Chapter 60………………….

“If you would agree to become the godfather of the Saint, the Holy Nation will honor Your Highness’s wishes and fulfill the promise.”

The Pope was making a request to Schwaben that he normally never would.

He was a man of immense pride, someone who rarely lowered himself.
Rather than bend, he would break—and if rules were to be broken, he would sooner blame himself.

But this was a Saint who had appeared for the first time in a hundred years.

Overjoyed, the Pope had even bowed his head to Schwaben.

A godfather… Though Schwaben had been almost non-religious in his youth, as he aged—and perhaps because he felt death drawing nearer—he had come to rely more heavily on faith.

And so, the appearance of a Saint who carried such immense expectations was something that pleased even him.

The idea of becoming the godfather of such a lovely, kind child was something he gladly accepted.

Back then, when the Saint exhausted all her divine power trying to save starving orphans in a single day—falling gravely ill at the age of five and nearly dying suddenly—Schwaben hadn’t even realized how much he cherished her.

If it had been his own flesh-and-blood child who died, would he have wept that much?

Schwaben was a rigid old man who had never shed tears in his life as a man.

The only time he had ever cried was at the age of twenty, when his mother passed away.

And yet, at her funeral, even someone as emotionally dry as him wept like a child, heedless of others’ gazes.

Even he himself could not understand where that grief-filled crying had come from.

Though the event had happened before Cherdicas was even born, it remained so vividly remembered that those who witnessed it still recalled the scene clearly.

“Godfather…”

The Saint was that kind of special child to Schwaben.

She treated everyone equally, without regard for status, and respected people simply as people.

Her innocent, pure gaze knew no lies.

Her kindness was always genuine, and she shared in the pain of others.

People were deeply shaken to see someone as stern and dignified as Schwaben fall apart like that.

They might have understood if the empire had collapsed and he shed silent tears—but this?

Even the Pope, who had lost the Saint like a daughter, comforted Schwaben by silently patting his shoulder.

The dress the Saint had been wearing when she poured her divine power into a starving orphan for the last time—that was the same dress Ariana had appeared in.

After the Saint’s death, the dress was designated a national treasure, and even the common people turned it into a story of the imperial palace, mourning the young Saint’s passing.

“…Even I can tell my younger sister is no ordinary child.”

Cherdicas finally admitted with difficulty.

“Cherdicas. Now we’re finally getting somewhere. Then let me ask you one more thing.”

“……”

“I had my subordinates investigate, and it seems the dress was borrowed with a promise of donation from a trainee priest named Bernhard of House Schulhauser. Coincidentally, that same Schulhauser is being mentioned as the most likely successor to the papacy among the clergy.”

“……”

“Do you still think that’s a coincidence, Cherdicas?”

“…It seems like a coincidence.”

Schwaben clicked his tongue.

“How frustrating. Truly frustrating.”

“…My lord, are you trying to say that Ppojjagi is a genius?”

Alexandro cautiously interjected.

“Well then, if Ppojjagi isn’t a genius, who else could be called one?”

Schwaben answered immediately.

“…My lord. As far as I know, the person Ppojjagi gave the bouquet to is the eldest son of the Marquis Dominique’s family. I hear he’s a close friend of my brother.”

“Alexandro, why are you explaining something that wasn’t asked—”

“A close friend? Did you just say close friend?”

Cherdicas, who had been about to scold Alexandro, made an uneasy face at Schwaben’s question and lowered his head.

“They are indeed close friends. They became close purely through swordsmanship and did not know each other’s identities. I only recently learned that Peres is the eldest son of the Marquis Dominique.”

Cherdicas answered politely.

He carried himself with the refined manners of a well-educated noble.

It seemed the reputation that he resembled Adrian the most was not unfounded.

Schwaben stared at him intently, but he didn’t feel the same overwhelming affection he felt when looking at Ariana.

Earlier that morning, after receiving a report from the watcher assigned to Ariana, he had already ordered an investigation into Peres.

“There are rumors he is a descendant of the royal family of an ancient fallen magical empire. Given his strength beyond his age and his intelligence, it does seem likely he carries royal blood. However, he appears to be keeping a low profile so as not to be seen as a threat to the current empire.”

“I see. Well, there’s no way Ppojjagi would give a bouquet to just anyone. I’ve tried growing tulips myself—I know how carefully she nurtures them. Those weren’t flowers she’d give away lightly. She’s never even given me a single one.”

The watcher hesitated briefly, sensing a hint of disappointment in Schwaben’s tone.

“…Ahem. Yes, Your Highness. In terms of legitimacy, the ancient royal bloodline would hold greater claim, so if he openly revealed himself, it would inevitably draw hostility and suspicion. For someone so young, it’s an impressively wise way to conduct himself.”

Schwaben shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts, and looked at his grandchildren.

“Come to think of it, that boy Dandolo participated in the swordsmanship tournament. Raollet, my third daughter-in-law, was boasting endlessly that Berkshire would produce the winner. But I heard Dandolo only came in second. The actual winner was your friend, that Peres.”

“Yes. I can vouch for Peres’s swordsmanship—”

“If Dandolo lost fair and square, then he lost. I wasn’t asking you to vouch for Peres’s skills. What I’m curious about is…”

Why on earth Ppojjagi gave the bouquet to Peres.

Sensing there must be some intention behind it, Schwaben fell silent.

At that moment, Alexandro spoke up again.

“I understand your concern, my lord… but Ppojjagi probably just treated Peres like a friend out of a child’s innocence. Perhaps she simply wanted to sincerely congratulate him on winning the tournament?”

“But the bouquet is worth twenty thousand gold.”

“Ppojjagi is from the slums, isn’t she? She probably doesn’t understand the value of money.”

“Alexandro, your eye for people truly sits at ground level.”

Schwaben clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Neither Cherdicas nor Alexandro stirred the same affection in him as Ariana did.

Indeed, Ppojjagi was a special grandchild to him.

Though Ariana was only five years old, Schwaben never underestimated someone because of their age.

Had he not already witnessed a Saint who, even at five, displayed a noble character no adult could match?

He believed Ariana possessed a maturity comparable to that Saint.

“By the way, my lord… did Ariana ever pick a tulip for you?”

The previously quiet Alexandro asked.

Schwaben’s expression stiffened as he shook his head.