Chapter 35
While a grand banquet was being held at the imperial palace to celebrate the victorious return, an emergency broke out at the temple.
If it were a matter of embezzling the temple’s budget, that would be one thing—but the disappearance of donated goods intended for support was a grave issue that could trigger multiple problems. If donations had gone missing, they could have been replaced with funds from the budget for the time being. But the fact that items due to be shipped out in four days had been stolen—no matter how they thought about it, no suitable solution came to mind.
At that moment, the Klagen priests who had been informed of the situation stormed into the council chamber. Fon, whose complexion had already been pale, turned deathly blue, and Rettran shut his eyes tightly.
“How in the world are you managing things if a theft can happen inside the temple itself?!”
Duke Linda, de facto head of the Klagen faction, wasted no time in berating Rettran and Fon. Linda was known for saying that raising one’s voice in public was the act of an uncultured brute—so the fact that he was shouting and stamping his feet meant the situation was truly dire. Normally, Rettran would have let the words go in one ear and out the other, but this time was different. Since the stolen goods were donations given by faithful believers, they had no choice but to endure the scathing reproach.
“Have you found any trace of the culprit yet?”
“No, we have not.”
“The stolen item was a gold ingot, correct? Who was it that donated it?”
Fon hesitated, then replied in a voice that sank almost to a whisper.
“Th—the Kenis couple.”
“……The Kenis couple? They only just returned a few days ago from participating in the Leveline expedition. And wasn’t the donation period over a week ago? Are you certain it was them?”
“Yes. They notified us before their departure, saying that if their return was delayed, their steward would bring the ingot as their proxy without fail…”
Duke Linda pressed a hand to his forehead. Of all things, it had to be the Kenis couple’s ingot that was stolen. Though not a particularly influential house, the Kenis family had a solid reputation for piety due to their consistent donations and volunteer work. The ingot they had donated was testament enough.
Most people donated nothing more than tiny slivers of gold, barely a fifth the size of a fingernail, or gold-plated trinkets. But the steward representing the Kenis couple had carried in a large, gleaming block of solid gold so dazzlingly yellow that one priest staggered in shock at the sight of it.
“We must catch the thief at all costs. Find the culprit, and hold them accountable for this incident.”
If mishandled, this theft could easily be construed as the temple having taken the faith and generosity of its believers lightly, resulting in a disgraceful scandal. The honor of the temple could not be tarnished. Trust was something that had to be preserved at all costs.
The temples of the Argent Empire were edifices built upon faith. Once trust was lost, the damage was greater than the loss of money, and restoration took far longer.
“Duke Linda, please, do not press them so harshly.”
A middle-aged priest, slightly out of breath, entered belatedly and sought to calm the atmosphere. Rettran’s face showed a flicker of relief.
It was Count Rosanac—publicly known as Rieta’s birth father, though in truth he was her adoptive father.
Among the clergy, he enjoyed a good reputation and was one of the very few Klagen without strong conservative leanings. He too had just returned from joining the expedition like the Kenis couple. He had originally planned to go directly home but, upon hearing of the theft at the temple, came rushing over.
The duke did not ease his frown, but at least refrained from shouting further.
At that moment, Silbert entered the chamber, picking up after the count’s words.
“Count Rosanac is correct. More importantly, can we truly say Rettran and Fon are at fault here?”
“……High Priest, you are here.”
“Let us all take our seats.”
Relations between Silbert and Duke Linda were anything but good.
Their opinions constantly clashed, often without reconciliation. As a result, the temple was informally divided into two factions: one centered around High Priest Silbert, and the other around Duke Linda and the Klagen. Normally at odds, this time even they were forced to put their heads together.
After listening in silence for a long while, Silbert finally spoke a single question.
“How strange.”
“What do you mean, High Priest?”
“The gold ingot was stolen, yes. But what about everything else?”
“Nothing else is missing. Only the ingot.”
“And why is that?”
Silbert touched his lips thoughtfully, his fingers tapping the list of donated items laid out before him.
“By value alone, the Portrait of the Singing Angel should have been taken as well. I cannot fathom why the thief would take only the ingot.”
“!”
The Portrait of the Singing Angel was the final work of Asil, a priest and painter who had died a year prior.
He had lived in obscurity but only gained recognition after his death. With no family to inherit his works, all of Asil’s unsold paintings became property of the temple.
At some point, the noblewoman who owned the Portrait of the Singing Angel passed away, and her daughter donated it to the temple. It was this painting that the temple had planned to put up for auction. Collectors coveted it highly; in fact, it was more valuable than the gold ingot. And given its modest size, it would have been far easier to steal.
“We have four days to find the culprit. If we fail, the temple’s reputation will surely be damaged.”
“Even if we catch the thief, we will still have to bear the blame for negligence. This is not merely a matter of reputation.”
Fon silently lowered his head, guilt gnawing at him despite his innocence. Rettran, however, patted his back reassuringly.
The responsibility of a subordinate ultimately lay with the superior. Rettran believed that, as the one overseeing the temple’s auction, he must bear the consequences of this failure.
“For now, here is what we shall do: the auction will be suspended.”
“But only the ingot is missing. Could we not simply exclude it and proceed?”
“That’s right. Postponing the auction would also delay the scheduled delivery of the donations.”
“I am aware. That is why I ask Rettran to fetch the donation ledger from Jamil, and Fon to appraise the total value of both the donated items for auction and the donations already received.”
Concealing the theft and pressing on with the auction could complicate matters further. Silbert firmly ordered that it be suspended.
“As for the shortfall from canceling the auction—since the donation amounts were similar each month, I will cover the remaining sum personally from my own funds.”
“Pardon?”
Such an amount was far too great to pay out of pocket. Yet Silbert dismissed the concern and rose, issuing further instructions.
“Before the day is over, review every item to confirm nothing else has been stolen. Report immediately if anything besides the ingot is missing. Until the culprit is found, security around the temple will be tightened.”
So this was the man Charlotte often mentioned.
Theodore quietly studied Norman Winterile, who had once made his own heart plummet. In the letters exchanged with Charlotte, he had noticed the word friend appearing more and more frequently, until suddenly the name Norman began cropping up again and again.
The fact that Charlotte had made a friend made Theodore want to spend every moment at her side, listening to her chirp like a bird. Yet at the same time, he felt uneasy.
What if Charlotte grew fond of young Lord Winterile? As the heir to a ducal house, Norman was a highly advantageous match. Noble marriages considered gain before affection, and the thought of marriage negotiations filled Theodore with anxious dread.
Still, seeing Norman attend the banquet merely as the Saintess’s partner, it did not appear as though his relationship with Charlotte was particularly special. Relieved, Theodore found himself drinking wine he usually avoided.
……Bitter. Awful. He muttered silently to himself. Just then, as though on cue, Norman—who had been keeping his distance—began striding directly toward him, as if following someone’s instructions.
“It is an honor to finally meet the hero in person. A pleasure, Sir Arbelche.”
Theodore glanced at the hand extended before him, then grasped it firmly.
“Hero? You flatter me.”
From afar, he hadn’t noticed, but up close Norman was indeed strikingly handsome. Not that Theodore felt jealous, but he nearly scowled despite himself.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, just meeting Norman’s gaze put him on edge. Though he knew he should treat Charlotte’s friend warmly—since she would be pleased—his body resisted.
He couldn’t say why, but he had an ominous feeling that Norman would end up hurting Charlotte.
And in fact, it was not merely a feeling, but the truth—though Theodore did not yet know the details, dismissing it instead as needless suspicion.
“I have long heard of your renown. To become captain of the knight order at such a young age is admirable enough, yet to reclaim the Holy Land as well!”
“I only did what was necessary. Such praise is far too generous.”
And with that, might he take his leave? Theodore struggled to keep his weariness from showing. Despite appearances, he was utterly exhausted.
He longed to end the meaningless small talk and withdraw, but Norman continued to draw out the conversation, almost deliberately stalling.
Just as Theodore blinked tiredly and exhaled a quiet sigh, a faint golden shimmer swayed behind Norman’s back.
“Good evening, Sir Arbelche.”
“?”
“We met briefly at the Blessing Ceremony. I am the Saintess, Rieta Rosanac. I wished to greet you properly.”
The young woman before him—shorter than Charlotte, her hair glinting with a stronger golden hue—smiled shyly and offered a formal bow. Only when she named herself as the Saintess did Theodore realize that this was the same Rieta who had presided over the Blessing Ceremony.
Unaware of Theodore’s thoughts, Rieta’s heart thudded wildly simply because his full attention was now on her. Though she had managed to greet him, she faltered, uncertain what to say next.
But then, for the briefest moment, Theodore’s gaze flicked past her shoulder—and his eyes lit up brilliantly. The warmest smile since his arrival bloomed on his face, dazzling enough to show his white, even teeth.
And Rieta, standing nearest, had the misfortune of witnessing this radiant smile directly.
Her heart pounding like it would burst, she quickly turned her head to see what had inspired such joy.
“Marquis Blanche!”
At the sound of Theodore’s friendly call, Rieta froze where she stood.
