Helping with Adventurer Party Management - Chapter 341

The young scribe Kiriku calls in reads the summons and says nonchalantly, “This is an invitation. It’s for nobles and important people.”

At this point, I decide to ask, even if it makes me seem uneducated.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a date listed. How should I respond?”

“Yes, it’s written here. It says it’s when the moon is tilted to the right cheek of God, so it must be seven days later.”

“So… does that mean it’s specified?”

“That’s where your education comes into question. There’s a fable in the sacred texts with that kind of phrasing. My suggestion? Use parchment with the markings removed. The style of the letters is traditional Lhasanian, so I’d recommend using that as well, with a surrounding pattern shaped like seasonal plants to express a welcome. So, this is…”

The scribe’s lecture continues, teaching us various things — typical fables used to specify dates and times, the rank and type of parchment suited for replies, the writing system, and the meanings of decorative patterns.

And so, I come to understand — this is something best left to the experts. That’s what it is.

It may seem strange to someone used to the casual email and letter-writing culture of my original world, but for the upper classes of nobility and clergy, letters are a part of politics. One mistake in a letter could cost someone their political standing.

In my original world, I remember hearing about a famous shrine that caused a major scandal by addressing a letter to His Majesty incorrectly. This feels like a glimpse into that kind of horror.

“How would you respond?” the scribe asks.

“We have no choice but to agree.”

We have no right to refuse.

It would have been better if the invitation had included more details — what kind of setting to expect, whether food or alcohol would be served, or if I could bring a companion or bodyguard.

Although Father Nicolo has summoned me before, it’s always been for personal matters. No formalities were needed for ordinary visits.

“I think they’re trying to promote the sub-captain,” Kiriku offers.

“Promotion?” I repeat, surprised by this unexpected perspective.

“This happened to the Captain,” Kiriku explains. “Once you achieve a certain level of success or become well-known, you’re treated like a rare animal. But if you excel enough, you can gain the respect of the nobles. Even they want to see your face if they’re going to entrust you with an important job.”

In other words, this could be the clergyman’s version of that — trying to present me as Father Nicolo’s right-hand man and align me with his faction.

“I don’t want to get promoted or anything like that…”

Just making shoes and producing pamphlets to help adventurers is enough for a comfortable living, and that’s fine by me.

If I rise too quickly, it’ll only invite trouble — and I know I can’t handle socializing like Jilboa.

“So, how should we respond?”

I can’t help feeling irritated by the scribe’s calm, detached manner as he answers my questions at his own pace, completely ignoring my frustration.