A Fortune-telling Princess - Chapter 176

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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“I’ll handle everything, so you just focus on recovering.”
“Father is right.”
“There’s no need to be swayed by those people.”
Dealing with Duke Sorpel alone was already overwhelming, but with Ludvil, Ravi, and Arsian taking turns to pressure them, I hadn’t even been able to properly convey my desire to meet Camilla.
Yet I couldn’t return without completing the task the Cult had assigned me.
As a result, the Temple representatives had no choice but to camp outside for days on end.
‘Gasp!’
When Camilla casually lifted her gaze, her eyes met Jainer’s, who stood by the window as if he were barely there.
Then he smiled and glanced outside before making a gesture across his throat with his hand.
Camilla quickly shook her head. She understood exactly what he meant.
‘Don’t kill them!’
He was offering to assassinate the Cult members who were being such a nuisance outside. A short sigh escaped Camilla’s lips.
‘They deserve it, I suppose.’
They lacked tact, certainly. But I could understand why the Cult was acting this way.
‘Who am I to blame?’
All of this stemmed from my own ignorance.
“Sigh.”
As Camilla exhaled another short sigh, her gaze drifted to one particular spot.
[The weather is lovely.]
She could see the Priest Ghost crouching by the window, basking freely in the sunlight streaming into the room.
Arena Aguilas. The Last Saint.
‘Yes, a saint.’
A being revered as a true holy one who had saved countless lives with her immense divine power.
There were still many who praised her. When discussing the greatest clergy, nine out of ten would mention her name.
Even Camilla, who had no interest in religion whatsoever, had heard her name often enough to know of her.
‘Now that her divine power has been unleashed.’
People wouldn’t simply let it pass.
From what I’d heard, countless people had sensed the divine power she’d released that day.
Not just those present at the scene, but everyone capable of detecting divine power had felt that aura.
Some even thought the divine being itself had descended.
[I was always quite remarkable.]
Admitted. Annoying, but completely true!
Not knowing any better, I carelessly invited her into my body, so I’ve stepped on my own feet.
‘And how is that appearance supposed to be a woman in her seventies?’
What was even more astonishing was her age.
Arena had passed away at exactly seventy-nine years old. She had died with her eighties just ahead.
Yet look at her appearance before me now. How could that possibly be a woman in her seventies?
Even being generous, she didn’t look a day over her late twenties.
[Those blessed by the divine do not age.]
That blessing! I wish I could receive it too!
‘Wow, seriously.’
You really do discriminate between people!
Some of you torment without mercy, yet others shower such immense love that she maintains this radiant vitality!
It’s even recorded in the history books. The saintess Arena, blessed by the divine, maintained her youth until the day she died.
Of course, I never expected it to be to this degree. Looking at her now, I feel faith blooming within me unbidden.
“Duke Sorpel.”
At that moment, the door opened and the butler Rube hurried inside. His usual composure seemed slightly shaken.
“What is the matter?”
“A visitor requests an audience.”
“A visitor?”
Who on earth could it be?
Duke Sorpel’s displeasure became evident.
Hadn’t he made it clear he wished to see no one until Camilla had fully recovered?
“The Pope has arrived.”
“…Who?”
“Pope Brisel requests an audience with the head of household and Miss Camilla.”
At the news that Pope Brisel had come in person, Duke Sorpel’s eyes widened.
But the surprise was fleeting, and his brow immediately furrowed.
“Ha.”
His contorted expression quickly turned cold, and a short laugh escaped him. His face bore the look of someone who had finally found an outlet for their frustration.
“How convenient. I have quite a lot to say.”
As if that were a signal, everyone in the room rose to their feet. Had they all been accumulating stress all this time?
‘Wait, the Pope has come, so why is everyone drawing weapons? Seriously?’
They looked ready to wage war against the Pope himself.
“Please, wait!”
Camilla quickly restrained them. She truly wished to avoid any commotion caused by her presence.
Besides, it wasn’t just anyone—the Pope himself had come to visit. Continuing to avoid him seemed rather improper, didn’t it?
“I shall meet with him.”
* * *
“Ahem.”
“Hmm, ahem.”
The Church representatives escorted to the Reception Room emitted constant throat-clearing sounds. The High Priest, the cardinals—all of their eyes flickered restlessly without pause.
Only Pope Brisel maintained an outwardly composed demeanor. Yet even he was swallowing dry saliva repeatedly.
“Please, have some tea.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Thank you.”
Though Camilla offered them tea, few reached for it readily. Their bodies stiffened under the piercing gazes fixed upon them.
Those who made their reluctance to converse evident through their entire being. Those who surrounded Camilla like a guard without even taking their seats.
Duke Sorpel, along with Ludvil, Ravi, and even Arsian—all of them looked ready to unleash an attack at any moment.
‘Who exactly is this person?’
“Well, I’m not sure.”
And then there was the figure standing in the corner of the Reception Room.
Jainer, who wore a smile that captivated those around him, also exuded a strangely compelling presence.
‘I told them not to follow me.’
Camilla found herself in an equally awkward position. She’d said she would handle this alone, so why did they all have to come barging in like this?
“You wished to see me, I understand.”
As Camilla spoke with a gentle smile, the tense expressions of those present finally began to soften.
How fortunate that she was meeting them with such warmth.
“How are you feeling?”
“As you can see, I’ve improved considerably.”
“I’m truly relieved to hear that.”
It was Cardinal Stella who took the lead in the conversation, beginning with these simple pleasantries.
“We’ve come to escort the Saint.”
With those words as a starting point, the High Priest and the other clergy members began pouring out all the words they’d been holding back, as if they could no longer contain themselves.
“We’ve already completed all preparations within our organization.”
“All you need do is accompany us to the Papal See, Saint.”
“Many are eagerly awaiting your swift return.”
As they spoke of her departure as though it were already decided, the air in the Reception Room grew heavy once more.
The Cult members seemed to sense it, their bodies stiffening. Those standing behind Camilla simultaneously released a murderous aura.
A heavy silence fell, punctuated by the sound of nervous swallowing from various corners. No one dared speak.
“The Saint is one chosen by God, after all.”
Yet the Pope remained the Pope, and he broke the silence with a soft voice on behalf of those whose faces had gone pale and whose words had failed them.
His lips curved into a smile that warmed the heart of anyone who saw it. His gaze upon Camilla was remarkably gentle.
“It is a glorious position and a blessed calling. For you, Camilla, and for our Church alike. You may take pride in this.”
“Pride, you say.”
A beautiful smile bloomed across Camilla’s lips like a painting.
Taking this smile as a positive response, the Pope’s expression grew even softer.
“When will you begin your duties?”
“I won’t be.”
“…Pardon?”
“You needn’t call me the Saint. I have no intention of receiving ordination.”
The smile gradually faded from the Pope’s face.
‘Interesting.’
I hadn’t noticed it while he was smiling, but now that his expression had hardened, his features were far sharper than I’d realized.
“S-Saint!”
“How could you possibly say such a thing…!”
The others who had been silent began to cry out in shock.
To wield such sacred power and yet refuse to serve the Church—it was unprecedented.
“Let me be clear: the Saint is one chosen by God. You must naturally fulfill that position.”
The Pope’s voice grew even lower. His gaze turned stern, and he continued speaking as though reproaching Camilla.
I concluded that she was still too young to properly comprehend the gravity of her current situation.
“Am I truly worthy of receiving the title of Saint?”
“What are you saying? Saint!”
“Of course you are!”
She fell silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, then swept her gaze across those seated before her.
“I have received a revelation.”
“Pardon?”
“A revelation, right now…!”
At that single word—’revelation’—the very air in the room shifted once more. The Cult’s representatives widened their eyes.
Divine revelation was the most paramount and revered matter of all.
Duke Sorpel and the others standing beside Camilla, quietly observing the situation, could not hide their astonishment either.
A revelation? Had she experienced another prophetic dream?
Given what everyone had already witnessed of her prophetic visions, this could not be dismissed lightly.
Yet there was something peculiar about it. Throughout all her previous accounts of prophetic dreams, Camilla had never once referred to them as ‘revelations’.
“You say it was a revelation?”
The Pope broke the heavy silence once more, his expression remaining grave.
In truth, he had never wanted to come to this place. The very existence of a Saint unsettled him deeply.
‘I cannot allow history to repeat itself.’
Long ago, there had been a Saint who had set the world ablaze with fervor.
Arena Aguilas. Her emergence had captivated the masses, yet it had filled the Papal See with dread.
As her influence solidified, the Pope’s own power had steadily diminished.
Before long, the Saint’s words wielded greater authority than the Pope’s, and the people began to view the Pope as subordinate to her.
A Saint’s existence was a double-edged sword. She brought glory to the Church, yet she was troublesome to control. Still, she could never be abandoned.
Her immense divine power and presence were invaluable assets for strengthening the Church’s influence and drawing believers.
The best solution was singular: keep her beneath his heel and maintain absolute surveillance. Make her move only at his command, without exception.
This was why he had resisted coming personally. For the Pope himself to initiate contact was to concede ground from the outset.
Yet when word reached him that he could not even cross the threshold of the Duke’s Mansion, let alone meet Camilla Sorpel, he had no choice but to come.
A Saint could not be left unsupervised in the outside world.
Many eyes were watching the Church’s movements and the Saint closely.
He harbored another ambition: to bring her into the Church’s fold.
By orchestrating every aspect of Camilla Sorpel’s life under his authority, he would make it clear that her true allegiance belonged not to the Church, but to him personally.
‘Yet this woman…’
Something had felt amiss from the beginning. She did not seem the type to obey his commands readily.
Watching her refuse even his first directive—to fulfill her duty—left him deeply disquieted.
‘And now, a revelation?’
Had she truly heard the voice of God, something he himself had never experienced?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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