Chapter 33 : Francis’s Invitation

“Luck, and foolishness… Heh heh.”

An interesting man.

He knows the language of the lowly gypsies.

He knows the fan language, which is often mistaken as just trailing after noble ladies.

And finally, that shameless attitude and way of speaking.

“He seems so different from what I’d heard—doesn’t he, Sasha?”

The hand brushing aside Isabelle’s hair paused for a moment.

“He is undoubtedly dangerous.”

“Oh?”

Isabelle looked back at Sasha, slightly surprised.

There was a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

“Did you ever say anything that strong about him at first impression?”

“It’s just my feeling, Your Highness.”

A cold, indifferent answer.

Sasha herself couldn’t clearly explain it either.

Without a word, she resumed combing her beautiful hair.

“That’s strange—when I faced him directly, I didn’t sense that at all.”

“But he certainly feels different from the rumors.”

“That’s true.”

The infamous prodigal son of a well-known duke in the republic.

And recently, a murderer who enjoys choking people and sucking their blood.

Although they didn’t show it, both of them were a bit tense during their first meeting.

Yet, upon meeting him, he was completely different from the rumors.

He communicated well, was gentle, and above all, understood political discussions very well.

This basically meant he was highly intelligent.

“How was his ability?”

“…From beginning to end, there wasn’t a single gap. Even if I tried to sneak up on him, he would have reacted instantly. Even if I had been hiding.”

Sasha had trained in stealth from childhood.

If she intended to suppress her presence, it would be difficult to notice her even right in front of someone.

Yet this girl said such things about their first meeting?

“Surprising. His internal mana levels also seemed quite dense.”

“At least Sword Expert level—or perhaps even Owner.”

“How old did you say he was?”

“About ten years older than Your Highness.”

“…Surprising. Where on earth did such a man suddenly pop up?”

His tactical talent was close to genius.

And on top of that, he could engage in political conversations.

“He must be a rather useful long-term asset.”

“Princess, you were told to hold back on that, weren’t you?”

Isabelle mumbled without realizing it, and Sasha frowned, understanding the implication.

“It’s a joke.”

“But—didn’t you try to seduce him earlier?”

“…Me? When?”

Feigning innocence.

Sasha noticed but didn’t bring it up.

His master had clearly tried to lure that man earlier.

That was one of the main methods she used to handle men easily.

But surprisingly, that man called Glenn didn’t react much.

She wondered if he was pretending not to notice, but when he left without hesitation, she was certain.

“I was just saying hello earlier.”

Sasha continued combing her hair.

The beautiful face reflected in the mirror frowned.

“You don’t believe me?”

“That’s impossible. He is my master, after all.”

“Your tone is rude.”

“Hold still, you’re messing up my hair.”

Isabelle puckered her lips.

***

Glenn’s gaze shifted to one side as he rode his horse down the street.

At the same time, the horse’s speed gradually slowed.

“Young master?”

Heheh—

At this, Glenn stopped the horse altogether.

Curious eyes turned toward him.

“…Hoo.”

With a grim expression, Glenn sighed and dismounted.

He then slowly walked toward a nearby building.

At the edge of his sight was a girl.

She looked about Ian’s age—or perhaps younger.

Even without considering her frail appearance, she was likely over ten.

She looked as if she were dying.

As Glenn approached, she flinched slightly in fear, but seemed too weak to resist and only looked up in despair.

Naturally, unpleasant memories surfaced, but he forced himself to shake them off.

Glenn reached into his pocket and pulled out pieces of jerky.

He also handed over a water pouch.

The jerky hovered briefly in midair.

The wary expression on the girl’s face remained.

But soon, unable to resist her instincts, she took the jerky.

She devoured several pieces hurriedly, unknowingly tearing up.

“Thank, thank you… sniff.”

Saintess Monica, watching the scene, folded her hands and whispered a short prayer.

She motioned to Sir Nedian, who handed the remaining jerky to Glenn.

Glenn was about to give the leftovers to the girl—

He stopped for a moment.

Looking around, the desolate street felt gloomy and sinister.

The building walls were cracked, trash piled up, and an unknown liquid emitted a foul stench.

Typical of a back alley.

From the cramped corners of this rat hole, the gazes of starving children were fixed on him.

Their eyes were empty of hope, their bodies nothing but bones that resembled withered branches.

A faint flicker of expectation clung pitifully at the edges of their pupils.

“…Damn it.”

A curse slipped out naturally.

It wasn’t that the jerky was precious—it was the frustration at this wretched reality.

Life had turned full circle—but the era still worshiped savagery.

He didn’t like it.

Was it anyone’s fault? Such questions felt hollow now.

Even the wealthy Niran looked like this; what about Lepent?

Glenn nodded in response to the pitiful gazes of the group who had followed him.

One by one, a group of children cautiously approached and accepted the food.

“Thank you!”

“T-thank you so much.”

“I’ve been starving for three days, sniff…”

Despite receiving their thanks, Glenn couldn’t hide his bitterness.

Among the grateful children, there were still hostile ones.

The boy with blue hair glanced boldly back and forth between the girl and the younger girl.

He clearly seemed worried about the girl.

Could she be his younger sister?

“Dong-chan?”

The boy nodded.

He was holding something in his hand—perhaps a piece of bread or coal—it was hard to tell.

His lips were chapped; it was obvious where he had gotten it.

Glenn exhaled once and immediately distanced himself from the girl.

Only then did the boy approach her.

“O, big brother.”

The boy fearlessly blocked the space between the girl and Glenn.

His gaze was sharp.

“Quite a bold fellow.”

Sir Nedian chuckled behind him.

Glenn nodded.

He handed the remaining jerky to the boy.

Without hesitation, the boy accepted it—

“Hm?”

“…Please, only to Master Dong-chan, the honorable one.”

Ha, shameless kid.

Though still scared, his determined eyes somewhat pleased Glenn.

Whether the boy liked it or not, Sir Nedian pulled a silver coin from his pouch.

As he tried to hand it over—

The boy’s eyes widened.

“No.”

But Glenn stopped him.

At the same time, disappointment settled on the boy’s face, and suspicion filled Sir Nedian’s.

“That’s not a good method.”

“…Yes?”

“Riches you can’t protect only invite trouble.”

He told them to hold onto the coin and turned to walk away.

Monica, who had been watching the hesitant squad leader, lowered her gaze.

“If you give him silver, that boy will be killed today.”

“What…?”

“Such is starvation and poverty. They make people crueler. Your Highness has made a wise choice. But… how he knows that knowledge is a mystery.”

The saint quietly made the sign of the cross and brushed the boy’s hair.

Nedian, realizing the meaning behind her words, sighed briefly.

“…I was mistaken.”

“It’s all right. You simply didn’t know. Your intentions are just as noble.”

Their gazes naturally shifted to Glenn, who had remounted his horse.

That man is also young—arguably still a boy.

A complicated feeling of pity welled up again.

“Shall we go?”

But he answered only with an indifferent expression.

***

The place Francis, the high-ranking saint, had invited them to was a rather grand manor.

There was even a separate reception room, filled with expensive furniture and decorations.

“…Do saints make a lot of money?”

Glenn asked Monica with a puzzled gaze as he looked over the manor.

She showed a slightly troubled expression.

“That’s… difficult to answer.”

“Because he is a high-ranking saint of the empire… right?”

Sir Nedian’s expression was also cautious.

In fact, it wasn’t that strange.

Not all saints must live austere and poor lives.

It’s not the path the church necessarily pursues. But doubting someone’s sincerity for this reason is also foolish.

“The path they pursue…”

Glenn unconsciously imagined Monica as a great benefactor.

…It didn’t quite fit.

“Well then—if I personally offered support, would you refuse?”

“Not exactly… I have no intention of that.”

“Then don’t get your hopes up. As you know, the republic is poor.”

A teasing smile.

Monica’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Disrespect saints and you will be cursed.”

“Didn’t I say I’m a benefactor of the church? Then I’d probably avoid one or two curses.”

“…Prince, even you have moments of childishness.”

Ouch, that stung.

Though young in body, mentally he was well into middle age.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You acted like a little saint in the streets earlier, but now you seem more like a rascal.”

“You have to live young. Don’t you agree?”

Rascals are meant to get a bit scolding at least once…

“Ahem.”

As they exchanged pointless banter, a shadow approached.

“Prince Glenn, is that you?”

“I am Glenn.”

“Saint Francis is looking for you.”

The conversation with the guest seemed to have ended.

From the glimpse as they entered the manor, the visitor appeared to be a noble.

He was accompanied by many bodyguards, after all.

What kind of saint meets nobles in broad daylight…?

Something felt off.

“Oh, your group can stay here.”

“Can’t they join us? They’re my guests.”

“Your Highness is the only one the saint invited… I’m sorry.”

The saint, who seemed like a secretary, bowed politely.

Glenn nodded in response.

“Then may I borrow the prayer room for a moment?”

Among the four great religions, it was common to borrow buildings between believers.

There was a strong sense of mutual support for small matters.

Of course, this was a story from a time when relations between the two churches were not bad.

“Yes, I will guide you.”

Monica, quick to catch on, nodded slightly.

She probably intended to investigate separately.

“Then, see you later.”

***

“Welcome. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Glenn, ha ha.”

“Adora (Worship) – Nikerba. I am Ron Glenn Lepent.”

“Oh—very impressive. It suits you well, ha ha.”

He had the demeanor of a kind-hearted uncle.

But somehow, his clothes and accessories were ridiculously luxurious to the point of being gaudy.

“I am Francis, a servant of the Wise Tree.”

A middle-aged man’s face bore a warm smile.