Do ratmen dream of the sacred tree of spirits?

Chapter 67 Enrollment Day

During this holiday, Fafner returned several times to the East Side School for Children of Poor Residents to check on the progress of the school's renovation.

The teachers in the grammar school's logistics department helped them contact a reputable construction team.

Fafnir originally planned to build only one classroom, but Mr. Victor suggested that it could be expanded.

After discussions between the grammar school and the city hall, it was decided to allocate a substantial additional fund for the project.

The current plan for the new building is a two-story building, roughly the size of six classrooms.

As the start of the school year approached, Fafnir arrived at the school for children of the poor ahead of time.

Construction is progressing well; the temporary classroom shed in the backyard has been completed, and the bricklayers have begun building walls with mortar and sandstone.

Fafner was not worried about insufficient funds; the additional funds, plus the forty gold pounds contributed by Mr. Victor and Joël,

He had plenty of funds; he only hoped the new classrooms would be of higher quality.

He wasn't worried about any corruption, after all, this was a project of the Church of the God of Death, and he had also asked the construction team for a detailed expense report.

Even if Mr. Victor couldn't tell the financial data was falsified, Fafnir thought he should be able to, he believed.

……

The day before school started, Fafnir left home an hour earlier than usual.

Before dawn, there was already a great deal of commotion in the alleyways of the slums in the East Side.

When he arrived at the church entrance, there were already many people standing there, and the entire road was lined with people on both sides.

Not only children, but also adults.

Most of them were wrapped in dusty old cotton-padded coats, their eyes numb.

Some hunched over against the wall, some dozed off against the church pillars, and a few were talking to Teacher Anna.

Towards the end of the previous semester, Fafnir and Martha Allen spent several blocks around the school promoting pre-opening student recruitment.

He also had the children who were already attending classes spread the word, and posted many notices near the church.

Judging from today's perspective, the publicity campaign has been quite effective.

The church doors weren't open yet, and the construction crew hadn't arrived to work.

Ms. Anna saw Fafnir arrive and waved to him.

Fafnir noticed Luca waving at him.

"Hello, Professor Fafnir!"

"Hi Luca! Happy new school term! You're here really early, but today isn't a day for classes, it's a day for welcoming new students."

He also saw a little girl dressed in shabby clothes following behind him.

"Mr. Fafnir, I know, this is my sister, I told you about her last semester."

People near the East Campus already knew about the school's admissions announcement last semester.

Luca pushed his sister forward half a step. The little girl was thin and small, with dry, yellow hair, her hands tucked into her sleeves, looking timidly at Fafnir.

Fafnir bent down and asked her how old she was and what her name was.

The little girl's voice was very soft. Fafnir then asked her if she could write her own name. She nodded and shrank behind Luca.

Fav straightened up and glanced at the group of people at the door.

"Hello, Ms. Anna, are all these people here to register?" Fafnir asked.

Anna nodded: "Yes, Fafnir, hello. They arrived before dawn today, and they brought children, much more than I expected."

The people, their eyes glazed over, saw Fafnir dressed in priestly robes; many of them were frivolous followers of the god of death.

Although Fafnir was only ten years old, everyone recognized the clothes and knew that those who wore them were "big shots".

Gradually, the crowd began to move, and many people started to move towards Fafnir.

A woman wearing a gray headscarf pushed her way to the front, grabbed Fafner's sleeve and wouldn't let go, her voice shrill and urgent: "Sir, you're in charge, aren't you? My son is eight years old, he can read, he really can read a few words, please take him in, I beg you."

Before he could finish speaking, more people pushed forward from behind.

A petite woman stood on tiptoe, her voice not loud: "My daughter is seven years old. She is very smart and can write. She can learn anything you teach her. Please take a look..." She was clutching a crumpled piece of paper in her hand, and it was unclear what was written on it.

"My son is nine years old. He used to work as a porter at the docks. He can do the work..." A man's voice squeezed out from behind the crowd, deep and panting.

Fafner felt the pressure; voices were coming from all directions.

He also saw an old man who hadn't managed to squeeze to the front, standing outside the crowd with a thin boy in his arms, muttering something to himself, staring straight at Fafnir, seemingly oblivious to whether Fafnir was listening or not.

Fafnir was surrounded and could smell the scent emanating from these people.

He was familiar with the smells of damp old cotton-padded jackets, muddy water on his body, cheap tobacco, and the faint sour smell of someone who hadn't bathed in a long time. He had smelled them all in the basement of the Lorraine Manor.

"Please be quiet, everyone," Fafnir raised his voice.

The crowd lowered their voices.

Fafner walked to the steps of the church entrance, facing the crowd.

The steps were higher than the ground, allowing him to see everyone's faces clearly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Fafnir Beckett, First Assistant Priest of the Church of the God of Death, and a teacher at this school. Today is the school's admissions day."

This place accepts children aged six to twelve, and it's free.

The crowd stirred again, and people started pushing forward from behind.

"However," Fafner continued, "classroom space is limited, and so are the teachers. We can only enroll sixty new students this semester."

Fafnir pushed open the church door and beckoned people inside.

"Sixty? Isn't that a bit few! There are still many people who haven't arrived yet. We've waited so long, shouldn't we be on a first-come, first-served basis?" someone shouted from the crowd.

"My child lined up all night!"

"Priest, please have mercy..."

Fafner raised his hand, signaling them to be quiet, but this time, the voices didn't immediately fall silent.

People were pushing and shoving from behind, and some children were squeezed and started crying.

Anna walked over and stood on the other side of the steps. She raised her voice, louder than Fafnir's: "Stop arguing. What's the point? If we do that, we won't be able to recruit students."

Anna lived nearby and also handled some church affairs.

Many people in the crowd recognized this devout follower of the Church of the God of Death.

Finally, people gradually quieted down, but the tense atmosphere didn't dissipate.

Fafnir could feel those gazes on him. He had anticipated that many people would sign up, but he still felt somewhat awkward in their presence.

Fafnir took a deep breath to calm himself down.

"There's only one criterion for selection," Fafner said, looking at the faces of those people:

"Those who can write their own names and can write all the letters of a common language fluently will be given priority in admission."

"I can't even write my own name. I'll go home and practice this semester. The school will expand enrollment next semester, so I'll come back then."

The crowd began to back away, making way for a narrow passage.

Fafnir came down the steps, went into the church, and asked Anna to open the door.

The long tables and benches in the church had already been set up in advance.

Fafnir moved a table to the front hall and went to find Martha and Allen for help.

Martha and Alan had already arrived, but they were at the back of the crowd. When they heard Anna and Fafnir calling them, they quickly squeezed in.

The four people sat in a row in the front hall, and Fafnir and his companions prepared paper and pens, numbering each sheet of paper.

"One at a time, in two lines," Fafnir said.

He and Martha were in charge of one team, while Anna and Allen were in charge of another.

The crowd formed two long, crooked lines that stretched all the way into the alley outside the church.

The first person to walk in was a boy, about nine years old, wearing an old adult coat with the sleeves rolled up several times.

He walked to the table, looked at Fafner, then at Anna, and rubbed his hand on his trouser leg.

"What's your name?" Fafnir asked.

"Ilya."

Can you write?

The boy nodded, and Fafner pushed the paper and pen towards him.

The boy picked up the pen, his hand trembling slightly, and wrote very carefully. After writing his name, he began writing the alphabet.

One, two, three… When he got to the last few, he paused to think, then continued writing.

Fafner checked it over and found it was all correct.

"Stand over there for now," Fafnir said, pointing towards the church and leaving his name.

The boy put down his pen, turned around, smiled, and went into the church.

The next person was a girl, half a head shorter than Fafner. She walked to the table and, without waiting for Fafner to ask, picked up a pen herself.

She wrote slowly, but every letter was clear, as if she had practiced many times.

"What's your name?" Fafner asked after she finished writing.

"Katya."

"It's very well written. Go inside the church and wait," Fafnir said. The girl smiled and went inside the church.

One child after another came in; some finished writing quickly, while others held their pens for a long time without writing a single word.

A boy sat down at the table and stared at the paper for a long time. Fafner asked him if he could write, and he shook his head.

An adult leaned over and said loudly, "He will, he's just nervous..."

Fafner didn't look up. He recognized the voice; it was the man who had shouted "I've been queuing all night!" at the door.

He didn't argue, but simply pushed the paper closer and said to the boy, "It's okay, try it, it's alright if you make a mistake."

The boy picked up a pen and drew a few crooked lines on the paper; those weren't letters.

Fafnir looked at it for a while, then took the paper back and said to the man, "I'm sorry, he can't write it. He can come back next semester."

The man's face flushed red, his lips trembled a few times, and he pulled the boy away.

Fafner continued looking down at the next child's answer sheet. His temples began to throb, not from spiritual exhaustion, but from mental fatigue.

Every time he saw a child unable to write their own name, he could feel that silent disappointment surging from the other side.

Some of the children lowered their heads and remained silent, some bit their lips to hold back tears, and some simply lay on the table and refused to get up.

A thin boy lay slumped over the table, refusing to get up. His mother stood beside him, her eyes red-rimmed, wanting to pull him up but unable to bear it. Fafnir waited a moment and said softly, "It's okay, there will be another chance next semester. Go home and practice hard, and you'll definitely be able to write it next semester."

The boy looked up at him, his eyes red, then slowly slid off the chair and followed his mother.

Fafner watched his retreating figure disappear through the doorway, then lowered his head and continued grading the next piece.

The morning passed just like that.

Fafnir counted the number of people inside the church: thirty-seven. The line outside had shortened considerably.

Martha and Allen took turns going to the backyard to eat something, and also gave some mixed wheat bread to the children in the church. Anna, on the other hand, sat there without moving and didn't even drink a drop of water.

In the afternoon, a commotion arose in the alley outside the church. Fafnir looked up and saw the crowd making way to both sides.

Fafnir put down his pen, said to Anna, "I'm going out to take a look," and got up to walk outside.

A crowd had gathered at the church entrance; not in line, but among the parents who hadn't been selected.

They stood at the doorway, some with their arms crossed, others with their hands on their hips, their expressions not good. When Fafnir arrived, all eyes in the crowd fell on him.

"Sir, my son has been queuing all morning, and you didn't even glance at him before saying it's no good?"

A woman in an old gray cotton-padded coat stepped forward, her voice loud. Next to her stood a boy, his head bowed, his hand clutching the hem of his mother's coat.

"I'm sorry, he can't write his own name," Fafnir said.

"He's only seven! He's barely even held a pen! You can't compare him to those who have practiced!" The woman's voice became even shriller.

"Exactly!" someone echoed from behind.

"Where would we get the money to teach our child to write?" "Isn't school just about teaching literacy? What's the point of going to school if they can already write?"

Another man squeezed through the crowd, his face flushed and neck bulging, pointing at Fafnir: "You men in black robes, you say you don't charge, but behind my back you're picky! You're snobbish and greedy! What's the difference between you and those nobles?"

These words were like a fire thrown into a haystack; the voices in the crowd suddenly rose.

Some people were cursing and swearing, some were pushing forward, and some were banging on the church door frame and shouting.

Fafner stood on the steps, watching the people. Their faces were contorted, and their eyes held something he knew well—the anger of finding an outlet after despair. He had seen that expression before.

That anger wasn't directed at any one person, but at the entire thing that was suffocating them.

At that moment, Fafnir stood in front of these people.

Fafnir felt something rising in his chest, a very complex emotion he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He remembered what Clint and Elisa had said: "Let things take their course." But some things can't be left to fate.

He must now quell this unrest.

"Everyone, please be quiet," Fafnir said.

No one listened. People started pushing and shoving. A man rushed up the steps and lunged at Fafnir.

Fafnir stepped aside, and the man missed his target, staggering and nearly falling. He steadied himself, turned around, and charged forward again.