Chapter 19
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 19
"You crazy bastard..."
"How else could I have become Cedric Kailas's secret operative if I wasn't at least a little unhinged? Hmm... 'Secret operative'—it still has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
"Please, just... tone it down."
Cedric felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment crawl up his spine.
His friend, Edgar, played the part of a dissolute playboy to perfection, but he was exceptionally brilliant and quick-witted. Cedric had initially thought that sending him to the Kingdom of Candia as an intelligence gatherer under the guise of 'studying abroad' would be the most inconspicuous method. Had he known that Edgar's father, Count Dawson, would doubt his son's 'diligence' so vehemently, he would have found a different excuse.
Cedric felt a throbbing headache coming on, but Edgar, in contrast, looked perfectly unconcerned.
"Anyway, that's why my father gave me a massive dressing-down and kicked me out. So, I'm going to impose on you for a bit. You wouldn't coldly turn away an operative who’s been disowned because of his work, would you?"
It wasn't an unfair point. Besides, having him close by would make organizing information easier, so Cedric saw no reason to refuse.
"There are plenty of spare rooms. Pick whichever you like."
"Living as Duke Kailas's confidant isn't so bad after all. You even hand out rooms so readily. Hahaha!"
The casual banter ended there. The two men sipped their tea in silence for a while.
During that quiet stretch, Cedric wasn't thinking about Edgar's near-estrangement from his father; he was reflecting on Harriet Listerwell. The woman who had been abandoned at the convent, her guardianship severed.
Had I been wrong?
At the time, he had been blinded by the loss of his father's keepsake. He had readily believed the claims that Harriet wore the brooch merely to show off. Her genuinely wronged reaction that day had made him wonder if he had been mistaken, leading him to back down and consider the matter closed.
But because of that commotion, a woman's life was ruined...
He rarely regretted his decisions, but he had to admit he had been too hasty in that particular instance.
Just then, Edgar swallowed the cookie he’d been chewing and asked, "By the way, where are you planning to visit during Holy Festival Week this year?"
Cedric paused for a moment before replying.
"This year, I intend to visit Saint Clarissa Convent. They sent nursing staff during the Kifren War, and I have yet to properly express my gratitude."
He had another reason, of course, but he didn't feel the need to explain it.
*
The last week of the year was known as 'Holy Festival Week.'
The Feast of Saint Antonio, the Feast of Saint Valencia, and the Feast of Saint Miyende followed one after another. During this period, it was customary for nobles to visit the temples where they prayed or the convents with which they held ties to make donations.
Cedric, hailed as a war hero, drew the attention of busybodies eager to know which temple he would visit first after the victory. However, he kept his schedule private and headed straight for Saint Clarissa Convent.
The convent, having received the notification late, had to receive him with little preparation.
"Welcome, Duke Kailas. I am Catherine Emillosa, the Mother Superior."
"It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Cedric Kailas. I apologize if my late notice caused any inconvenience; I only wished to avoid burdening the convent with excessive preparation."
"We were a little surprised, but we fully understand your intentions."
Catherine felt a strange sensation as she observed Cedric's demeanor. He was exceedingly courteous, neither arrogant nor ostentatious. Yet, she felt a wall—a transparent wall, but one that could never be breached.
Is this what a difference in social standing feels like?
It was a feeling she hadn't experienced even when meeting the Pope, so she didn't know how to assess him. However, one thing was certain: he was more polite than any other donor she had ever met.
Cedric listened attentively as Catherine guided him through the interior, occasionally asking serious questions and showing genuine interest in the convent. Despite the cold weather, he even expressed a desire to tour the olive farm and the facilities outside the main building.
"An olive farm at a convent. How unique."
"It's common in women's convents. The income from processing and selling the harvest accounts for a significant portion of our operating expenses."
"Is that only the case for women's convents?"
"Mostly, yes," Catherine replied with a hint of bitterness.
But Cedric didn't pry further. He turned his head toward a cluster of dilapidated wooden buildings scattered nearby.
"What are those buildings for?"
"Ah! Those are the workshops. That one is for pressing olive oil, and over there, they make soap. In this building, we create herbal products, and..."
Catherine’s explanation continued, but Cedric’s gaze was fixed on the soap workshop. Specifically, on the woman visible through a window left ajar for ventilation.
That... looks like her.
Her blotchy skin had cleared up, but her features were unmistakable.
Yet, her condition was unexpected. She wore tattered arm guards, patched multiple times, and was busy stirring a heavy pot with a ladle, occasionally pausing to rub the small of her back.
A faint furrow appeared between Cedric's brows.
For nobles, 'work' mostly involved reading, analyzing documents, and making investments—not physical labor. Even if they committed a crime and were imprisoned, they were rarely subjected to hard labor.
But here, Harriet was engaged in tasks typically performed by commoner nuns. Even if it was a form of ascetic practice, wasn't this a bit much?
I thought she’d be spending her time leisurely reading or doing embroidery.
Was she being treated like a commoner simply because the House of Viscount Listerwell had severed her guardianship?
Cedric cast one last glance at her before naturally resuming his conversation with Catherine and moving on.
Finally, when they returned to the convent's small drawing room and sat facing each other, he presented his donation without preamble.
"Please put it to good use."
The box he offered was filled with bundles of 100-Dirham bills. It looked to be roughly 100,000 Dirham.
As Catherine's eyes widened in surprise, Cedric spoke as if it were nothing.
"It looks like a lot due to the volume, but they are small denominations, so it is actually not that much. I thought smaller bills would be easier for the convent to use."
Though he claimed it wasn't much, it was the largest donation Catherine had ever received. Saint Clarissa, which held little power in the religious world and was modest in scale, typically received donations of only about 10,000 Dirham on rare occasions.
"This will be a great help to the convent's operations. Thank you, Duke."
"Not at all. I was the one who received assistance when you dispatched skilled nursing staff during the Kifren War. This is far from enough to repay that debt, but a single large donation would only attract unnecessary attention."
Catherine was surprised he even remembered the incident. They had only sent five nuns and monks who specialized in herbal medicines.
"Thank you truly for remembering this small convent, and for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit."
Catherine expressed her gratitude once more. It seemed the moment for him to depart, but Cedric instead leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"By the way, might I request a visit?"
"Pardon? A visit? Whom do you wish to see?"
"Harriet Listerwell. The lady who arrived about half a year ago."
Only then did Catherine recall the scandal involving Harriet and the Duke. She hesitated, her expression flustered. However, it was difficult to refuse Cedric, who seemed to expect a matter-of-fact affirmative—especially after he had just made such a substantial donation.
"P-please wait a moment."
Catherine hurried to find Harriet. She explained the situation to the girl, who had rushed over from the soap workshop.
"Sister, if you don't wish to, you don't have to meet him. We can make an excuse."
But Harriet felt she had no reason to avoid him. Hadn't she clearly stated back then that it wasn't her doing? Whether he believed her or not was his choice, but his suspicion didn't make her a culprit.
"It's fine. He probably just wants to see if I'm repenting properly."
Harriet brushed the dust off her work-stained clothes, tidied her hair, and followed Catherine into the drawing room.
The man turned his head a beat later. His face was exactly as she remembered it—unforgettable, even after half a year.
"It's been a long time, Duke."
"Indeed. Have you been well?"
"Yes."
She didn't elaborate. There was no need.
Harriet sat opposite Cedric. She offered a faint smile to Catherine as the Mother Superior left the room, signaling she was fine. But no such smile came for Cedric, the man who was effectively the reason she was here.
He didn't seem to care.
"You asked to see me," she prompted.