Books.
It was a book.
It was always books that connected the will.
Throughout history, many tyrants have tried to destroy books. Even the words burning books, vibrio coast, refer only to burning books.
But none has succeeded.
The books were burned, turned to ashes, and fell, but did not vanish.
Someone held him in his pocket and saved him from the flame.
Someone buried it in the garden and escaped the tyrant's eyes.
Someone pushed it into the unreliable memory and took it out after the flames were blown out.
Books have always been with brave and passionate rebels and have fought tyrants.
Books are still fighting today. He continues to fight the greatest and most powerful tyrant that began with the birth of history or with the birth of the book.
The name of a merciless, hard-working tyrant who keeps watching the book and constantly tries to erase it is called time.
Yes, the books are still fighting to keep them from being erased by the brutality of time.
It was only yesterday that I, too, aspired to participate in this magnificent, noble, glorious, noisy, quiet and, above all, heartfelt battle.
My name is Ash.
He's an eight-year-old boy with something that looks like he remembered in his previous life.
"Let me read the book!
Dorne and the temple church opened the door, and I opened my heart.
I haven't heard back. The church, lined with lousy chairs, is filled with dust.
After all, it seems that the priest Folke is lurking into his private room in the back.
That's not impossible either. The church is originally a religious institution that holds festivals in the village, and at the same time, it is an educational facility for carrying out some educational activities in the village.
So it seems that the temple church.
Poor chairs are for coronation attendees to sit on and for villagers to come and study when they find time.
But this countryside where I was born is a country without question.
There is no family register, but I know that there are only about 100 villagers.
Now, is there a spare villager in such a limiting settlement?
The village's civilization is similar to that of the Middle Dark Ages. There is no internal combustion engine. All manpower. Horsepower was there before, but not now.
The only farming horse in the village died two years ago and ate after holding a funeral at this shrine church.
That was a yakiniku party called a funeral.
I want to eat again. I'm hungry.
…………
Let's get back to the question. There are no farming tractors, no farming horses, no farming cattle, there are no free villagers in desperate settlements about what chemical fertilizers are.
Needless to say, no. Every day the villagers go round and round.
I am an eight-year-old and a fine workforce. Although there is little heavy labor on the boulders, they remove weeds and stones from the fields, fish for wild vegetables in shallow areas of the forest, and fish harvesting in the river.
In previous generations, I remember hearing the story that boys and girls are modern inventions and that they can only be born under a rich social system.
In other words, it seems that the "working but not working" period between toddlers (non-labor force) and adults (labor force) is the concept of boys and girls.
In other words, there are no boys and girls in this village as a labor concept. Boys and girls are just half the workforce.
As a result, the priest Folke, who has been assigned to this shrine church, does not currently exist in this village.
In the village chief's house, educational time is exceptionally set aside for children. I don't know. It is the village chief's family who talks to the tax collector. If you can't read and write calculations, the whole village will be in trouble.
Well, actually, it's also famous for its innocence. The idea is that when necessary, a priest should be present with the village chief to advise.
One year after the arrival of Father Folke, the man he educated was zero.
No, I should say it was zero.
I'm the only one here who's come to beg for a lesson.
"Father Folke, Father Folke! It's Ash from David's house! I haven't heard back from you, but I'm sorry!
Behind the cathedral where the idols and chairs are placed, the priest politely knocks on the door of the private room where he lives, then pushes open with passionate rudeness.
There is a small, less than necessary room.
In the room, a man standing on a cramped desk scratches his long, disturbed hair and looks at me.
"What is it, Ga 'Son of David's?"
"Yes, it's Ash, the kid from David's house! You look terrible, Father Volke!
The bear under his eyes is terrible, even if he stays up all night. Very thin and disfigured, so you don't look like a priest.
Sometimes all around the village, they secretly call it a priest of the dead. A normal eight-year-old looks like a dream.
The Reverend raised his eyebrows as if he had been damaged by my vibrant voice.
"What do you want? And keep your voice down, my head hurts."
"Excuse me, there was a little too much momentum. I need you to read a book."
"Book?"
Father Volke looks at the shelf behind him and snorts his nose. As a result, the dust accumulated on the shelf jumps up.
"What should I do when I read a book? In a village with nothing like this."
In a poor village, you want to say that books are useless. Father Volke, who had a selfish smile, certainly looked like a widow.
A lonely widow who guards the tomb of the bookshelf.
It seems that we cannot reach the book unless we persuade him.
"That's right. I'll enjoy it for now."
The late priest leaned against the tired face.
What are you talking about, man?
"What are you talking about! It's a book, a book! It's supposed to be fun! If you don't have time to have fun and enjoy it without thinking about it, you can't do it, this world is too spicy!
It is not unusual for me to know a wealthy life with memories like the previous life.
Probably ten times as hard as others. How many times have I tried to throw myself at you? Even if you are already out of your mind, you can be convinced. It's that hard.
But I found out yesterday. I found out when the wife of the village chief's house read me a book of stories with no freaks.
Immerse yourself in the world of books and your heart will heal!
That's true. If reality is hard, we can only enjoy it outside of reality. Specifically, in a fantasy world!
"It's not rational. Does Father Volke need a purpose to eat in his hand when he is hungry and hard? When you drown in the water and have trouble breathing, do you need a purpose to float up to the surface and breathe heavily!
The eight-year-old nods in a hurry at the force.
"Well, eat without thinking, and don't smoke."
"Of course! So you just read and enjoy the book."
I see.
He nodded loudly and reached out to the bookshelf to see if Volke could help.
"No, wait. That's ridiculous."
"That's not funny! What's wrong with you, my son? Where is the pure thought of this book!?
With passion, I stare into the eyes of Father Volke. If you can kill people with your gaze, you can kill them a hundred times. I mean, he's a killer.
Unfortunately, I'm a little crazy right now. Let's just say this isn't a joke, it might be a joke.
Whether that sincere feeling was conveyed or not, Father Volke blushed his even greetings and nodded carefully.
"Okay. Very well.... but can you read letters?
I laughed with my nose at a question I never heard.
"How many people in this village do you think Father Volke can read?"
"Two. Let me in, three of you."
"It fits. Don't you understand?"
"I knew you couldn't read!
I can even read and write letters from the previous life.
Eight years before you were born in this world, you've only seen enough letters to count, so you can't help it.
"It's not a story at all. I don't know where you learned such a grown-up tale, but I'm not going to teach the kid how to read and write."
Oh, that's uncooperative.
Nevertheless, that's what I expected.
Even the rumors in the village, as far as I can see, Father Volke is corrupt.
It doesn't mean bad guys. It seems that this man in his early thirties lost his motivation and livelihood when he was flew from King's Landing, a considerable city, to such a border.
It's like the end of an elite on the left.
I knew that asking such a person for trouble would not work.
"If that's the case, there's no choice. Please lend me a simple book. I won't bother you any more."
"Say it foolishly. Do you know how expensive a book is? What if it gets dirty or sold away?"
"Isn't that good? Nobody will notice if there's not a book left."
In my words, Father Volke once again looks at the shelf and mutters his tongue to the dust that accumulates there without hesitation.
I don't suppose you can deny my words in this completely uncontrolled state of affairs.
"You got the nerve to say that to a priest, kid."
"Nothing like this. The rest of the village won't care how angry Father Volke is. Especially after you get the money to sell the book."
In this village, the value of books is equal to zero.
If I had stolen it, I would have turned a white eye to the theft itself, but no one would care about the book.
If you bribe them, theft itself can be missed. If the value of the book is equal to zero, it's because I got the stone by the street and I got it in my pocket.
Nobody thinks it's a theft.
Don't you think so, Father Folke? I think so.
I smile and look up at Father Volke.
"You fucking kid... are you threatening me?"
I don't want you to look so scared.
I'm not using a rhetoric that might sound intimidating, either.
I just want you to be faithful to the role of educator that the priests of the Temple Church have. You're the one who tried to sabotage the job. We're just asking for legitimate rights in a language that might sound intimidating.
Eight year-olds can tell which one is the bad guy.
"Well, I don't think you can believe I'm not selling it now."
At that time, instead of borrowing and selling, I will steal and sell. I give that meaning to a smile.
"It's just hard to get dirty. I'll be careful, but it can be an accident."
But before Father Folke pinches his mouth, he connects words that are hard to deny.
"In the first place, aren't books really damaged and worn out in the flow of time?
"Well, it certainly hurts the book."
As expected, Father Volke has affirmed my words. If this is the person who has forgotten reason somewhere else in the world, it doesn't work.
I'm really glad that Father Volke is a reasonable man. Expand the other person's words with gratitude.
"That's right. Books are deteriorating. Something that degrades and one day it decays. How many times have these books been read? And how many times will it be read in the future?"
Of course, I don't know, but I'm sure there aren't many.
At least you'll lose its shape before it gets worn out by over-reading.
"Books are meant to be read and damaged by me rather than decaying in dust. Because if I read it, maybe the book will come back to life depending on memory."
I see.
Father Folke nodded several times with his arms as impressed.
"You're such a good mouth kid. Are you really a peasant? Not a merchant?
"I think you already know that....."
I see. Well, I'll give you a book to spare your tongue, so read it carefully for future generations. "
And when the story was about to go well, it seemed that Father Volke returned to me.
"No, wait, wait, wait! That's why you can't read!
Shit, did you notice?
"Dangerous kid, you bastard!
"It's not dangerous at all. You're a safe, helpless, innocent eight-year-old.
It's damaging to my reputation.
I'm not trying to scam you. It may sound like a scam, but this is just persuasion.
"Well, I'm sure I can't read it right now. So lend me a simple book. I'll remember it myself."
"Stupid bastard. If it's that easy to remember, would a priest like me come to this border?"
"Nobody says it's easy to remember. Please lend me a book that contains the holy phrase that Father Volke often says during festivals. Is that the kind of textbook you put together? Is this a sermon? That's good."
Father Folke thinks of something with a face that listens to the con artist's profits. You must be suspicious that I'm setting up another weird trap.
Again, I'm just trying to convince you with rhetoric that might sound like threats, or that might sound like fraud. I haven't done anything like that.
Look into the eyes of this clear eight-year-old and believe me.
I don't know what you're thinking.
That is not good for Lord Volke's eyes. I think it is mainly due to lack of sleep.
"Well, good. If that's the case, I have a copy of it. It won't sell, it won't sell, and it won't be a problem if it gets dirty."
"Oh, thank you! Father Folke, bless God for your deeds!
There was persuasion. After all, a careful dialogue over time is great.
Of course, violence, fraud and intimidation are barbarians' business that cannot be rationally discussed. People and people understand each other.
Grasp the submitted copy with a deep sense of accomplishment. But Father Volke won't grab it and give it to me.
"Thank you again. I will take care of it, so please give it to me with confidence."
Let go of my hand, I'll tell you, you bastard.
"Look, don't do anything weird. Don't make adults angry."
"Strange imitation doesn't have to be threatened, and I'm not going to do it."
Quickly, or let go. This is mine now.
Father Folke finally let go, hesitating so much.
Yes, just give it honestly from the beginning.
Without saying anything to Father Volke's generosity, dryness, or jerkiness, he turns a bunch of paper, rather than books, and traces the words with his gaze that he doesn't understand at all.
Among them, I discover a few of the characters I have seen and ask Father Volke.
"Father Folke, tell me how to read this sentence."
"You said you wouldn't bother me any more if I lent you the book, right?
"Yeah, I made myself clear. Therefore, please move your mouth without using your hands."
Come on, don't be stupid and tell me right away.
If you really tell me this, I won't bother you anymore. How are you today?
According to what Father Folke taught me, the passage reads: "The god of the wolf, the god of the wise monkey, the god of the fierce dragon. It is a holy phrase of prayer that farmers often use instead of priests who say," Give me that great power today. "
As expected. The letters engraved on the three idols enshrined in the shrine church matched the words "Wolf God," "Monkey God," and "Dragon God," and I was able to deduce that from the way the sentences were separated.
Good. This character is a phonetic character, not a semantic character.