As the solemn and complex mass approached, eight priests worked together to hang a huge incense burner on a suspended rope as thick as their wrists.

Roger saw that the incense burner was somewhat similar to the cauldron used by Chinese Taoist priests to refine alchemy, but the upper half was hollowed out.

He estimated that the incense burner was about 1.6 meters high and weighed about 80 kilograms. It should be made of brass and silver, and the whole body was golden.

Roger heard the priest call this incense burner "botafumeiro" with his sensitive ears.

Roger asked the person next to him, and the man told him that it was Galician. According to the man's explanation, Roger thought it was probably the meaning of the smoke sprayer.

Roger saw the priests filling the incense burner with charcoal and frankincense, and he estimated that it was 40 kilograms.

The priest who presided over the mass lit the holy incense in the furnace.

The open flame rose from the incense burner, and then gradually the flames disappeared, and thick white smoke came out.

The eight priests struggled to pull the rope, and the golden incense burner, which totaled about 120 kilograms, slowly shaking.

As the angle of the incense burner shaking becomes larger and larger, it shaking faster and faster.

Every time the incense burner blew over Roger with a gust of incense, Roger felt like a motorcycle with a speed of 70-80 kilometers per hour passing by.

When the incense burner was about 21 meters high, Roger saw that it was almost touching the roof of the church.

Roger looked at the eight priests who pulled the incense burner again. Every time they exerted their strength, the blue veins on the Mediterranean's forehead were exposed.

When the incense burner flew to the highest end of the air, the eight priests were almost dragged away from the ground by the smoke sprayer.

So the milky white smoke spread rapidly, turning into a colorless fragrance that spread throughout the church.

The church, which was originally noisy because of the large number of people, gradually became regular.

The "whistling" sound of the swinging of the large incense burner and the sound of admiration and inhalation sounded in the crowd, gradually reached the same rhythm.

Roger heard a priest whispering: "The thicker the cigarette, the less nonsense."

At this time, the sound of the organ sounded, and the melodious music drifted out and probably could be heard in the whole town.

Roger saw that there were hundreds of giant musical instruments composed of pipes, occupying an entire wall of the church.

The entire church resonates.

Roger felt like an ant crawling into a cello box.

The sacred feeling made him indescribable.

His eyes were filled with the exquisite decoration of the church, his ears were shocked by the bright music, and his nose was filled with the beauty of frankincense.

Music, singing, red flowers, green leaves, decoration, candles, cigarettes, shaking incense burners...

Roger could no longer think, but felt solemn and holy, as if he was before God.

He was immersed in a transcendent atmosphere, and he felt his own insignificance.

He didn't know when the Mass would end, and his eyes were filled with tears.

He saw the pilgrims who had experienced many hardships and tears filled his eyes.

He saw them praying, praying for God's grace, praising God for His greatness and the best, and becoming a saint.

Finally, he walked out of the church with a daze with the flow of people.

On the way back to the inn, the cool breeze in the mountains finally calmed down Roger's overheated mind.

He suddenly remembered something.

He said to his fellow travelers, "I forgot to take the shell."

Miledi was called back to his senses by Roger, and she replied: "San Diego is not the end of the pilgrimage.

“The real end point is a place called Festra Point.

“It is located on the west coast of Galicia, the westernmost end of the Iberian Peninsula, and further forward is the sea.

“Festra was called the ends of the earth when the Romans ruled the Iberian Peninsula.

"The shells were picked up when they got there."

Roger recited "Festra" silently. He understood Latin, and he knew that the word meant "the end of the land."

"Far away?"

“Not far.”

So it was another two days of mountain road.

...

The sunshine that penetrates the clouds is like magical light belts, melting the lead-gray sky.

The place where the sea and sky meet in the distance is misty ashes.

The gray sea surface can't be seen blue until close.

The sea surface shining by rays of sunlight is dazzling dark blue.

The sea water turns green when it approaches the shore, and can no longer hide the black reefs below.

When the waves rushed to the foot of the cliff where Roger was, it was completely transparent.

The transparent water almost imperceptibly climbed over the yellow sand beach and hit the exposed yellow-brown reefs.

So, the white foam seemed to appear out of thin air.

On a huge rock stretching into the sea, the lighthouse at Cape Festra faces the wind and waves of the Atlantic Ocean alone.

In the rapid sea breeze, two pilgrims celebrated their final journey to San Diego with tight hugs and kisses.

The bitter sea breeze blew away all the confusion and confusion in Roger's heart.

At this moment, he didn't understand it, he just didn't care about anything, and his heart was empty.

He thought that no matter what purpose a man went on the pilgrimage to San Diego, he accomplished a feat of his life when he finally stood on this huge rock marking the end of the land.

As for whether the mind can reap happiness and satisfaction, it varies from person to person.

Roger heard a pilgrim telling his feelings:

"When you reach the end of the world, you will find the footprints of God; when you reach the end of the soul, you will find God is there."

Roger puts a stone on the pedestal of the last cross.

Then he and Miledi, with their respective guards, left the cliff that reached into the ocean like a cow's horns, and the pilgrims who were still celebrating happily.

On the way back, they kept meeting tired and determined passers-by.

“buencamino!”

“buencamino!”

......

On the inside of this oxhorn peninsula, in a small fishing village with the same name as "Festra".

There are wooden tables placed on the open air on the shore embankment, and the wooden tables are piled with Portuguese oysters collected by fishermen from the sea early in the morning. The wooden cups are filled with dry white Galician wine.

Roger sat on a humble wooden stool at the table, shaking his feet relaxedly.

The sun was so fierce that it tore the clouds into small pieces of white cotton.

Roger crossed the sea as calm as sapphire, and looked at the slightly undulating green continent in the distance.

A fishing boat slowly entered his sight, like the wind blowing the fallen leaves floating on the water.

Roger pried open the thick Portuguese oyster with his carry-on knife.

The light green oyster meat exudes a strong sea-fishy smell and a faint metallic smell.

Roger enjoyed the juicy oyster meat while tasting the dry white Galician wine.

He sucked out the cold juice from each shell, and gave a delicious fresh wine, and drank it all in one sip.

The feeling of being empty disappeared.

Then he followed Miledi on the side and threw the eaten Portuguese oyster shells down the shore.
Chapter completed!