had introduced himself as the landlord appointed governor, so Lawrence thought he might produce a document proving as much.
But instead what was thrust at Lawrence was the point of a spear.
"You saw nothing and heard nothing here. Or else you never came at all." If they did not understand his meaning, they did not value their own lives, he seemed to imply.
But if he had planned to kill them, he would not have bothered with a conversation. Lawrence calmly looked up at the governor.
"What's your answer?" The governor's tone did not waver. If they did as ordered, perhaps they would be allowed to leave. And whatever Lawrence and company might tell the Church after that, it would be after the fact. It would not be hard to keep their heads in the sand.
But if they defied the order...
They were in a forest. No one would answer their cries for help.
It did not take a clever merchant to arrive at the obvious course of action.
And yet this is how Lawrence answered.
"We have been sent by the bishop in order to render the legend of the angel in silverwork."
The governor's right eyelid twitched. "And you may tell them you failed in your goal. Ruvinheigen is very far from here. No one will doubt you."
"Yes, that is quite true."

Output:
If so, this acting was probably the most this governor was capable of.
"However, that was not our only purpose."
Lawrence could hear the governor draw a sharp breath.
"Do you know who the saint that lies in the cottage behind me is?"
"Saint...?" the governor replied dubiously.
Lawrence continued, "Her name is Katerina Lucci. She earned the trust of many a noble, and her application for canonization has been submitted to the pontiff in the far south. She is a genuine and true saint."
***
Such a mixture of surprise and doubt would render anyone expressionless.
The governor's eyes regarded him, full of worry.
"We've been sent to investigate as part of the canonization process. After all, she was a woman who hated appearing in front of others. For a long time her whereabouts were unknown, but she was finally located, so..."
If this lie was true, nothing would come of silencing Lawrence and his companions now. If the governor or the landlord harmed them, they would be harming their future selves as well.
"However, the honored sister has passed peacefully away. There are many who without a title would treat even God as a cur, a beast, but I know the landlord here understands the way of things. I shall be sure to make note of that in my report. And incidentally..." Lawrence looked the governor evenly in the eyes. "I presume that you will need to consult with your honored lord?"
As though struck by a magic spell that caused time to begin moving again, the governor returned to his senses. He wiped sweat from his brow. His mouth twitched, probably out of his efforts to maintain his facade of authority.
But before words of anger could leave his mouth, a voice sounded from behind him.
"It certainly seems that way."
The old knight looked back over his shoulder as though pulled.
In the center of the hastily assembled troop of farmers turned soldiers were a few proper fighters, and from among them emerged a single man.
He was slender and middle-aged, to whom a high, shrill voice would seem appropriate.
Yet he did have an undeniable aura of command, and it seemed entirely fitting for the governor to dismount from his horse and come to his master's side, though the lord dismissed him.
He approached Lawrence alone, perhaps disliking being petitioned indirectly.
"I am Kirchner Linguid."
Lawrence had not expected the man to introduce himself. Apparently he had no intention of immediately calling Lawrence's claims into question.
Lawrence started to take a knee in a bow, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
"I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild," he said, standing.
"Mm." Linguid nodded, and after heaving a heavy sigh, he continued, "I'll put it to you straight, then. Do you have any proof to support your claims?"
For a lord to dismount and say such a thing immediately proved his hesitation. All the more so given the tough words spoken with a tough attitude.
Lawrence realized that he was a small player in a tight position, just trying to stay alive.
"What might I bring forth as evidence?" Lawrence asked, and for a moment, Linguid was at a loss for words.
He opened his mouth as though angry, either because he thought he was being mocked or simply because of what Lawrence had asked.
"I have heard nothing of this supposed canonization. Something so important should certainly have reached my ears. So speak. Have you proof?"
When a timid man's face went red from anger, you could be certain the rage in his heart had been sparked.
But there was no need to further wound his pride, so Lawrence quickly replied, "This involves many people in various positions. Someone like me isn't provided material proof. But if I might propose an alternative, I could list some of the names of the nobles who've charged me with this duty."


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
If so, this acting was probably the most this governor was capable of.
"However, that was not our only purpose."
Lawrence could hear the governor draw a sharp breath.
"Do you know who the saint that lies in the cottage behind me is?"
"Saint...?" the governor replied dubiously.
Lawrence continued, "Her name is Katerina Lucci. She earned the trust of many a noble, and her application for canonization has been submitted to the pontiff in the far south. She is a genuine and true saint."
***
Such a mixture of surprise and doubt would render anyone expressionless.
The governor's eyes regarded him, full of worry.
"We've been sent to investigate as part of the canonization process. After all, she was a woman who hated appearing in front of others. For a long time her whereabouts were unknown, but she was finally located, so..."
If this lie was true, nothing would come of silencing Lawrence and his companions now. If the governor or the landlord harmed them, they would be harming their future selves as well.
"However, the honored sister has passed peacefully away. There are many who without a title would treat even God as a cur, a beast, but I know the landlord here understands the way of things. I shall be sure to make note of that in my report. And incidentally..." Lawrence looked the governor evenly in the eyes. "I presume that you will need to consult with your honored lord?"
As though struck by a magic spell that caused time to begin moving again, the governor returned to his senses. He wiped sweat from his brow. His mouth twitched, probably out of his efforts to maintain his facade of authority.
But before words of anger could leave his mouth, a voice sounded from behind him.
"It certainly seems that way."
The old knight looked back over his shoulder as though pulled.
In the center of the hastily assembled troop of farmers turned soldiers were a few proper fighters, and from among them emerged a single man.
He was slender and middle-aged, to whom a high, shrill voice would seem appropriate.
Yet he did have an undeniable aura of command, and it seemed entirely fitting for the governor to dismount from his horse and come to his master's side, though the lord dismissed him.
He approached Lawrence alone, perhaps disliking being petitioned indirectly.
"I am Kirchner Linguid."
Lawrence had not expected the man to introduce himself. Apparently he had no intention of immediately calling Lawrence's claims into question.
Lawrence started to take a knee in a bow, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
"I am Kraft Lawrence of the Rowen Trade Guild," he said, standing.
"Mm." Linguid nodded, and after heaving a heavy sigh, he continued, "I'll put it to you straight, then. Do you have any proof to support your claims?"
For a lord to dismount and say such a thing immediately proved his hesitation. All the more so given the tough words spoken with a tough attitude.
Lawrence realized that he was a small player in a tight position, just trying to stay alive.
"What might I bring forth as evidence?" Lawrence asked, and for a moment, Linguid was at a loss for words.
He opened his mouth as though angry, either because he thought he was being mocked or simply because of what Lawrence had asked.
"I have heard nothing of this supposed canonization. Something so important should certainly have reached my ears. So speak. Have you proof?"
When a timid man's face went red from anger, you could be certain the rage in his heart had been sparked.
But there was no need to further wound his pride, so Lawrence quickly replied, "This involves many people in various positions. Someone like me isn't provided material proof. But if I might propose an alternative, I could list some of the names of the nobles who've charged me with this duty."

Output:
Lawrence cleared his throat, opened Katerina's diary in his mind's eye, and spoke.
"Baron Lans of Rien. Sir Marth of Dorenne. Marquis Ivendott of Singhilt. Archbishop Corselio of the Lamann Archdiocese."
Lawrence paused for a moment and watched Linguid's reaction. He seemed to recognize some of the names and stood there mutely. Lawrence continued.
"There's Sirs D'une and Maraffe, and Countess Roez from the Linz duchy. And in Ploania..."
Lawrence was preparing to continue, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
His face was pale with fright.
Lawrence had only listed the names located in the north of Ploania. As someone who had had to deal with the religious conflicts in the area, they would have been names Linguid was familiar with.
And there was one more important thing.
All these nobles had been involved in an important affair regarding his own lands, and yet he had known nothing. It suggested the possibility that he was seen as a pagan power, an enemy of the Church.
If this Lawrence truly had come to confirm a canonization, then doubting the man's word was too dangerous for someone in Linguid's position to risk. It was all he could do to go along with it.
"F-fine, I understand. So...what must I do?"
It would have been a lie to say Lawrence did not feel some pity for the terrified lord, but past that he felt only anger. Merchants were said to be the least scrupulous people in the world, but even as a merchant he found Linguid pathetic.
Lawrence had hoped a landlord would have had a bit more pride, but he did not let the thought show on his face. He merely smiled. "Please, do not worry. You weren't consulted regarding the canonization simply because this region is a complicated one. I understand that you've had trouble governing it."
Linguid was probably twice Lawrence's age, but he nodded like a child. Perhaps he had been born in the wrong place.
"But as you can see, the cottage has been beautifully kept. It's clear to me that you, my lord, are a faithful and pious man. I am sure that when they hear of this, those responsible for managing this matter will be relieved to hear it."
"Th-that's right. I imagine so." He smiled a simpering smile.
Next to Lawrence, Fran made no reaction, either because she simply had that much self-control or else she had seen enough bloodshed on the battlefield and would invite no more.
"But this process being what it is, it must proceed in secret. Can I have your word that you will keep this quiet while the canonization proceeds?"
"...But that's..."
"There are many, many obstacles," said Lawrence, which Linguid gulped at and nodded.
The plan had succeeded.
Once Holo emerged to make doubly sure, none of these men would even think of approaching the forest or the lake.
Lawrence was about to speak the words he had agreed upon with Holo ahead of time. But just then—
"That's her!" called out a voice at this most inopportune moment.
Linguid whirled around, and Lawrence, too, searched for the source of the voice.
What met his gaze was a single soldier carrying a spear. He wore a battered iron helmet and breastplate and was obviously an experienced fighter.
The man took three steps forward. "That's her! That's her!" he said.
Lawrence thought he heard Fran hold her breath.
"What do you mean, 'That's her?'"
"That's her, boss!"
Regardless of how weak a ruler Linguid was, no retainer would dare call him "boss." This man had to be a paid mercenary.
He spat on the snow as he looked at them with dubious eyes. Or more accurately, he looked at Fran.
"It's just as the villagers said!"
"The villagers?" said Linguid, looking doubtfully back at Lawrence and Fran. His eyes seemed to apologize for the rudeness of his hireling, but Lawrence made a reassuring gesture.
"Aye, the villagers were talking about a dark-skinned silversmith, and that's got to be her!"
It seemed that Linguid went stiff, but that was probably a mistake. Because it was Lawrence who froze, and in doing so, his vision shook.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Lawrence cleared his throat, opened Katerina's diary in his mind's eye, and spoke.
"Baron Lans of Rien. Sir Marth of Dorenne. Marquis Ivendott of Singhilt. Archbishop Corselio of the Lamann Archdiocese."
Lawrence paused for a moment and watched Linguid's reaction. He seemed to recognize some of the names and stood there mutely. Lawrence continued.
"There's Sirs D'une and Maraffe, and Countess Roez from the Linz duchy. And in Ploania..."
Lawrence was preparing to continue, but Linguid stopped him with a hand.
His face was pale with fright.
Lawrence had only listed the names located in the north of Ploania. As someone who had had to deal with the religious conflicts in the area, they would have been names Linguid was familiar with.
And there was one more important thing.
All these nobles had been involved in an important affair regarding his own lands, and yet he had known nothing. It suggested the possibility that he was seen as a pagan power, an enemy of the Church.
If this Lawrence truly had come to confirm a canonization, then doubting the man's word was too dangerous for someone in Linguid's position to risk. It was all he could do to go along with it.
"F-fine, I understand. So...what must I do?"
It would have been a lie to say Lawrence did not feel some pity for the terrified lord, but past that he felt only anger. Merchants were said to be the least scrupulous people in the world, but even as a merchant he found Linguid pathetic.
Lawrence had hoped a landlord would have had a bit more pride, but he did not let the thought show on his face. He merely smiled. "Please, do not worry. You weren't consulted regarding the canonization simply because this region is a complicated one. I understand that you've had trouble governing it."
Linguid was probably twice Lawrence's age, but he nodded like a child. Perhaps he had been born in the wrong place.
"But as you can see, the cottage has been beautifully kept. It's clear to me that you, my lord, are a faithful and pious man. I am sure that when they hear of this, those responsible for managing this matter will be relieved to hear it."
"Th-that's right. I imagine so." He smiled a simpering smile.
Next to Lawrence, Fran made no reaction, either because she simply had that much self-control or else she had seen enough bloodshed on the battlefield and would invite no more.
"But this process being what it is, it must proceed in secret. Can I have your word that you will keep this quiet while the canonization proceeds?"
"...But that's..."
"There are many, many obstacles," said Lawrence, which Linguid gulped at and nodded.
The plan had succeeded.
Once Holo emerged to make doubly sure, none of these men would even think of approaching the forest or the lake.
Lawrence was about to speak the words he had agreed upon with Holo ahead of time. But just then—
"That's her!" called out a voice at this most inopportune moment.
Linguid whirled around, and Lawrence, too, searched for the source of the voice.
What met his gaze was a single soldier carrying a spear. He wore a battered iron helmet and breastplate and was obviously an experienced fighter.
The man took three steps forward. "That's her! That's her!" he said.
Lawrence thought he heard Fran hold her breath.
"What do you mean, 'That's her?'"
"That's her, boss!"
Regardless of how weak a ruler Linguid was, no retainer would dare call him "boss." This man had to be a paid mercenary.
He spat on the snow as he looked at them with dubious eyes. Or more accurately, he looked at Fran.
"It's just as the villagers said!"
"The villagers?" said Linguid, looking doubtfully back at Lawrence and Fran. His eyes seemed to apologize for the rudeness of his hireling, but Lawrence made a reassuring gesture.
"Aye, the villagers were talking about a dark-skinned silversmith, and that's got to be her!"
It seemed that Linguid went stiff, but that was probably a mistake. Because it was Lawrence who froze, and in doing so, his vision shook.

Output:
At Linguid's words the man spat again and smiled a thin smile. "I know there's nothing so absurd as the idea that these two are from the Church."
Linguid turned back to Lawrence and Fran, openly looking at one, then the other. He was not trying to gauge their mood, but rather their reactions.
"Don't let 'em lie to you, boss! That tanned silversmith is named Fran Vonely, the black priestess of the Scarlet Hawk mercenary band!"
The man advanced without hesitation. He pointed the iron-tipped, battle-worn spear directly at Fran. "She was the chaplain of the Kirjavainen mercenary troop, which made a bit of a name for itself in Ploania. My own band's got them to thank for quite a bit. They got my friend of twenty years in Kardin Gorge."
Linguid practically jumped back from Lawrence.
If the world of the nobility was a small one, the world of mercenaries that were paid to fight for them was a small one as well. Could they escape from this? Even if he said nothing, if they went through Katerina's things, there would be nothing left to do.
"They made important enemies left and right, and finally their leader was hung on suspicion of being a pagan. No matter how you reckon it, there's no way she'd turn into a friend of the Church."
"I-is this true?!" said Linguid, his voice sounding like a strangled chicken.
The man looked askance at Linguid's irritating voice and then hefted his spear threateningly. "Just ask her yourself." He grinned and not only because he had probably earned himself a bonus.
His eyes burned for revenge—no—for the chance to kill someone strong, someone whose glory was in the past.
"S-so? Is this true?" Linguid demanded as he looked at Fran.
Fran looked down and said nothing. There was no evading this. Fran's appearance and characteristics were unmistakable.
Lawrence directed his gaze at the cottage, then spoke.
"I'm sure the angel knows the truth."
"Wh-what? What do you..." Mean, Linguid was going to finish, but he didn't get the chance.
Fran swatted away the spear that was pointed at her like it was a fly.
Lawrence was just as impressed as anyone. It was easy enough to describe, but with a spearpoint at one's belly, actually doing it was not nearly so easy. It took either long experience or else a deep and abiding faith greater than any fear.
Fran took a step forward, and Linguid staggered back, perhaps able to feel the implacable something within her.
She took two steps forward, and Linguid took three back, and the man whose spear she had slapped away again pointed it at her.
"Fran Vonely, aren't you?"
Instead of answering him, she removed her hood. "And if I say I'm not?"
Her movement when pushing the spear aside and walking forward had been so natural that the man had not been able to react immediately. Fran looked back at him and smiled.
"The villagers called this faithful nun a witch simply for their own meager profit. And now these sly nobles are paying their gold to have her dubbed a saint, this time for profits far vaster. And here, this landlord would destroy all trace of her just to build a water mill to satisfy his own piddling avarice. What do you think of this—of all of this?"
The man seemed not to understand what was being said, and Linguid looked at her as though she were God herself, here to deal divine justice.
Fran very distinctly smiled and then looked at Lawrence. He had no idea what she was trying to do.
He did know that very soon Holo would appear atop the waterfall, there to terrify all present. Lawrence considered that and decided to try to stop Fran.
But he was not in time—perhaps it was Katerina's power.
"My name is Fran Vonely. Am I a saint? Or am I a witch?" She was directing her hellish sermon to the farmers from the village, most of whom had been rounded up for this duty. She projected her voice with perfect clarity. "You all know what the right thing was."
The murmur that arose was the sound of all assembled swallowing nervously.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
At Linguid's words the man spat again and smiled a thin smile. "I know there's nothing so absurd as the idea that these two are from the Church."
Linguid turned back to Lawrence and Fran, openly looking at one, then the other. He was not trying to gauge their mood, but rather their reactions.
"Don't let 'em lie to you, boss! That tanned silversmith is named Fran Vonely, the black priestess of the Scarlet Hawk mercenary band!"
The man advanced without hesitation. He pointed the iron-tipped, battle-worn spear directly at Fran. "She was the chaplain of the Kirjavainen mercenary troop, which made a bit of a name for itself in Ploania. My own band's got them to thank for quite a bit. They got my friend of twenty years in Kardin Gorge."
Linguid practically jumped back from Lawrence.
If the world of the nobility was a small one, the world of mercenaries that were paid to fight for them was a small one as well. Could they escape from this? Even if he said nothing, if they went through Katerina's things, there would be nothing left to do.
"They made important enemies left and right, and finally their leader was hung on suspicion of being a pagan. No matter how you reckon it, there's no way she'd turn into a friend of the Church."
"I-is this true?!" said Linguid, his voice sounding like a strangled chicken.
The man looked askance at Linguid's irritating voice and then hefted his spear threateningly. "Just ask her yourself." He grinned and not only because he had probably earned himself a bonus.
His eyes burned for revenge—no—for the chance to kill someone strong, someone whose glory was in the past.
"S-so? Is this true?" Linguid demanded as he looked at Fran.
Fran looked down and said nothing. There was no evading this. Fran's appearance and characteristics were unmistakable.
Lawrence directed his gaze at the cottage, then spoke.
"I'm sure the angel knows the truth."
"Wh-what? What do you..." Mean, Linguid was going to finish, but he didn't get the chance.
Fran swatted away the spear that was pointed at her like it was a fly.
Lawrence was just as impressed as anyone. It was easy enough to describe, but with a spearpoint at one's belly, actually doing it was not nearly so easy. It took either long experience or else a deep and abiding faith greater than any fear.
Fran took a step forward, and Linguid staggered back, perhaps able to feel the implacable something within her.
She took two steps forward, and Linguid took three back, and the man whose spear she had slapped away again pointed it at her.
"Fran Vonely, aren't you?"
Instead of answering him, she removed her hood. "And if I say I'm not?"
Her movement when pushing the spear aside and walking forward had been so natural that the man had not been able to react immediately. Fran looked back at him and smiled.
"The villagers called this faithful nun a witch simply for their own meager profit. And now these sly nobles are paying their gold to have her dubbed a saint, this time for profits far vaster. And here, this landlord would destroy all trace of her just to build a water mill to satisfy his own piddling avarice. What do you think of this—of all of this?"
The man seemed not to understand what was being said, and Linguid looked at her as though she were God herself, here to deal divine justice.
Fran very distinctly smiled and then looked at Lawrence. He had no idea what she was trying to do.
He did know that very soon Holo would appear atop the waterfall, there to terrify all present. Lawrence considered that and decided to try to stop Fran.
But he was not in time—perhaps it was Katerina's power.
"My name is Fran Vonely. Am I a saint? Or am I a witch?" She was directing her hellish sermon to the farmers from the village, most of whom had been rounded up for this duty. She projected her voice with perfect clarity. "You all know what the right thing was."
The murmur that arose was the sound of all assembled swallowing nervously.

Output:
"You'll know for certain when you do. After all, the angel is always watching."
There was a sound like a whistling wind—it was the sound of the man thrusting his spear without so much as a word.
He scattered the snow and cleaved the air, trying to pierce Fran.
The speed of the movements was far beyond anything Lawrence the traveling merchant could hope to stop. Very clearly, he saw the tip of the spear sink into Fran's side.
"You witch!" the man screamed, pulling the spear back and preparing for another thrust.
"Stop—!" Lawrence shouted, trying to leap at the man, but he was too late.
But the spear only grazed the top of Fran's shoulder, slicing her robe.
This was no miracle. A loosed arrow went into and back out of the man's right leg.
"—Ngh!"
The man crumpled to the snowy ground, looking at his leg in disbelief, at a total loss for words. It was one of the villagers that had loosed the arrow—a hunter, by the look of him. Faces were full of fear, breathing ragged, rough.
Everyone feared death. But Fran had sparked that fear anew.
"Protect the saint!" someone shouted.
A skirmish began immediately, and it was unclear who was an ally and who an enemy.
Chaplains had nothing but words to wield on the plain of battle. Just as they could give courage to those whose legs were weak with fear, they could comfort those whose death was nigh.
There were many here who feared divine punishment for having gathered around Katerina's cottage to harm the forest and lake where the angel's legend lingered. And true to her reputation as the black priestess, Fran had controlled them with her words.
Though her left flank was soaked in red, her expression had not changed, and she faced the landlord and spoke. "See for yourself what the truth is."
Lawrence thought Linguid was about to nod, but he just fell right on his backside. Such was the force of Fran's character.
Fran turned on her heel and began to walk.
"Wh-where are you—" Lawrence knew it was a foolish question, but he was unable to stop himself from asking.
Enough blood was seeping from the wound in her side that she stained the snow red with every step. She neither turned around nor stopped, but she did answer: "To see the angel myself."
Lawrence could not clearly hear her over the clamor of the fighting, but he understood what she meant. More than anything else, he felt the power of the faith that fairly radiated from her back.
At this late hour, it was neither hope nor delusion but pure conviction that drove her to bear witness.
He took an unthinking step, reaching out and putting his hand on his shoulder, but not to carry her back to the cottage and bandage her wound.
"Do you hear it?" Fran asked. Her voice was weak, perhaps from blood loss, and thanks to the noise around them, Lawrence asked her to repeat herself.
"It's the howl of a beast."
Lawrence shivered. He looked over his shoulder, knowing exactly what her words pointed to.
With animalistic roars, the men fought. Whatever their goal had been, they swung swords and spilled blood. Questions of Church or pagan were meaningless; they were each of them beasts, fighting only to preserve their own lives.
The sound, their voices, combined in a bestial roar, mixing and echoing into the sky.
But why had Fran mentioned it? Was it to mock them? Out of contempt? Or a cold laugh at this, the true nature of the world?
As Lawrence held Fran up and helped her walk, he finally realized. He had not imagined it. And it certainly had not been Holo. He recognized the sound. It reached his ears, a low howl: Oooooooooo.
At that moment, Lawrence remembered what Holo had said, that the lake was surrounded by mountains like a bowl. That the human notion of the mountains answering a shouted call was the product of their foolishness, she had said.
And then he remembered what Fran had told him in the cottage—that the water could overflow and powerfully.
Those two were the keys.
Lawrence looked up.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
"You'll know for certain when you do. After all, the angel is always watching."
There was a sound like a whistling wind—it was the sound of the man thrusting his spear without so much as a word.
He scattered the snow and cleaved the air, trying to pierce Fran.
The speed of the movements was far beyond anything Lawrence the traveling merchant could hope to stop. Very clearly, he saw the tip of the spear sink into Fran's side.
"You witch!" the man screamed, pulling the spear back and preparing for another thrust.
"Stop—!" Lawrence shouted, trying to leap at the man, but he was too late.
But the spear only grazed the top of Fran's shoulder, slicing her robe.
This was no miracle. A loosed arrow went into and back out of the man's right leg.
"—Ngh!"
The man crumpled to the snowy ground, looking at his leg in disbelief, at a total loss for words. It was one of the villagers that had loosed the arrow—a hunter, by the look of him. Faces were full of fear, breathing ragged, rough.
Everyone feared death. But Fran had sparked that fear anew.
"Protect the saint!" someone shouted.
A skirmish began immediately, and it was unclear who was an ally and who an enemy.
Chaplains had nothing but words to wield on the plain of battle. Just as they could give courage to those whose legs were weak with fear, they could comfort those whose death was nigh.
There were many here who feared divine punishment for having gathered around Katerina's cottage to harm the forest and lake where the angel's legend lingered. And true to her reputation as the black priestess, Fran had controlled them with her words.
Though her left flank was soaked in red, her expression had not changed, and she faced the landlord and spoke. "See for yourself what the truth is."
Lawrence thought Linguid was about to nod, but he just fell right on his backside. Such was the force of Fran's character.
Fran turned on her heel and began to walk.
"Wh-where are you—" Lawrence knew it was a foolish question, but he was unable to stop himself from asking.
Enough blood was seeping from the wound in her side that she stained the snow red with every step. She neither turned around nor stopped, but she did answer: "To see the angel myself."
Lawrence could not clearly hear her over the clamor of the fighting, but he understood what she meant. More than anything else, he felt the power of the faith that fairly radiated from her back.
At this late hour, it was neither hope nor delusion but pure conviction that drove her to bear witness.
He took an unthinking step, reaching out and putting his hand on his shoulder, but not to carry her back to the cottage and bandage her wound.
"Do you hear it?" Fran asked. Her voice was weak, perhaps from blood loss, and thanks to the noise around them, Lawrence asked her to repeat herself.
"It's the howl of a beast."
Lawrence shivered. He looked over his shoulder, knowing exactly what her words pointed to.
With animalistic roars, the men fought. Whatever their goal had been, they swung swords and spilled blood. Questions of Church or pagan were meaningless; they were each of them beasts, fighting only to preserve their own lives.
The sound, their voices, combined in a bestial roar, mixing and echoing into the sky.
But why had Fran mentioned it? Was it to mock them? Out of contempt? Or a cold laugh at this, the true nature of the world?
As Lawrence held Fran up and helped her walk, he finally realized. He had not imagined it. And it certainly had not been Holo. He recognized the sound. It reached his ears, a low howl: Oooooooooo.
At that moment, Lawrence remembered what Holo had said, that the lake was surrounded by mountains like a bowl. That the human notion of the mountains answering a shouted call was the product of their foolishness, she had said.
And then he remembered what Fran had told him in the cottage—that the water could overflow and powerfully.
Those two were the keys.
Lawrence looked up.

Output:
Their eyes met; Lawrence nodded.
Holo leapt up atop the waterfall.
And howled.
The very air shook, the branches of the trees swayed, the surface of the water rippled.
Fran had told the landlord to see for himself what the truth was.
But the sight of Holo at the top of the falls, teeth bared as she bore up the moon and howled a long, long howl, was a sight both divinely awesome and monstrously terrifying.
Even Fran was rendered speechless.
Would the outcome be good or ill? Holo herself had been dubious and unwilling to emerge. But Lawrence had faith and convinced her that things would go well.
And here was the evidence. Her howl echoed across the landscape like a vast bell struck by a mallet.
Fran stiffened, and in the midst of all that, she murmured something.
"...It's coming."
Just as the howl subsided—
All Lawrence could hear were the breaths taken by the men, each frozen in place by Holo's gaze as she looked down imperiously at them all.
And then it reached their ears—the low, low rumble. The distant sound of an advancing army. The sound of heaven's footsteps.
Most lost their nerve and began to look around desperately.
The sound soon subsided.
And then nothing happened, and there was silence.
Someone pointed up at the waterfall. "H-hey, the monster, it's gone!"
"Did we really see anything...?" another murmured.
Lawrence knew they had, and Holo had not hidden herself to try to make them think otherwise. She had just perfectly guessed what Lawrence and Fran would do.
One of the soldiers called out. "The waterfall!"
With those words, the water of the fall slowed to a trickle. And then, an instant later, the trickle disappeared into a great wave.
The wave surged, swallowing everything in its path, then crashed into the rock at the tip of the waterfall that divided its flow in half, spraying into the night sky as though to wash the moon itself clean.
What happened next was impossible to explain to anyone.
The divided force of the wave caused great twin sprays of droplets to jump into the air, glittering whitely.
And it was so cold.
The spray turned to ice, illuminated by the moonlight.
The great volume of water falling into the splash pool made a peculiar sound, like the beating of great wings.
Blown by the wind, the frozen spray flew into the sky.
This was the legend of the angel.
"...Miss Fran!" Lawrence could not help but call out her name, holding her as she fell to her knees. Her face was peaceful, but her eyes were fixed elsewhere—somewhere far, far away.
Fran slowly reached her hand out and spoke one word. "Beautiful..."
Those of the men who saw their own ugliness threw down their weapons and fled. Others fell to their knees, ashamed at their own faithlessness.
And the only one among them with true conviction turned her face to the sky, reaching for the beauty there.
The angel ascended to the heavens.
Droplets of ice glittered in the hem of the moonlight.
***
"And then what happened?!"
Hugues's large body pressed in close, and Lawrence shrunk back in spite of himself. He pushed the man back with his hand, which made the art seller seem to come to his senses.
Hugues sat back down in his chair, and fidgeting with his clothes, he repeated the question. "So, then what happened?"
"And then the village accepted the legend of the angel as true and most definitely came to believe in Katerina's sainthood. So that was that. However..." Lawrence sipped the mulled wine he had been offered before continuing. "...Neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well claim they saw both an angel and a monster, so they've decided to pretend to the rest of the world as though the whole thing never happened."
"Ah, I see...I see." Hugues leaned back in his chair like a boy listening to an adventure tale. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Heaving a heavy sigh, he seemed finally at ease.
"You seemed calmer when we actually returned," teased Lawrence, which Hugues opened his eyes at and laughed.


Instruction: Given first part of the popular LightNovel spice and wolf as input, continue the story the best you can.

Input:
Their eyes met; Lawrence nodded.
Holo leapt up atop the waterfall.
And howled.
The very air shook, the branches of the trees swayed, the surface of the water rippled.
Fran had told the landlord to see for himself what the truth was.
But the sight of Holo at the top of the falls, teeth bared as she bore up the moon and howled a long, long howl, was a sight both divinely awesome and monstrously terrifying.
Even Fran was rendered speechless.
Would the outcome be good or ill? Holo herself had been dubious and unwilling to emerge. But Lawrence had faith and convinced her that things would go well.
And here was the evidence. Her howl echoed across the landscape like a vast bell struck by a mallet.
Fran stiffened, and in the midst of all that, she murmured something.
"...It's coming."
Just as the howl subsided—
All Lawrence could hear were the breaths taken by the men, each frozen in place by Holo's gaze as she looked down imperiously at them all.
And then it reached their ears—the low, low rumble. The distant sound of an advancing army. The sound of heaven's footsteps.
Most lost their nerve and began to look around desperately.
The sound soon subsided.
And then nothing happened, and there was silence.
Someone pointed up at the waterfall. "H-hey, the monster, it's gone!"
"Did we really see anything...?" another murmured.
Lawrence knew they had, and Holo had not hidden herself to try to make them think otherwise. She had just perfectly guessed what Lawrence and Fran would do.
One of the soldiers called out. "The waterfall!"
With those words, the water of the fall slowed to a trickle. And then, an instant later, the trickle disappeared into a great wave.
The wave surged, swallowing everything in its path, then crashed into the rock at the tip of the waterfall that divided its flow in half, spraying into the night sky as though to wash the moon itself clean.
What happened next was impossible to explain to anyone.
The divided force of the wave caused great twin sprays of droplets to jump into the air, glittering whitely.
And it was so cold.
The spray turned to ice, illuminated by the moonlight.
The great volume of water falling into the splash pool made a peculiar sound, like the beating of great wings.
Blown by the wind, the frozen spray flew into the sky.
This was the legend of the angel.
"...Miss Fran!" Lawrence could not help but call out her name, holding her as she fell to her knees. Her face was peaceful, but her eyes were fixed elsewhere—somewhere far, far away.
Fran slowly reached her hand out and spoke one word. "Beautiful..."
Those of the men who saw their own ugliness threw down their weapons and fled. Others fell to their knees, ashamed at their own faithlessness.
And the only one among them with true conviction turned her face to the sky, reaching for the beauty there.
The angel ascended to the heavens.
Droplets of ice glittered in the hem of the moonlight.
***
"And then what happened?!"
Hugues's large body pressed in close, and Lawrence shrunk back in spite of himself. He pushed the man back with his hand, which made the art seller seem to come to his senses.
Hugues sat back down in his chair, and fidgeting with his clothes, he repeated the question. "So, then what happened?"
"And then the village accepted the legend of the angel as true and most definitely came to believe in Katerina's sainthood. So that was that. However..." Lawrence sipped the mulled wine he had been offered before continuing. "...Neither the villagers nor the landlord can very well claim they saw both an angel and a monster, so they've decided to pretend to the rest of the world as though the whole thing never happened."
"Ah, I see...I see." Hugues leaned back in his chair like a boy listening to an adventure tale. He looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Heaving a heavy sigh, he seemed finally at ease.
"You seemed calmer when we actually returned," teased Lawrence, which Hugues opened his eyes at and laughed.

Output:
In point of fact, in Taussig the hunters and mountain men had put forth an all-out effort to tend to Fran's wounds. The reason they had returned before she was fully healed was that the villagers would not stop fussing over her. Holo, who so hated being worshipped as a god, was delighted to discover someone who loathed attention as much as she did.
It had been three days since they had taken Fran and put the village of Taussig behind them. They had arrived in Kerube the previous night and had all immediately made for their beds—save Lawrence, who Hugues dragged downstairs to explain the events in Taussig.
"But what was behind the angel legend after all?"
Lawrence popped a piece of honeyed fruit into his mouth before answering. "An avalanche."
"An avalanche?" Hugues repeated, stunned.
"That's right. A huge volume of snow from the mountainside slid into the lake, making a gigantic wave that crashed into the waterfall. The sound of the heavenly army's march was actually the sound of rushing snow."
"S-so then, what about the beast's howl?"
On this point, Lawrence himself was not entirely certain. But of all the possibilities, he chose the most likely one. "That was how it sounded after bouncing off of the lake. An echo, you see. This time it came from the sound of the men fighting. I'm sure sometime in the distant past there was some similar disturbance that caused it."
Of course, the climax had been Holo's voice, he added.
It made an amusingly good story, though—the sound of a battle calling down an angel. Going by Fran's guess, it might have originally been the sound of a strong wind echoing off the mountain that first caused the avalanche.
Yet given his way, Lawrence liked the first story better.
"The world certainly is full of wonders."
"That's certain enough," said Lawrence with a rueful grin, and Hugues's shoulders shook with mirth.
"Still, if everything's settled now, perhaps I ought to visit Taussig myself sometime. Though I doubt I'll be as brave or bold as Miss Holo," Hugues joked.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
The question of who it would be at this late hour was soon answered.
Hugues stood from his chair with a chastened grin and walked over to the door.
Unlike the wilderness where you could sleep where you liked and make noise where you liked, within the town walls there were rules regarding the hours when candles could be kept burning. With buildings raised so close to one another, a stray flame left burning in one could easily set another alight.
It seemed the town guard had noticed the light coming from the candle on the table.
"Well, then, I'll take my leave," said Lawrence to Hugues's back as he stood up. If he waited for Hugues to return, he had the distinct impression that they would simply move to another room where he would be pressed for more stories, so he decided to make his retreat while he could.
He took his cup of mulled wine with him and climbed the stairs.
The steps creaked under his weight, and he followed the handrail to their room.
From the entrance, it looked like a small and rather poor building, but farther inside it became clear that it was a perfectly respectable four-story trading company.
Normally in trading companies, the higher in the building you were, the lower your status, so Lawrence and his companions being housed on the second floor was proof of Hugues's respect for them.
Making his way to the room where Holo and Col were sleeping, Lawrence noticed a sliver of light leaking into the hallway.
It was standard for burglars to enter from the second floor.
Lawrence peeked into the half-open door and saw that it was Fran's room.
"Yes?" His peek was immediately noticed.
She was human but well used to traveling alone and a world apart from a mere town girl.
"I saw the light and thought there might be a burglar."