<Episode 28>
* * *
The effect of the blessing from the goddess of beauty, Ephrosyne, was considerable.
Even to my own eyes, my reflection in the mirror looked saintly.
Of course, the white dress was beautifully designed as well. And this was without full recovery of power.
[What about the High Priestess?]
[She's still out. Not at the Temple.]
[Perfect.]
Bringing the children was part of charitable relief efforts, so it might seem overstepping, but even if caught, it wasn't something to be blamed for.
However, today's schedule must remain hidden. The moment the High Priestess suspected me, it was over.
Thus, the gods had been steadily monitoring the High Priestess's movements, both during my escape from the Temple and now outside.
I couldn't use the Temple carriage today.
So I wrapped myself tightly in an old robe to avoid eyes and took a hired carriage to the ducal residence.
Fortunately, the High Priestess had no reason to suspect or monitor me yet, making the escape smooth.
The issue was proving I was the Saintess without the Temple carriage...
Ephrosyne solved that.
'Anyone could see she was the real Saintess.'
Of course, if it failed, I planned to show miracles and persuade them.
Still, it was a relief to save the effort.
"What an honor to meet the Saintess."
A neatly arranged reception room, soothing tea aroma, delicious refreshments.
Duke Berardi, seated before them, had a peculiar impression—cool-headed yet benevolent.
"Thank you for welcoming me despite my sudden visit. The honor is mine."
I smiled warmly.
"The reason for my visit... God sometimes shares various stories with me."
"I've seen it in the newspapers. Even without the Blue Flame oracle, God conveys will to you anytime."
"Yes. And today... Lady Agatha spoke to me."
"What did She say?"
"That Your Grace is deeply troubled, so go help. As a pillar of the Empire, aid must be given."
"...!"
Duke Berardi looked surprised.
"The Guardian Gods care deeply for the Empire's nobles."
I loaded my words with flattery.
Her eyes seemed subtly moved.
"To watch over me so closely..."
As expected.
Empathizing with someone's worries—'You're struggling, I'll help'—was the basis of cons, er, easy persuasion.
Duke Berardi's already gentle face softened further. Her lips curved slightly upward.
"You're worried about succession."
At my words, she gave a wry smile.
[‘Even the Saintess knows. That rumor.’]
There was a famous rumor in the ducal residence.
‘The second son designated as Berardi heir went mad after losing his child.’
Not widely circulated now, as it was old.
After finding Ridge, using info from her, the gods scoured the Berardi residence. Thus, full details emerged.
Typically, the eldest son inherits noble titles, but sadly, Berardi's firstborn was a notorious wastrel.
The current Duke wouldn't allow such a wastrel to ascend, so the clever second son, Cayden Berardi, became the frontrunner.
Naturally, power struggles raged daily within, culminating in an incident.
As Cayden was set as next head,
The Duke declared early retirement due to age.
In desperation, the brothers committed the unforgivable: kidnapping newborn Cayden's daughter.
They planned to blackmail him for the title. Even bold Cayden had family as weakness.
It was eight years ago.
Success meant nothing; fighting over the niece, they lost her.
That child was Ridge.
Cayden and his wife searched desperately.
But this was the Capital City, continent's heart.
Hundreds pass through daily; buildings rise and vanish routinely—a vast, complex city.
Finding a newborn was immensely hard.
Eventually, the family announced the frail infant died shortly after birth.
Internal strife, family kidnapping, disappearance—scandalous for ducal prestige. No choice.
Thus, searches faced more obstacles. Witnesses sought covertly.
Soon, Cayden's wife collapsed ill. Cayden secluded himself, rumors of madness spreading.
What of succession...?
Child rumors faded, but succession remained society's hot topic.
No conclusion: wastrel brothers vs. once-clever, now-mad Young Lord. Berardi's fate?
Meanwhile, near-death abandoned Ridge was luckily picked up by an old woman. At six, woman died of old age; Ridge to orphanage.
That was where kids escaped from, a year ago.
I gripped my bag tightly. Tense after so long. Placed small bag on lap.
"God worries even about my succession headaches."
"Yes. I'm here to help."
"Help with succession?"
Duke's eyes widened.
"To resolve that..."
[‘Will She let me bear another child?’]
Nearly spat tea at her inner thought.
I understood hopelessness for family, but... Duke was over sixty.
'More enterprising than expected.'
"Ah, no. First... Do you know divination?"
"Pardon?"
"Foretelling the future. Or checking fortunes. Confirming gods' protection too."
Priority: inform Duke of Ridge's existence.
She'd likely rejoice. Key to sane second son's return, her hope.
But after eight years watching Cayden madden in futile search, Ridge's survival was her reverse scale.
Mentioning could get me ousted. Announced dead; wary of leaks.
'No paternity tests here.'
Gods confirm Ridge-Cayden parentage to me alone; no proof for them.
'She's your daughter,' shoving her in? Later doubts inevitable.
Ridge has Cayden-known mark on neck... but insufficient proof.
So, not bluntly 'Found her.'
'Push with atmosphere for drama.'
Drama needs perfect performance!
Honestly, embarrassing.
Flags and rattle in luxurious Western mansion looked mad.
But visuals overwhelm, entrance via performance.
Better than awkward saintly imitation.
I knew from Demong, past life—body remembers.
Embarrassment fleeting. I'm acting genius. Self-hypnosis.
"Could Young Lord Cayden join?"
Duke puzzled at question. I gave meaningful smile.
Like 'Look in my eyes; all solved.'
Worked. Duke's eyes widened.
"Surely, watching over him? Can he recover?"
"Perhaps."
"In his annex, resting. Fetch him now. Butler!"
Composed Duke excitedly called.
Amid commotion, I pulled items from bag, hid behind back.
Equipment ready.
Acting... nervous, but fine. Not first time.
[Lady Agatha, ready?]
[Yes, Dorothy! Leave it to me.]
Steeling mind, soon reception door opened.
Startled. Ghost-like. Not idiom; actual daily ghosts.
Tall man entering stared at floor.
Like drought-withered dead tree.
Gaunt, hollow-eyed. No noble born to luxury.
"Cayden. Come here."
Duke gestured pityingly.
He was Ridge's father.
"...What is it."
Emotionless voice leaked through teeth.
"The Saintess. Here to care for you."
"...Mother, I..."
Cayden glanced at me, sighed softly, sat where Duke pointed.
[‘Useless... Mother resorting to this. Better if announced properly then—’]
"Young Lord. Not useless."
"...Pardon?"
Reading his mind, Cayden looked surprised. Faint light in dead eyes.
Then, I revealed hidden items, flags unfurling with flourish.
"I'll divine your future."
"What... is this?"
I swung Five Direction Flags dazzlingly. Red, yellow, green, blue, white. Colors dizzying eyes.
Worried stiff wrists; body remembered two months' divining.
Swish, flutter, snap.
Flags aligned neatly as I stopped. Duke and Cayden's entranced gazes fixed on my hand.
'Good start.'
"Each flag has meaning. Your Grace, pick one?"
"Mm. Ah, yes."
Duke hesitated but complied.
"Green."
Perfect. As planned...!
At her answer, drooping brows, pitying voice.
"Oh no... Of all things..."
Urged anxiously,
"Saintess...? What does it mean?"
"Unfavorable flag... Seems the family lost something."
"Pardon...?"
My words; Cayden's head snapped up.
"Something very precious."
I added whisperingly.
This truly persuasion, not scam.
