The Magical Holy Woman Seraphina - Chapter 61

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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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The Magic Saint Seraphina
Episode 61
The Women Who Dislike Short Legs Club is now recruiting members.
Our organization accepts only those residing in central Ruar — districts 1, 2, and 3 — and since this is a women’s group, men are not permitted to attend.
Remember this well.
You must live in the center, and men are excluded.
Those wishing to join should submit an application to mailbox 221B at Ruar Central Post Office.
“This is a clue from the Eccentric Lady, right?”
“Seems like it.”
Cassian looked up from the newspaper as he spoke.
“So if we send a letter to mailbox 221B, they’ll tell us about the person who set the fire on Plank Street?”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
I shook my head.
“Mailbox 221B doesn’t exist at Central Post Office.”
Before the Clothing Shop changed hands, I used to run errands for Mrs. Scrooge frequently enough to know that.
“The 221B address is probably just a way of saying ‘don’t bother replying.’ Even if any ladies who happened to see this ad genuinely wanted to join the club, they’d give up the moment they learned 221B doesn’t exist.”
“So there’s a clue hidden in the ad itself?”
“Yes.”
It seems obvious to me, though I add this thought and Cassian just blinks.
“Read it again.”
I pointed to the ad with my finger.
“‘Live in the center,’ and ‘men’ are excluded, right?”
“…The Center Men?”
“Exactly.”
“Aren’t you thinking about this too simply?”
“I have good reason for thinking this way.”
I counted on my fingers.
“First, the Eccentric Lady doesn’t seem clever enough to hide such a complex clue in a message.”
“I wonder if the lady would even know she was being dismissed like this when she’s not around…….”
“And the Center Men — that’s the social club we noticed from the very start.”
Both the Tram family who stole the Dancing Boy from me and Oblonsky, Mrs. Scrooge’s lover, were members here.
It felt more like “I knew it all along” than “I’ve figured it out.”
“Remember? The Gold Badge with White Eagle.”
Cassian nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know how the lady found out, but if the Center Men is also behind the fire on Plank Street…”
“Then there’s a good chance the journalist Skitter, who harassed Rozena, was acting on the orders of the same social club.”
Of course, we can’t blindly trust the lady’s word, so we’d need to verify it first.
Hmm.
“Cassian. Do you know anything about this social club?”
Cassian answered my question.
“It’s a men-only social club that espouses strict Bloodline Supremacy and meritocracy.”
“Huh?”
Bloodline Supremacy and meritocracy?
“Doesn’t that contradict itself?”
Cassian chuckled at my point.
“They believe that those with noble blood — so-called good bloodlines — are naturally superior in ability as well.”
“Oh….”
Then why am I in this state?
If the ruling class of nobles truly possessed such superior abilities, shouldn’t there be such peace that someone like the Magic Saint wouldn’t be necessary?
“They know their ideology can’t be revealed openly, so it operates in secrecy. Everything about who leads the club, how large it is — it’s all shrouded in mystery.”
“There isn’t a single public member?”
At my question, Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically.
“There is one member who acts as the face of the organization.”
* * *
The imperial capital, Ruar.
A dark manor somewhere — somewhere I really wish had a light switched on.
“Useless fool!”
He kicked over the fully set table — a furious man lashed out at the cage before him with his foot.
“I’m s-sorry… *cough*!”
The red-eyed man locked in the cage coughed.
Clang! Clang!
Each kick against the cage made him flinch and curl inward.
Already bruised and scraped from countless blows, the man’s shirt collar gaped just enough to reveal a small Animal Paw Tattoo that flickered in and out of sight with his every movement.
“I trusted you because you asked me to! How many times now have you botched the plan?”
“M-master….”
“Quiet!”
The furious master spun around.
He reached for a decorative long sword hanging on the wall, but fell short of his own height and couldn’t pull it free, stumbling in the attempt.
“Argh!”
Doubly enraged now, the master thrust his hand through the cage bars.
He formed his thumb and forefinger into the shape of a gun and aimed it at the Red-Eyed Man’s forehead.
“Master!”
A woman suddenly appeared and prostrated herself before him.
White hair, blue eyes—the woman with a cat’s paw tattoo on her nape begged her master.
“Please, just one more chance. Give him one more chance, I beg you!”
Just then, a bell chimed, announcing mealtime.
As the woman rushed in through the suddenly open door came the aroma of freshly baked bread.
The master’s nose twitched at the scent, and he lowered his hand with a soft tsk of his tongue.
“Fine… After all, the rule is three chances.”
But this was truly the last one.
If he failed again.
“There will be no more chances.”
* * *
The next day. Square Fountain.
“Cold weather always calls for milk tea.”
I prefer my milk tea with condensed milk made with skim milk instead of regular milk. That way the flavor stays clean and the black tea notes really shine through.
Add to that a fresh, piping-hot scone and…
What’s this?
Have I died and gone to heaven already?
“Mmm.”
“You’ll get splashed sitting there.”
“Ah.”
I turned to find Arden.
Noticing the crumbs of scone around my mouth, Arden held out a handkerchief.
Though “held out” isn’t quite right—more like tossed it at a distance, keeping himself well apart.
“What brings you here?”
I asked, wiping my mouth with the handkerchief.
“Buying a newspaper.”
“Ah.”
My eyes drifted briefly toward the newspaper stand encircling the fountain.
“And what about you, senior? What brings you here?”
“Lunch.”
Ever since the Clothing Shop changed owners, my lunch break has grown longer and work in general has become far more pleasant, but isn’t it true that even so, every worker dreams of escaping their workplace during lunch, if only for that hour?
“Want to share my scone?”
“No.”
Arden refused outright and turned away, except—
He sat down beside me.
After complaining about the water spray, he spread out a handkerchief beneath him, settled in properly, and unfolded his newspaper.
……
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not.”
I was stuffing a scone into my mouth to suppress the laughter escaping my lips when—
“Wow! It’s Knight Arden!”
A group of children who had been playing Magic Saint around the fountain where we sat suddenly called out.
“The villain trying to catch the Magic Saint!”
“The bad guy!”
……
Right.
With the Magic Saint’s popularity skyrocketing lately, Arden—who had publicly sworn to capture her—had become famous by association.
And among the children, he was being cast as a villain tormenting the righteous apostle, the Magic Saint.
‘But calling him a hundred-percent villain feels off somehow.’
“But Lord Arden hugged the Magic Saint!”
“What’s a hug?”
“It’s when you hold someone!”
“Then they’re getting married?!”
At Everland Amusement Park, I’d grabbed Arden without warning, and it had made the front page of the newspaper.
“Sniff! The Magic Saint sister should marry me!”
“That sounds nice—but I hate it!”
“I hate it—but I like it!”
“Marriage!”
…….
A small child ran up, insisting the Magic Saint was his, and mimicked swatting Arden’s shins with a stick.
Arden, unable to fight back seriously against children, trembled as he gripped the newspaper in his hand.
Feeling sorry for Arden as he endured this on my behalf, I spoke up.
“Hang in there.”
There wasn’t much I could do.
“If you don’t want the scone, would you like some milk tea instead?”
I offered him the teacup I’d already taken a sip from, only to receive a cold stare.
“Hug! Hug!”
“Sigh.”
Passersby didn’t try to stop them—they just watched and laughed.
Arden, his expression one of pure shame, covered his face with one hand.
The children, meanwhile, were thrilled.
“I’m definitely going to marry the Magic Saint sister!”
“Then you’re rivals with Lord Arden!”
“I’ll win! I’ll defeat Lord Arden!”
“Arden-defeating hammer strikes!”
It was then that a child wielding a wooden stick shouted with pure delight.
“Such barbarity!”
A middle-aged gentleman who’d been turning away from a newsstand suddenly bellowed.

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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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