The Saint’s Manual for Redemption - Chapter 81

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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 81
“I understand roughly what misunderstanding you’re laboring under, but I have no interest in barren lands.”
I waved my hand dismissively, speaking with calculated rudeness and arrogance.
There’s an old saying: the one who claims to want nothing is usually the greediest of all.
As I saw it, now that the Duke knew I’d come for a different purpose than my companions, he would certainly suspect me of one of two things.
First, that I’d come as a scout for the Temple to meddle in the Croen Dukedom’s affairs.
Second, that I was an Operative for the Ecclesia Church—the very organization I’d mentioned to intimidate the Duke.
If I told him honestly here that I had no interest in land, the misalignment with the Temple’s goals would make the second suspicion far more likely.
So instead, I spoke as though I craved land but found his dukedom barren and worthless—borrowing the mindset of a corrupt Temple devotee.
That way, the first suspicion would naturally diminish as well. If I despised barren soil, what use was a lord with a barren domain to me?
“Ah, I see…? Then you mean to say you have considerable interest in fertile lands?”
“Generally speaking, yes. A person needs ground beneath their feet to live, doesn’t that stand to reason?”
“Surely the lands held in the Temple’s name provide enough for the Saint to live comfortably for a lifetime?”
The Duke of Croen regarded me for a moment with the look one gives a corrupt saint.
Good—at least corrupt was better than heretic operative. Corruption invited negotiation and deals, but heresy typically ended with one’s head rolling.
“Bring the territory map.”
The Duke promptly had one of his attendants retrieve the map from inside the carriage. Once the folded document was in his hands, he extended it toward me.
I accepted it with hidden relief and unrolled it. Pretending to survey the entire territory, I intended to naturally cross-reference where Raum lay sleeping with the castle’s current position.
The moment I unfolded the map, I froze.
Let me revise what I said earlier.
The landscape hadn’t changed, but something had—quite a lot, in fact. Very much indeed.
Right, they’d said it was a castle where the Saint had lived for a hundred years in my previous life, so over six hundred years must have passed by now. Yet the castle looked oddly less weathered for something six centuries old.
I’d naturally assumed they’d done extensive renovations, but that wasn’t it. The castle had been rebuilt entirely in the same architectural style.
Wait, now that I think about it, it was a hundred years old back then too. So I couldn’t have noticed much difference between the castle from a hundred years ago and this one that was a hundred years rebuilt.
I wondered if the architectural style had remained unchanged, but then it belatedly occurred to me that the Northern Region’s topography and climate made it difficult to alter the style carelessly.
There were sound reasons for architecture designed to withstand blizzards, howling winds, and bitter cold. If one were foolish enough to enlarge windows for aesthetics or add decorative flourishes, frozen bodies inside the castle during winter would be nothing surprising.
And since the land itself was frozen and barren, the methods of constructing the castle’s structure were necessarily limited. I recalled what Benia had always impressed upon me in my previous life.
She’d said I was fine in most respects, but I made judgments far too confidently based on limited information.
Most of the time my intuition had proven right, but when it wasn’t, I paid dearly for it.
That wasn’t the problem, though. The newly constructed castle had, of all things…
‘Why in the world did they build the castle right on top of where Raum is sleeping?!’
The urge to tear my hair out welled up—whether my own or the head of whoever had suggested moving the castle to this location.
The original plan had been simple.
Wander the territory, find the place where Raum slept as though by chance, and lure the Duke there. Show him evidence of the sleeping Raum. Then he’d have no choice but to believe me, and I’d naturally secure his cooperation.
But if the castle now stood directly above where Raum slept, everything changed.
Now I didn’t need to search the territory—I’d need to search the castle itself. Which meant searching the Duke’s own home.
A man already viewing me with suspicion would hardly let the Saint wander freely through every corner of his castle.
Moreover, I’d just spent the last moments pretending to covet land while playing the corrupt saint. If such a person suddenly demanded an internal map of the castle and began searching specific locations? Anyone would find that suspicious. Extremely suspicious.
And when I’d requested the territory map, he’d been on maximum alert already. If I now asked to search the castle itself, what were the odds he’d say, “Yes, by all means”?
I kept my gaze on the map, struggling to maintain an even smile.
This was ruined.
Not completely, perhaps, but the plan had twisted into an exceedingly troublesome direction.
I needed to find the exact coordinates where Raum slept. Without drawing the Duke’s suspicion, while avoiding his watchers stationed throughout the castle, evading even Johan’s surveillance and the Temple’s observers assigned to me—I would have to lure only the Duke of Croen to that location.
My head throbbed.
The problem wasn’t just the Duke. Arden was also a complication.
Should I ask for Arden’s cooperation or not?
Of course I knew well that Arden was my sworn knight, bound to me by a knight’s oath, but those cold moments I occasionally glimpsed in him meant I couldn’t fully trust him.
Betrayal, after all, arose most often from the closest relationships. And the blow that wounded most deeply was betrayal by a confidant one had come to rely upon.
And how long would Arden believe that he was “something from the records of the Third Saint”?
I had written an autobiography. But that record was, at best, something written in my later years.
Due to memory issues, I hadn’t been able to record the exact coordinates where Raum slept in detail. It was only roughly: I’d nearly defeated Raum, failed while trying to save Valente, and Raum was strong enough to reshape a mountain’s terrain with a single strike—that caliber of account.
Honestly, anyone reading the autobiography would realize it was a lie that the coordinates of Raum’s resting place were included in it. So naturally, Arden would become suspicious of me.
That the Third Saint had been reincarnated was certainly not something he’d believe. Of course not—I wouldn’t either if I were him. He’d find the heretic operative theory far more convincing. After all, wasn’t it precisely because I understood the Ecclesia Church’s methods so thoroughly that I hadn’t abandoned them?
“Your Highness? Are you well? You look rather unwell…”
At Arden’s voice calling to me, I blinked my eyes.
As awareness returned, I found Arden studying me with concern. The Duke of Croen also watched me intently with his characteristic measuring gaze. It seemed I’d stood silent over the unrolled map for quite some time.
I forced my expression into order.
“I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy.”
“Body temperature drops can cause dizziness. I struggled with the adjustment when I arrived here as well.”
The Duke said so and began to remove his cloak, but Arden was faster. He had already draped his own coat across my shoulders.
A warm coat draped across my shoulders. I hesitated for a moment, but Arden simply carried on as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The Croen Dukedom’s ruler paid the scene no mind. Rather than don the cloak himself, he handed it directly to Arden.
“I fear that thin coat alone will prove insufficient against the Northern chill, Your Holiness.”
I glanced down at the cloak for a moment. Refusing it would only draw more suspicion.
“I’m grateful for the consideration.”
At my gesture, Arden accepted the cloak from the Dukedom’s ruler’s hands.
Upon my shoulders now lay both Arden’s coat and the Croen Dukedom’s cloak. To any observer, I might have appeared a pitiable saint trembling against the Northern cold—but my mind was tearing itself apart not from the chill, but from the knowledge that Raum was trapped beneath the castle.
The Croen Dukedom’s ruler studied me for a moment, then shook his head with an exaggerated sigh of resignation.
“It seems the Saint is quite cold after all. Perhaps we ought to conclude today’s tour of the territories here. Turn the carriage around! Back to the castle!”
The Croen Dukedom’s ruler issued the command toward the outside of the carriage, one corner of his mouth curling upward.

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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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