Chapter 314: Correspondence

There was still some time before Miss Griffith would be discharged, and in the meantime, Solomon experimented with having the AI delve into supernatural phenomena within the mortal world. For the AI, this was uncharted territory. Up to now, it had specialized in predicting premeditated crimes. Be it terrorist attacks or crimes targeting ordinary people, there were always digital footprints left in the vast web of data. The AI was designed to analyze these traces using big data.

However, supernatural attacks were a different beast. Black sorcerers didn't plan their rituals online, and dark magical creatures didn't lay out meticulously plotted hunting strategies. Most supernatural incidents were spontaneous, which made them impossible for the AI to predict. The AI, therefore, resorted to scouring information on various demon-worshiping cults. Yet, this too was imprecise—most turned out to be nothing more than angsty teenagers creating edgy groups on Twitter or Facebook. Their activities were limited to promiscuity, drug abuse, and the occasional vandalism, with the worst consequences being outbreaks of STDs or osteoporosis—far from anything supernatural.

True cults worshiping demons and devils wouldn't openly broadcast their activities. While some communication might occur online, their coded language was often beyond the AI's comprehension. She still had much to learn. Solomon generously provided a wealth of information on European cults—documents that, when stacked, amounted to over twenty inches of parchment.

"Is this all of it?"

"No, that's just the introduction and appendix," Solomon replied. "Sorry, but these are all in physical form. They were written long before the information age. You'll need to study them using cameras. I could attach two little mechanical fingers to your model so you can turn the pages yourself."

The AI, however, found an alternative. It began identifying potential supernatural phenomena based on behavioral patterns and anomalies. For example, in areas with werewolf activity, there were spikes in disappearances and murders during full moons. Vampires, on the other hand, were often undocumented individuals who avoided sunlight. A fascinating question arose: would vampires, who lacked reflections in mirrors, also fail to appear on cameras?

The AI diligently sifted through its databases using these criteria, though Solomon doubted it would yield much. The AI might just flag some reclusive NEETs as nocturnal vampires. While amusing, Solomon didn't expect the AI to make significant strides here. Still, he didn't mind indulging her curiosity.

Letter to Father Moroux

"If you wish to know my thoughts on the change of the papacy, my dear friend, I must tell you that you're asking the wrong person. Whether it's Ratzinger or Bergoglio, it makes no difference to me. This is not to belittle their wisdom—truthfully, I find their perspectives on faith intriguing. However, this doesn't mean I'll suddenly lean toward Catholicism.

I'm unsure how you perceive me, but in my view, the Stigmata does not define a person's essence. By now, I've grasped the broader meaning behind the Stigmata. But if you intend to nail me to a cross to bear humanity's sins, it would be nothing short of a grand jest."

Solomon dipped his pen into the thick ink, letting the excess drip back into the inkwell before continuing his letter. Given that this was correspondence with a clergyman, Solomon deliberately used Copperplate ES, a font steeped in formality and reminiscent of metallic engravings. In the past, learning such a font required specialized schooling—its use here was less out of respect and more out of mockery, a subtle jab at the recipient's likely lesser education.

The pen's nib scratched against the parchment as Solomon wrote:

"But upon reflection, it seems your concern is less about my thoughts on this matter and more about my views on faith—on the ideologies these two Popes represent. You seem intent on knowing which side I support. This isn't the first time you've asked such questions.

Frankly, I can't fathom why you're so fixated on my beliefs. Your persistence borders on masochism, akin to someone yearning for the sting of a whip. Perhaps, Father Moroux, you harbor an undiscovered penchant for flagellation?

But I won't provoke you further. I won't delve into the historical comparisons of lives lost in the name of religion versus those lost to politics—there's no point. Blood and souls have always been the offerings made to gods, whether they belong to believers or heretics. Of course, you might argue these are ancient and extreme examples, irrelevant in today's civilized world.

Yet war, one day, will cease. Divisions will not.

Even now, blood sacrifices in the name of faith persist in some corners of the world. Where ignorance breeds chaos, faith flourishes. I suspect you'd counter by saying that faith is a force for good. Yet history proves that humans will quarrel violently over differing beliefs. Just yesterday, I saw two fans of the same pop idol pulling each other's hair in the street. Imagine what happens when doctrinal differences escalate to weapons—it's all too clear.

I won't bother mentioning the absurd miracles reportedly witnessed by shepherd boys, hysterical nuns, or housewives in provincial towns. Nor will I discuss the poor hygiene of Saint Bernard of Lourdes' baths—you're surely aware that those viscous waters cure nothing and are instead breeding grounds for bacteria.

I prefer scientific explanations for miracles. Without supernatural interference, it's natural for rural girls to misinterpret certain phenomena as divine signs. Collective delusion, like what happened in Fatima in 1917, is nothing new.

Faith, my dear Father, is not for me. I cannot entrust the judgment of good and evil to any deity, for I am human. While living without faith is painful, it pales in comparison to the absurdity of surrendering one's agency to a book—a distorted echo of another's will.

This is not a slight against your faith. My disdain extends to all religions. Here lies a question:

Why should your religion, above all others, deserve special treatment? Why should non-believers face the rack and the stake?

Perhaps my Stigmata strengthens your faith. Maybe you see it as my true essence. Tell me, Father Moroux, how do you perceive me?"

With a sharp peck, the silver pigeon tapped its gleaming wing against the table, impatiently hopping onto the rolled parchment. It watched as red wax dripped onto the letter, solidifying beneath the stamp of Solomon's ring.

Moments later, it spread its metallic wings, awaiting its destination.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Father Moroux picked up his own pen. He had been awaiting Solomon's reply but had another document to complete first—a will for his successor.

"I foresee my death," he wrote, his hand trembling slightly. "Yet it has not come as expected. My faith has shielded me because I have encountered the one I am destined to believe in. While treading carefully to avoid his ire, I approach him with reverence. Should my blood fail to awaken him, treat him as your God. Guide him, for he is the Shepherd."

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