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Chapter 64: Investigation (1)
It didn’t take long to figure out the reason behind Aria’s peculiar behavior.
I didn’t hear it from her directly—my personal attendant, Emma, subtly clued me in.
—While the Young Master was away, the Lady gave education! She said she’d teach Her Highness the mindset of a royal… and before we knew it, Her Highness was acting so dignified!
When I saw the pride in Emma’s eyes as she praised the princess, I almost snapped, “Do you remember who you actually serve?”
But putting that aside… yeah.
It was clear that Aria was trying to emulate my sister.
The cause and effect made sense.
I, who used to entertain Aria, had left the capital.
Not that she could even be angry about where I went—I told her I was leaving as an undercover agent to protect the Kingdom of Cheeseburgers.
No way she could explain that to anyone.
Staying in the capital wouldn’t have been any easier either.
The one person who’d started playing with her, the Crown Prince, had left with me.
So, what other refuge did this overly self-conscious child have?
Naturally, it was our estate, where no one gave her side-eyes.
That’s probably why she grew closer to my sister.
They’d already played together occasionally even while I was around.
And during that time, there must have been some… education.
My sister is quite upright, after all.
Even to someone like me who praises Aria even when she makes a mess, she would firmly lecture about proper table manners and the like.
Seeing Aria’s carefree antics must have irked her.
And so, one lesson at a time, she turned her into this.
But now that I see the result… I’m beginning to question it a little.
“I’m worried about the Lord who returned as a proud Pharos!”
When Aria proudly proclaimed this with her chest puffed out, I had questions.
“Your Highness, why are you claiming to be a Pharos? You’re from Ortaire.”
“Uuung…? Ah, no! The Great Pharos said so! Anyone taught by Pharos carries their mindset, so we are Pharos!”
Aria gave a bold explanation as to why she was a Pharos.
I narrowed my eyes.
I know how much my sister loves our family.
But even considering that, wasn’t this a bit much?
She’s royalty—shouldn’t she still remember where she comes from?
This kind of forgetfulness… it’s borderline brainwashing.
I let out a dry laugh.
Then I gave her a dose of reality.
“Still, Your Highness, you are not a Pharos. You are clearly of royal blood and a member of the Imperial Family.”
I said it because it felt important to correct her misconception.
But the response I got was… beyond absurd.
Thud—!
Aria dropped to her knees.
With a stricken expression, she exclaimed:
“I-I’m not a Pharos…?”
What is she even saying?
“No, Your Highness. You are from Ortaire.”
“Nooo…!”
Her eyes squeezed shut in utter despair—like when the Crown Prince snatched her cheeseburger away and ate it right in front of her.
“I-I learned the Pharos mindset, table manners, greetings—why can’t I be one! Please, let me be a Pharos!”
She clutched my pants.
That’s… not how it works.
“I beg you! Aria can even swallow broccoli whole now!”
If eating broccoli made you a Pharos, then how many Pharos are there in the empire?
I firmly declared:
“No means no. Your Highness is from Ortaire.”
“Grrk…! Is this… the limit imposed by birth…?!”
Does a royal even say such things?
More importantly, where is she even learning this kind of talk?
As I was pondering—
“How can I become a Pharos?!”
“Well…”
There’s only one way an outsider could take the Pharos family name.
Marriage.
But there's no way I could marry this child just to grant that request.
A six-year-old bride?
That’s a moral disaster on every level.
So the conclusion:
“You can’t. There’s no way for Your Highness to become a Pharos.”
“No way…!”
Tears welled in Aria’s eyes again.
That same expression—like watching the Crown Prince gulp down her cheeseburger right in front of her—reappeared.
It was funny, sure, but I couldn’t just leave her like that.
‘What do I do with her…’
After thinking for a moment, I found something to cheer her up.
“Shall I make you a burger? A new recipe.”
Twitch—Aria flinched.
Then she glanced up at me with her flat fish eyes.
That despair from earlier—where did it go?
Her face lit up with clear excitement.
“…What kind of recipe?”
“While I was away, I found some nice spices. Made a sauce with them—sweet, and it goes well with the mix.”
“W-Will you make it now?!”
“Of course.”
“Let’s go!”
Boom!
Aria jumped to her feet.
Yep.
This kid is definitely a single-celled organism.
* * *
In the end, Aria tasted the new burger and left with a beaming smile.
She said she’d come again tomorrow—what does she think this place is, her playroom?
Anyway, setting Aria aside, my sister returned that evening.
Having come back from a tea party, she rushed over as soon as she saw me and checked me all over.
“Are you hurt anywhere? You didn’t send a single letter—I was worried. But seeing you safe now… I’m so relieved.”
She rarely speaks this much.
I felt a small pang of guilt.
I hadn’t written from Igrosia because I worried about information leaking.
Turns out that made her worry even more.
At dinner, I reassured her and shared some updates.
Mostly about what happened in the capital while I was gone—rumors and such.
“There’s a rumor that the Lord secluded himself out of grief over the Holy See incident. Pretending not to know was quite the ordeal. Ah, when Lord Drenor came to visit… really…”
That damn rumor about my supposed terminal illness—when will it go away?
Honestly, it probably never will as long as Lord Drenor is alive.
Why’d he come visit and stir things up?
Maybe it’s time to put an end to these misunderstandings.
Among such trivial discussions, the topic of Aria came up too.
“There’s nothing that motivates a child like admiration. Wanting to be like the admirable adults around them is only natural. Her Highness wanting to become a Pharos… must be because of you. You’ve set quite the example.”
So that obsession with Pharos was out of admiration for me, apparently.
That praise felt a bit too generous—it made me feel awkward.
But I didn’t argue.
My sister looked so proud as she said it.
That conversation ended, and then came a question.
“Then… you won’t be going far again?”
“No, I won’t be leaving the capital for a while.”
I still had to wrap up the matter with Gilgore.
I left things half-done with the Holy See, and I needed to finish up at least the loose ends.
There were also a lot of things I needed to investigate.
About the Church of Fate and the Inquisitors—things I’d only understand by digging into history, hidden records, and unofficial accounts.
“I’ll be busy around the capital, but I’ll return for dinner every night. I’ll make sure to join you for meals, Sister.”
She smiled gently at that.
Was this what filial piety feels like?
I felt a little warm and proud inside.
“In that case, during your free time, how about an engag—”
“…Ah, I likely won’t be home during the day. I’ve got too much piled up.”
That topic I didn’t want to hear had come up.
I quickly cut her off and offered a polite refusal.
Thankfully, she didn’t press further.
“That’s unfortunate. Then what’s on your schedule for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow…”
Yeah, I already had something in mind for tomorrow.
Luckily.
“…I’ll be visiting the Holy See.”
There was still quite a bit of work left to handle there.
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* * *
Mornings at the Holy See start early.
Before sunrise, priests bustle about for dawn prayers.
Other priests guided visiting devotees, while the holy knights in charge of security moved around busily too.
In terms of morning chaos, the Holy See might surpass even the Imperial Palace.
But once the morning passes, the Holy See settles into quiet.
Being a generally solemn place, most live their days in calm and silence.
Even in such a place, one person was unusually busy all day long.
Needless to say—Saint Historia.
“Saint, the documents.”
The bishops entered, pushing trays piled with documents.
Historia, seated in her office, stared at the papers with hollow eyes.
Why was she clinging so desperately to document processing like this?
If she had to name a reason… she'd have to cite someone’s absence.
‘Verheim…!’
With Saint Verheim now officially declared deceased, the highest authority in the Papal Office had become Historia.
In short, because of her title as the Saint, she now had to handle all important paperwork for both the Church of Fate and the Church of Hope—alone.
Only after things had come to this did Historia realize it.
Why she used to be able to spend her time doing volunteer work and drinking tea in peace.
‘How… how did you manage all of this?’
Verheim’s workload had been murderous.
How had he managed to do all this every day like it was nothing?
She thought it over, but no answer came.
Only one thing was certain.
Historia was slowly dying under a mountain of documents.
It was then—
DONG—!
The bell rang.
At the sound, Historia immediately stood up.
“Oh, it’s time! I’ll be back!”
“W-Wait, Saint! Just these last documents—”
“Later!”
Whish!
Historia’s figure warped and vanished in an instant.
It was nothing short of a swordmaster’s escape technique.
Her destination: Ias’s hospital room.
The patient had been personally entrusted to her by Yuren, and there was a chance he might visit.
At that thought, Historia unconsciously began adjusting her hair.
She even used divine power to smooth her face and straightened out her wrinkled clothes.
And then, she felt a little bitter.
Her lips pouted slightly.
‘If he’s back, he could at least stop by…’
It wasn’t just her imagination—Yuren had been acting cold.
He vanished for weeks, only to return and toss a letter of introduction at her, and since then, hadn’t once visited the Papal Office.
That realization stung.
Her feeling of resentment… was close to self-justification.
‘I-I have the right to know what happened too!’
As someone involved, wasn’t it proper that she be informed of the shadowy dealings?
She tried to dress it up like that, but it was an excuse that only worked on herself.
“Oh dear, Yuren’s not here.”
Opening the door, she was greeted by a smiling Gilgore, teasing her.
Historia quickly erased the disappointed look from her face and replied.
“I-I wasn’t waiting or anything.”
“Mm-hmm, sure. Not waiting, got it.”
Historia shot a glare at Gilgore.
From what she’d heard, he was the true master who created the current Igrosia.
Given his childlike body, it was hard to believe—but that aside, she responded curtly.
“Those kinds of jokes aren’t funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
“Whatever.”
“Eeeh……”
“Master, shall I kill?”
“Resist, Ias.”
Historia let out a hollow laugh.
She couldn’t believe the man she’d healed was talking about killing someone, and that the other just smoothly played along.
In the end, all she could do was sigh.
Realizing yet again that Yuren hadn’t come, she promptly used divine power to heal Ias’s body.
Fwaaah!
With wings of light, divine power spread and restored Ias’s body.
A recovery ability so strong it was close to divine authority.
If only it weren’t so visually embarrassing, it would be perfect.
Catching her breath, Historia spoke.
“It’s done. Just about another week of treatment, and you’ll be able to move around just fine.”
When they first brought him in, she hadn’t even known if he was alive or dead—it had been that bad.
Still, with her inherently kind nature, she found some reward in seeing the patient recover and stood up.
“Don’t eat anything too spicy. Your intestines aren’t fully healed, so just stick to rice gruel.”
“You heard her?”
“Yes, I’ll keep it in mind. Guess my exploration of the city’s cuisine will have to wait.”
“Hmm, I heard the food here is great. What a shame.”
“I’ll recover quickly.”
Historia chuckled.
There was an unmistakable sense of closeness between them.
In any case, her task was done.
There was nothing more to say, so Historia got up from her seat.
Her dragging steps showed not a shred of energy.
She was clearly radiating how much she didn’t want to go back to the paperwork.
Then—
“Saint!”
Thud!
Historia flinched.
Her body responded before her mind to the voice of a bishop calling out to her.
“I-I’m going! I’ll sign them right away!”
“No, Saint! You have a visitor!”
“A visitor?”
Tilting her head, Historia watched as the bishop approached and whispered,
“Lord Yuren Pharos is here to see you.”
At that moment, Historia’s eyes sparkled.
* * *
At last, he had crawled out—no, visited.
Taking a deep breath, Historia composed herself.
For some reason, she felt it wouldn’t be right to run to him too eagerly, so she fixed her expression and slowly made her way to the audience room.
“It’s been a while.”
“…Yes.”
The corners of her lips twitched up for a moment, but Historia managed to hold herself together.
She scolded herself for reacting like this for no reason and sat down, briefly examining Yuren’s appearance.
He looked exactly as she remembered.
A slightly worn expression, ash-gray hair, and purple eyes.
He looked calm.
It’s been a while.
Have you been well?
I thought you wouldn’t come since you only sent that brief letter…
Words like that almost slipped out, but Historia held them back.
It would sound like she was whining about him not coming sooner.
‘Let’s start with a simple greeting first.’
Just as she was about to speak—
“Saint, does the Church of Fate have any factions?”
“….”
Straight to the point.
Historia’s expression turned slightly sulky.
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