The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 70

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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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Episode 70
“What are you saying?”
At my question, Lord Arden fell silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.
“You remember how I said something felt like it was on the tip of my tongue? It turned out to be the Norbaldt Earl Family.”
“More precisely?”
“The previous Earl of Norbaldt. Seeing the portrait brought it back to me.”
Lord Arden’s face grew heavier.
“He struck down a Territory Resident with his carriage and left him to die. He purchased an Indulgence from the Temple and was forgiven.”
I fell silent for a moment.
Even that single line was enough to turn my stomach, but the fact that Lord Arden remembered it at all meant there had to be a reason. How many people bought Indulgences from the Temple?
“The reason I remember it is…… because the Earl of Norbaldt purchased an Indulgence for the same crime not just once, but twice.”
“Is he drowning in money?”
Genuine exasperation escaped me before I could stop it. Indulgences weren’t cheap.
Over the past few days, handling Indulgence-related work, I’d reviewed the entire ecosystem of how they were traded. The price for an Indulgence issued for murder was at the top of the scale.
It made sense. The heavier the sin, the higher the Temple’s price.
Which meant buying one twice amounted to either the Norbaldt family having absurdly deep pockets, or else they’d poured money into it with the resolve to be uprooted as a family.
I recalled the state of the Villa I’d seen during the day. The scale was grand, but the number of servants was shockingly sparse. The maintenance was adequate, but it lacked the ease and comfort typical of a noble house.
So was that why they kept only three servants at the Villa now? For a noble family, their finances looked decidedly precarious.
“So did he come here for healing after buying the Indulgence, or before?”
Lord Arden fell silent, his face working through the memory.
“If I remember correctly…… it was after he purchased the first Indulgence.”
I tapped the armrest with my fingers.
So what exactly was the Earl’s daughter hiding? Why would she paint her father’s portrait using paint infused with Holy Power? And that business about Emily’s missing sibling still nagged at me.
The previous Earl bought Indulgences twice.
He was healed at the Main Temple, and afterward, his illness apparently relapsed.
His daughter remains at the Villa, feigning illness, painting her late father’s portrait in paint infused with Holy Power.
The only servants in the Mansion are the Butler and the head maid, while the maid who worked here has vanished.
The puzzle pieces all seemed to point in the same direction, yet some crucial connection was missing.
“Is there perhaps some superstition that if you paint a portrait in pigment ground from Holy Stones, the subject gains peace in the afterlife?”
It might be a superstition that arose in the five hundred years I’d been asleep. The world had changed enough for fifty mountain ranges to be worn down, so I wouldn’t be surprised at one more strange custom.
But Lord Arden shook his head immediately.
“I’ve never heard of such a superstition.”
“Is that so?”
Then this hypothesis was discarded. O Caritas, would it not be too late even now to grant me just one Mind Reading Skill? Then I could leave this Mansion tomorrow, right after Johan finishes his morning prayers.
Of course, as always, Caritas chose to ignore my plea.
***
The next morning, I emerged from my room with Lord Arden and headed straight for the Second Floor Corridor.
As we approached the stairs, the Butler hurried toward us.
“Saint, what business do you have on the second floor……?”
At his subtle attempt to block our way, I smiled with perfect warmth.
“I feel Holy Power emanating from that place—I cannot simply ignore it. The blessing of Caritas might have descended upon this Mansion.”
The moment he heard the words Holy Power, the Butler’s pupils trembled. The reaction was fleeting, but unmistakable. He knew something.
I stepped closer and asked in a tone of subtle threat.
“Surely you’re not obstructing the duties of a Saint?”
Overt intimidation only breeds resentment. But when you weave in words about the Saint’s duty and Caritas’s blessing, the other party has no choice but to yield. Especially a Butler from a noble house who cannot openly defy the Religious Order.
In the end, the Butler stepped back.
“……No, Your Holiness. I shall guide you.”
I looked around the Second Floor Corridor as though seeing it for the first time.
Portraits lined the walls. Last night, in the darkness and tension, I hadn’t examined them properly, but daylight made it all clear.
The faces of those who shared the same bloodline. Clothing that changed with the times. Names and titles engraved beneath the frames. The history of the Norbaldt Earl Family stretched along the wall.
I made a show of admiration.
“There are many portraits.”
“These are the portraits of the successive Earls of Norbaldt.”
As the Butler spoke, I moved slowly forward. And I stopped before the final painting I’d seen yesterday.
“This is the portrait of the late Earl of Norbaldt.”
One might expect the Butler to have mentioned that Lady Edelin painted it herself with pride, but he didn’t reveal the artist’s identity to us first.
The smell of paint still wafted from the portrait. Yet something was wrong. The Holy Power didn’t feel as intense as it had yesterday.
I examined the painting with the most composed expression I could muster. The spot where I’d touched it yesterday had begun to sag slightly.
Damn it. Were they going to catch us sneaking into the Second Floor Corridor at night?
But another question quickly followed. Did oil paint really run like that from just a touch?
I shot a glance at Arden, asking him silently to draw the Butler’s attention.
Arden understood at once. With an unbothered expression, he stepped closer to the Butler and began asking why such a sprawling mansion seemed devoid of servants.
In that interval, I reached out again to touch the Portrait.
Wet paint came away on my fingertips. It still hadn’t dried.
But something had changed since yesterday. The Holy Power emanating from the paint had diminished noticeably.
Last night, I could sense it faintly just by drawing near the painting. Now I had to concentrate deliberately on my fingertips to detect it at all.
Had the Holy Power simply dispersed as time passed? Or was something drawing it away?
I cleansed the dark crimson paint from my fingertips with Holy Power, then turned back to the Butler.
“There’s a paint smell here. Is this the picture the Norbaldt Earl Family’s daughter was working on yesterday?”
The Butler’s eyes flickered very briefly.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Where did she obtain paint infused with Holy Power? Since it’s oil paint, I assume she ground Holy Stone into it?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say.”
I smiled warmly.
“Cannot say, I see.”
The Butler’s shoulders stiffened slightly. I stepped closer.
“As the head of the Religious Order, I cannot overlook such artifacts circulating among civilians outside the Temple. Holy Stone is the Religious Order’s property. To grind Holy Stone into paint without the Religious Order’s sanction is nothing less than a challenge to our authority.”
“I shall inquire of my supplier whether they obtained proper authorization from the Religious Order. Please give me a few days.”
I pressed him with a question he found difficult to answer, all while committing to memory the exact location where my hand had touched—just below the right shoulder of the late Norbaldt Earl, two finger-widths from the frame’s edge.
There was no visible change at that spot now. Then what were these melting traces?
“Good. I shall wait patiently until I hear from you.”
I nodded with a magnanimous expression. By chance, I’d also caught wind of a faction embezzling and processing Holy Stone for sale.
After a satisfying inspection, I returned to my quarters.
And then, midnight again.
I made my way to the Second Floor Corridor with Arden once more. The aura emanating from deep within the corridor made me furrow my brow.
“I wish I’d thought to bring the Mace, truly,” I murmured.
At those words, Arden’s face hardened, and his hand reflexively moved toward his sword hilt.
The moment we arrived before the late Norbaldt Earl’s Portrait, I stopped.
The sight before us was too strange.
The spot where I had placed my hand during the day—what had been merely a palm-sized mark—was now writhing and warping.
As if someone inside the painting were scraping at the canvas with their fingernails.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Dark crimson oil paint dribbled down beneath the frame.

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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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