Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 35
Chapter Title: Innocent, or Desperate
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"Matthew. Your enrollment in the seminary has been officially decided."
"Yes. Thank you."
"Tch. This isn't something for you to be thankful for. If anything, it was wrong of them to drag their feet and hold off on your official enrollment even after you topped the entrance exam. The stiff-necked fools at the capital church really have rocks for brains. At least the dean is a reform-minded man, so that's a relief."
Dori Bishop clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction as he badmouthed the capital church.
A man driven by worldly desires, Dori Bishop.
To such a man,
the capital church—which scrutinized the church's finances at every turn—was an unwelcome presence in many ways.
As recently as a short while ago,
he had been subjected to endless nagging just for installing a fountain in the church courtyard.
Matthew spoke in a gentle voice.
"If we cannot find miracles and grace in the ordinary, how could we ever feel His presence in our lives? This is truly something to be grateful for. That Your Grace taught me theology, that I topped the entrance exam, that my enrollment has now been decided... it all feels like a profound blessing."
"...Yes. Indeed, it couldn't have happened without grace."
This was a miracle.
There was no denying that fact.
"...Someday, I'd like to meet your owner."
In the church, a slave's master was called an "owner."
The term "lord"
was reserved solely for the Lord, the master of souls.
This was one of the contradictions the church glossed over.
Simply changing the name didn't alter the essence,
but it did allow them to look away from the issue.
"Do you mean... my master? No, His Excellency the Count?"
"Yes. The one who experienced the miracle, wasn't he? Having the Holy Spirit descend and move one's heart isn't something just anyone can do. There must be a reason He chose your owner."
A miracle from God that even moved the soul of a money demon.
Proof that God existed.
To move a person's heart—
that was the most powerful authority and might the divine could wield.
"Ah. And your owner asked me to give you this letter when you enroll."
"A letter... you say?"
"Yes. You're not officially enrolled yet, but there's no more delay coming, so it's fine to give it now."
Dori Bishop vanished into the church interior for a moment,
then returned with a letter envelope from somewhere and handed it to Matthew.
The seal was intact.
Meaning Dori Bishop had made a point not to open it.
"Shall I step out so you can read it alone?"
"...No. I doubt there's much written in it. I'll read it here."
Matthew tore open the envelope.
Inside, as expected, was a short letter and
a few sheets of talant.
[Good job.]
[Here's a little enrollment congratulatory money.]
Talant as an enrollment gift.
Money that couldn't be used at the seminary.
One could see it as a petty joke—a meaningless but symbolic gift...
But Matthew
caught the intent behind it and
smiled faintly.
"...Yes. I'll return anytime."
Even after years pass, you'll still be my slave,
so come back to the mansion whenever you like.
The fact that this felt not like the greed of a slave-owning merchant,
but warm consideration,
was because Matthew remembered that place as "home."
"What's that?"
"Ah. It's talant. A kind of currency His Excellency the Count made for slaves."
"...Grace (Talent)?"
Dori Bishop blankly alternated between Matthew and the talant,
tilting his head in thought.
'Lord, isn't this a bit too on-the-nose?'
Of course, no answer came.
.
.
.
At that very moment, as Dori Bishop pondered before this "miracle from God,"
several nobles who had been abruptly summoned gathered at the Riddle mansion.
"Oh. Mr. Prindle?"
"Mr. Milan. Fancy meeting you here. How have you been?"
"...Well, you know."
"Ah. That was a thoughtless question on my part... Haha..."
Of course, "summoned" didn't mean some magical hero-summoning circle.
These were all fallen nobles gathered for the promise of a modest interview fee,
hoping to find employment with House Riddle.
"A lot of familiar faces here. What does Count Riddle plan to do with a crowd like this...?"
"Everyone seems to be in similar straits."
Fallen nobles could be roughly divided into two types.
Those whose houses had completely perished, losing all noble rights.
Or those still technically nobles,
but whose houses had declined into insignificance, stripped of wealth and power.
Gathered here were the latter—those still clinging to nobility, however pitiful.
"Speaking of which, did you see the circus?"
"Yes. It was intriguing and flashy, but... too outrageous. It really felt like a merchant house production. Art for making money in the end, isn't it?"
"Haha. That's exactly what I thought."
Such people usually had strong pride.
The dignity of nobility, the prestige of their house, the legitimacy of heirs to ancient lines...
Their lives were so wretched
that they had to cling to such superficialities to affirm their own worth.
"...They'll really pay the promised sum, right?"
"...I don't know what work they'll ask for in exchange for that much money, but... considering the Golden Ear's wealth, it won't be a lie."
And precisely because of that,
they were ready to sell their dignity the moment someone dangled money.
It was just that no one had offered a high enough price before,
so they'd been fooling themselves into thinking they were "honorable people."
Of course, that might not be true.
There might be truly honorable folk who wouldn't bend for gold.
That was why
Count Riddle had offered the highest price possible.
An amount so immense that no one else could possibly outbid it.
"Will the count hire all of them?"
"No way. Even the Golden Ear wouldn't shell out that much to employ this many nobles."
"Hmm. So it'll be a competition?"
"Probably some negotiation."
As the fallen nobles chatted,
the door to the banquet hall where they waited creaked open,
and a man entered, escorted by several soldiers.
A black-haired, black-eyed noble
wearing gloves as white as snow.
"Ah. It seems you're all here."
Count Riddle.
Money demon.
The Golden Ear who had summoned them here.
The moment they saw that man,
the fallen nobles couldn't help but tense up.
He was about to become their lifeline.
"Then, let's begin the interviews."
.
.
.
The interview I'd prepared to select nobles fitting my plan was simple.
Just shake my hand.
It was a more certain and clear method than any high-pressure questioning.
"You're aware I possess a blessing, correct?"
"...Yes."
"I can read the memories of anything my right hand touches. People included."
Of course, I wouldn't just read memories willy-nilly.
That would violate their privacy.
Before starting the interviews,
I'd explained my blessing to the fallen nobles and obtained their consent.
"I will read your secrets."
"...Isn't that just grabbing our weaknesses?"
"Yes. Exactly. I'll be holding your weaknesses. Think of the money I'm offering as the price for buying those weaknesses. Since I'm paying you handsomely, I need some assurance in return."
And then, one noble listening to my explanation
threw a question I hadn't anticipated at all.
"What if someone has no major weaknesses?"
"Pardon?"
"It's a bit embarrassing for me to say this myself, but I can confidently claim I've lived without a single blemish under heaven."
So bold.
Even the most upright person would struggle to declare that so assuredly,
yet the man said it as if it were the most natural thing.
An intriguing character.
I committed the man's face to memory
and smiled faintly as I continued.
"Of course, some people have no notable weaknesses. That just means they're all the more trustworthy, so they'd still be worth hiring at a high price. Nothing changes."
"Thank you for the explanation."
"Then, only those who can fully surrender their past to me should remain."
Once the explanation ended, a few nobles wore troubled expressions.
How many among them had lived perfectly blameless lives?
Even if they'd lived honorably by the world's standards,
exposing one's private past to another was inherently embarrassing and shameful.
"...I'll pass."
"Me too. I'm out."
A few nobles rose, bowed their heads, and left the mansion.
There was no such thing as "too much money to refuse."
Not everyone in the world was desperate for cash.
In 21st-century capitalist South Korea, maybe, but this world still had plenty who weren't ready to make money their master.
However.
Put another way, despite that, some nobles remained seated.
"...I'd like to do the interview."
"You're welcome to."
Some nobles stayed with anxious looks,
others with faces brimming with confidence,
all to earn money.
Those desperate enough to bare their shameful pasts for cash, and
those arrogant enough to deem themselves flawless.
Perfect.
Just the right sort remained.
"Then, please extend your hands."
I removed my gloves.