The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 65

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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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Chapter 65
The Manor lay shrouded in darkness despite the noon hour—not merely from curtains drawn across every window.
Could it be that Caritas had deliberately arranged for the carriage wheels to blow? Even if so, I harbored no regret for the misunderstanding.
In the drawing room where we were shown, the Master’s daughter awaited us. Whether the butler had informed her of our identities, she set aside her prerogative as lady of the house and offered a courteous greeting first.
“What an honor to receive the Saint in this humble place. I am Edeline Norwald, of House Norwald.”
A fair-haired woman with pallid skin—clearly the lady the townspeople had mentioned was convalescing. Yet on closer inspection, something struck me as decidedly off about her.
For all her paleness, she bore no genuine marks of illness. Five hundred years of being used as a healer by royalty and nobility had given me considerable expertise in spotting feigned ailments in patients who needed no such thing.
I would stake my reputation: this was a hundred-percent fabrication.
And there was something else that caught my eye….
‘…makeup?’
Looking closely, that pallid complexion was entirely cosmetic. The powder lay so thick it rendered her true skin tone invisible, which raised a curious question.
Why, exactly, was she pretending to be ill?
I feigned ignorance of my discovery and asked in a suitably gentle tone.
“Might we impose upon your hospitality for several nights?”
In that instant, every member of our party turned to stare at me—much as the residents of a dream might turn and gape if you suddenly shouted within it that this was all a dream.
Johan opened his mouth to protest at once, but I had already bound his tongue with Holy Power, leaving only his lips to move silently. Kalianna, reading the situation, wisely kept her silence.
Lady Edeline lowered her gaze, sinking briefly into thought.
In that brief pause, her fingers gripped the hem of her dress ever so slightly. Anxiety. Hesitation. And calculation.
A woman dressed in the pallor of invalidism, makeup and all, now faced a request for lodging from a Saint’s entourage—and I found myself wondering what she was weighing in that moment.
Soon she nodded.
“Of course, Your Holiness. You are most welcome to stay.”
“Your kindness is most appreciated. The Church will not forget this generosity.”
It was mere courtesy, empty politeness—yet at my words, the hands that lay demurely atop her dress trembled. Whether from joy, fear, or something else entirely, I could not say.
The moment we stepped from the drawing room, Johan rounded on me with questions.
“Several nights? Not even one? How can we afford such delay when time is so critical?”
I knew better than anyone that there was no true urgency—I was the one who had ordered Count Lebon to dispatch that false letter.
The letter itself had been an elaborate fiction, inflated to appear dire, which meant our party needn’t race through Croën Grand Duchy as though our lives depended on it.
Of course, I could hardly confess as much here.
I could hardly announce before these naive-seeming overseers that I had orchestrated a fabricated report through Count Lebon, used it as pretext to probe the Archbishop’s intentions, and incidentally slipped free of the Temple walls.
So I fixed Johan with an expression of utmost gravity.
“Surely the horses have grown weary from pulling a carriage with broken wheels.”
Johan’s face took on the look of someone hearing nonsense. I did not stop there, but continued in the manner of a Saint so selfless, so gentle, and so empty-headed that flowers bloomed in her wake.
“Though horses are dumb beasts and cannot speak, they are nonetheless our cherished companions on this journey. It would be wrong to treat them otherwise, wouldn’t it?”
Silence fell.
Johan froze, mouth agape as though he couldn’t fathom what I’d just said. Kalianna’s eyes widened in astonishment. Behind them, several attending priests and Holy Knights failed to compose their expressions.
Only Arden’s lips twitched as he fought back laughter.
They all stared, dumbfounded. Watching their faces, I felt a twinge of conscience—but what could I do? At this moment, the performance of a scatterbrained Saint was my most convincing alibi.
Just as Johan collected himself to speak, I raised a hand to silence him first.
“Thus I came to the judgment that a few days’ rest would serve the horses well.”
Of course, the real reason was entirely different—though I had no intention of voicing it here.
“I have just offered a Prayer, and Caritas has deigned to grant it. A Divine Revelation has come to me that Croën Grand Duchy remains safe.”
To forestall further questioning, I invoked Caritas. It was a somewhat underhanded tactic, but necessary.
Johan, unwilling to face an Inquisition for contravening the will of God, subsided into obedient silence.
As we were led to the guest chambers, I examined the Manor’s interior with careful attention.
It was a substantial estate, befitting a nobleman’s tastes. The corridors stretched long, the rooms were numerous, and every ornament was of considerable value.
Yet strangely, scarcely a servant was to be seen.
At first I thought it mere oversight on my part. But suspicion hardened into certainty when the head housekeeper herself began personally escorting each of us to our chambers.
It was unremarkable that she would attend the Saint herself. Kalianna, too, bore the unmistakable air of a wellborn daughter and ranked as a high priest—such courtesy was fitting.
But to personally conduct even the lesser priests to their rooms struck me as inefficient by any reckoning.
A manor of this size ought to have at least a handful of maids beneath the housekeeper, and surely the task of showing guests to their quarters could be divided among them.
Yet truly, there were none.
The housekeeper moved with practiced ease: opening doors, inspecting rooms, explaining what amenities were provided, stepping back into the corridor to escort the next guest. Every motion was seamless, practiced.
As though she had long managed this entire manor single-handedly.
I lingered at the threshold of my chamber, watching the housekeeper recede down the corridor.
Beside me, Arden spoke in a low voice.
“I see Your Holiness has also sensed something amiss.”
Without turning my gaze, I nodded.
“There are too few servants.”
My words hung in the silence that followed. Arden, too, had grasped that this was more than simple understaffing. A manor of this scale could not be properly maintained with minimal hands alone.
I turned to face him. His expression was guarded.
“Why the troubled look?”
“…… It’s something I almost remember, but can’t quite grasp.”
Arden pressed his brow slowly, as if concentrating.
“Once I recall it, I’ll report directly to you.”
I decided not to press him further, hoping the memory would surface on its own.
So I insisted on providing treatment for Edeline Norwald in exchange for my lodging fees, arranging a second meeting with her—this time, alone, without Arden.
Edeline Norwald sat in the same reception room as before. A pale-haired woman. A face carefully composed to appear frail and sickly.
Yet the closer I observed, the more it seemed crafted performance rather than genuine illness.
She lacked both the characteristic listlessness of long-suffering patients and the sharp wariness of those enduring pain. While she had managed the appearance of sickness reasonably well, it was a misstep before someone whose eye had been trained by witnessing true illness daily.
I settled across from her and opened my mouth gently.
“I hear your father also came to this manor to convalesce from his ailment.”
Edeline Norwald nodded very slightly.
“Yes……”
Her answer was guarded. Her voice grew thin, as though she were dutifully maintaining her role as an ailing maiden. Yet in that voice, I detected not fatigue but caution.
“This manor seems to have considerable means, so why didn’t you seek Healing from the Temple? Selling this estate alone would have raised more than enough.”
I paused briefly, then added lightly:
“Unless, of course, this manor is a precious family heirloom that must never be sold, in which case I apologize in advance.”
I had to ask. If there was money, why had she not sought the Temple’s aid? Or if she had, why had she died of illness nonetheless?
After a moment of silence, Edeline Norwald lowered her head a little further.
“My father…… received Healing at the Main Temple, but his illness returned. It shattered his faith in the Church.”

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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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