Unbeknownst to Me, I am Secretly Dating the Emperor - Chapter 76

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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 76
After the war ended and I could devote myself to domestic affairs, I kept a careful watch on the Temple’s operations—so much so that even amid the crush of duties, I deployed the Blue Hawk to investigate the misappropriation of the Temple’s subsidies.
Yet for all that, I still entrusted the Poor House to the Temple’s management and provided them with financial support, simply because the war had left so many impoverished that creating a new system from scratch felt overwhelming.
‘Even accounting for half the funds disappearing into the Temple’s pockets, this arrangement was more efficient.’
The Temple itself maintained at least a baseline standard so as not to lose me as their patron or suffer the people’s resentment. Mostly.
Though there were exceptions—like the Poor House where Ibeta had grown up, or the one where Robin stayed.
“Lina, would it be all right if we stopped by the Poor House where this child lives?”
Everett seemed eager to investigate the matter while the opportunity presented itself.
“Yes, of course.”
I’d been thinking the same thing, so we found ourselves in easy agreement.
“But you said you’d let me go.”
Robin, belatedly realizing the adults had deceived him, kicked his legs in protest.
Everett, however, was entirely unaffected.
And so we made our way to the Temple on the Territory Outskirts, accompanied by the small child we’d met by chance on the road.
As though drawn by fate itself, as though inevitably.
* * *
The Temple lay an hour’s walk from the marketplace where we’d been, even at an adult’s pace.
Moreover, since it sat at the base of a mountain, we had to spend thirty of those minutes climbing a fairly steep incline.
‘Glad I thought to hire horses.’
I ran my hand through the horse’s mane as I surveyed the stretch of uphill road that still lay ahead.
“Tell me, little one—how did you manage to walk this route?”
I asked Robin, who rode alongside Everett on the same horse. The child, now somewhat more at ease, puffed out his cheeks and answered curtly.
“I walked.”
Watching the adults’ expressions, Robin quickly came to realize, as older children do, that Everett was not nearly as frightening a person as he’d first thought.
‘As for me, I was never afraid to begin with.’
As a result, we grew rather friendly on the journey to the Temple.
“Impressive.”
When I offered appropriate encouragement, Robin—who had been bluffing as though it were no great feat—glanced at me cautiously and asked.
“You’re not really going to punish the children at the Poor House, are you?”
The child’s gaze was full of earnest concern, as though this question had been weighing on his mind all along.
“Of course not.”
I answered with deliberate firmness, hoping to put Robin’s mind at ease.
“Phew.”
Robin let out a relieved sigh.
“For such a small thing to sigh like that.”
When I chuckled, Robin apparently thought he was being teased, and his eyes narrowed indignantly.
“I’m not small. I’m already seven years old.”
‘Seven is hardly an age where “already” makes sense.’
But I kept that observation to myself, for the sake of his childish pride.
Instead, to redirect the attention of the still-pouting Robin, I asked.
“How many people live together at the Poor House?”
I wanted to investigate beforehand what state of mind had driven whoever ran it to keep the boy so underfed.
“Um, twenty?”
Robin counted on both hands, attempting to tally the residents of the Poor House, before giving up and answering roughly.
‘I’m surprised—I thought the boy was so mature that he’d at least be able to count.’
In my experience, estimates like that from children who hadn’t yet learned to count were wholly unreliable.
I simply filed Robin’s answer away in my memory.
‘There’s Anika, who at his age insisted our elder sister was forty years old—what a trouble that caused.’
Anika had wanted to boast that she had a grown sister, and forty had been the largest number she knew.
The result being that I’d become a daughter older than my own parents.
Still, while Robin couldn’t count numbers above ten, he at least seemed to grasp the concept of counting itself.
I pressed on with my questions.
“And how many adults are there among them?”
This time the answer came easily—apparently it was within the range Robin could count.
“There’s just one older sister living with us!”
“Just one?”
Everett, who had been listening to our conversation in silence, repeated the question.
‘Even if the boy’s counting is off, if there are more than ten children and only one adult looking after them—’
Our eyes met in the empty air above Robin’s head.
Robin remained oblivious to the exchange happening above him.
Thinking Everett had simply misheard, he elaborated.
“Yes, the other Priests live at the Temple.”
‘So that “older sister” isn’t a Priest.’
She was likely someone the Priests had hired to manage the Poor House.
Robin seemed to feel a strong attachment to this “older sister.”
‘Then the problem must lie with the Priests themselves.’
Everett appeared to be thinking along similar lines.
“It would be nice if the Priests lived there too, wouldn’t it?”
Everett probed the question deliberately, fishing for more information.
‘From how this child responds, I’ll be able to gauge what Robin truly thinks of the Priests.’
It was a good question.
Perhaps reflecting a bit on his earlier outburst, his tone now was gentler than usual—the sort of voice adults use with children.
And the child rose to the bait exactly as Everett intended.
“I don’t like it.”
The crisp manner of speech that had persisted even through tears now wavered and stretched.
It seemed to be something that had slipped out unconsciously.
But Robin suddenly realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have and clamped his mouth shut.
He then looked at us with the expression of someone who’d committed a grave transgression.
At his age, punishment would be forgotten the moment he turned around—but clearly someone had trained him to keep a tight rein on what he said to outsiders.
‘Just when I’d gotten him to lower his guard, it shoots right back up.’
But Everett didn’t retreat so easily.
Pretending not to notice the child’s widened eyes, he pressed again.
“Why? Wouldn’t it be nice to all live together?”
Robin had been steeling himself to exercise his right to remain silent, but he was still a child.
He fell easily for Everett’s small provocation, his expression contorting as though he’d heard something terrible.
Unable to help himself, he blurted it out.
“It wouldn’t be nice at all.”
“Why? The Priests are all good and honorable people, aren’t they?”
Robin’s face took on an expression that said he was bewildered by such ignorance of the world.
“They’re not!”
“Then tell me about the bad Priest you know.”
The way he caught at the opening was like watching a seasoned interrogator at work.
“The Priests who live next to our Poor House.”
“Is that so? What are they like?”
Robin’s face flushed with excitement as he began earnestly explaining just how bad and frightening these Priests were.
‘Everett, you’re quite skilled at Psychological Warfare, aren’t you.’
“The Priests are always throwing things at us and cursing. Last time, our sister’s eyes got all purple. When they come to the Poor House, everyone wants to run away.”
I frowned at Robin’s words, but Everett continued his questioning with an impassive face.
“How many Priests are there?”
“Two.”
“So there are two bad Priests, then.”
Everett nodded gravely, as though giving Robin’s account the full weight of his attention.
“And which of the two Priests frightens you most?”
It was a question designed to identify the ringleader among the two.
As if the answer were already decided, Robin named one without hesitation.
“Orhan. He comes more often than Nicholas.”
‘Orhan—the same name as that corrupt Priest who tormented the heroine.’
Orhan was a junior Priest at the Temple that oversaw the Poor House where Ibeta had grown up.
The Responsible Priest was too consumed with gambling and embezzling Temple assets to attend to his duties, which was why the original story made clear that it was largely Orhan who had abused Ibeta.
‘The Responsible Priest can’t be seen as merely a bystander either. He became one of the architects of Ibeta’s ruin in the First Timeline by being complicit in covering up his own failures, currying favor with the High Priest in the process.’
In the First Timeline, Ibeta awakened to her Divine Power on her coming-of-age birthday and became a Priest.
At precisely that moment, the High Priest needed a disposable junior Priest.
The Responsible Priest pushed Ibeta into the position to curry favor with the High Priest.
Both had died early in the original story and thus faced their own reckoning—
‘Since the New Year Festival is approaching in the original timeline, this must be their final summer.’
Orhan, who had been the more direct agent of harm, had appeared in the story more times as Ibeta’s source of deeper trauma.
And here was Orhan again.
One does begin to wonder if a person’s name shapes their character.
‘My apologies to all the respectable Perhans out there for such a narrow-minded observation.’
The latest saint to appear had also been named Orhan, and it was quite a common name among the followers of the Minos Religion.
“There, we’re here!”
While I was offering apologies to all the decent Perhans in the world, we arrived at the Poor House.
Robin bounced excitedly in the saddle, pointing toward a weathered wooden structure.
Notably, the Temple and the Poor House buildings appeared to be separate structures.
As Robin’s body shifted unstably in the saddle, Everett lifted him down.
“Sister!”
The moment his feet touched the ground, Robin bolted off in search of his “sister,” running with all his might.
Toward the Poor House, which looked as though it might crumble at any moment.

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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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