Olovice was back at it again, taking on the role of a chef. In the Spiritual Room of the church’s basement, the long-neglected salamander skeleton finally found a good use. Olovice planned to gift it to the Red-Haired Witch’s magical dog, hoping the dog’s teeth were strong enough.

Wearing gloves and an apron, Olovice used a sharpened hatchet to chop the salamander’s skeleton, trying to make the pieces neat. The basket woven from vines was already more than half full.

Father Andre sat on the sofa, his expression clearly troubled. Olovice was glad he had told his teacher in the morning; if he had mentioned it last night, the teacher surely wouldn’t have slept a wink.

Mr. Briel had also heard about the matter. As a member of the Natural God Religion, he always maintained a neutral and friendly attitude towards witches.

“Why is the Baron of the Black Tower capturing so many wandering witches?” Mr. Briel had recently taken a liking to the unique pipes of Hearn. He didn’t smoke in the Spiritual Room, but when the craving hit, he’d touch the pipe and sniff the slightly pungent brown tobacco inside.

“I don’t know.” During this time, Olovice glanced at the salamander skin soaking in potion. It was still very tough; perhaps he should consult Miss Grace to see if she could make a cartilage-softening potion.

“Mr. Briel, you’re getting on in years, and your legs aren’t what they used to be. There’s really no need for you to work at Mr. Sman’s farm; they’re hiring young and strong townsfolk.” After neatly chopping the bones, Olovice cleaned up the table scraps.

Mr. Briel chuckled dryly, “I’m not going, I’m not going. I’ve already earned enough to buy a pipe.”

Olovice glanced at Briel’s pipe, made of clay.

“When I go to Montpelier, I’ll buy you a few bags of fine tobacco,” Olovice said.

“Olovice, you’re such a good kid,” Mr. Briel said happily. “The Hellfire potion should be made before you go to Montpelier. You can sell it at a magic shop.”

“You can go to the Magic Eye, officially run by the Order of Order. It’s located at 177-1 Leap Avenue in the Upper Town of Montpelier. You need to exchange a password with the bartender to enter the hidden street inside,” Father Andre said.

“I’m still missing a fresh mature human-faced nutmeg. I wonder if Miss Grace has any,” Olovice said.

“You can ask Grace. If she has it, she’ll definitely give it to you,” Father Andre knew Grace well; she wasn’t stingy or petty.

“As for the matter of the wandering witches,” Father Andre pondered silently. Bishop Ulrich was his superior and held the same status as the bishop of Morito City. However, with the Baron of the Black Tower present, the authority of the Bright Cross Bishop in Morito City should be significantly higher than Ulrich’s.

“Bishop Ulrich sent many students to the Black Tower to support the baron in suppressing the forbidden area’s demons. After the assessment, Olovice, you should ask if any seniors have returned. Perhaps you can find out why the baron is capturing wandering witches from them,” Father Andre suggested.

“Teacher, you’re so smart,” Olovice gave his teacher a thumbs up, and Father Andre chuckled, pleased with the compliment from his student.

After changing clothes, Olovice returned to the study to read. These days, his schedule was always packed.

In the afternoon.

Mr. Thomas, the wealthiest man in Letania Church, arrived at the church with his wife and their daughter, Miss Elizabeth, along with several noble young ladies.

Without a word, Olovice quickly changed into a clean and tidy deacon’s white robe to greet them. As expected, donations to the church were about to increase again.

On a hot summer afternoon, Letania Church became a beautiful scene. A number of radiant noble young ladies stepped into this small church, their personal maids, coachmen, and butlers forming a long line outside.

“What a small church,” one of the noble young ladies said, holding her lace skirt as she walked through the narrow aisle, using an ivory fan to half-cover her face, complaining softly. If it weren’t for Susan and Dany wanting to come, she would never have set foot here. She planned to leave in a few days; it was too boring here.

“It’s clean enough, just bear with it,” a curly-haired girl with brown eyes responded softly, comforting her friend. “We’re mainly here to see that painter. His painting ‘Lady Borgia with a Pearl Earring’ is really beautiful, with vivid colors, soft and delicate brushstrokes, and a lifelike portrayal that moved me instantly.”

“That’s true, that oil painting is indeed impressive,” Emile, who was invited, nodded gently. “I didn’t expect such a backward countryside to have such a talented painter. You know, the teacher who taught me painting was a family painter hired by my mother from a noble family in the capital, charging three gold pounds a month. I feel he’s not as good as this countryside painter.”

The mayor’s daughter, Elizabeth, hooked her arm around her good friend Dany’s, calling out to the friends lagging behind, “Emile, Susan, what are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Emile and Susan stepped forward, glancing around, “Isn’t the priest here?”

Sister Hiran stepped forward, about to explain, but Mr. Thomas had already said, “Father Andre is getting on in years. The affairs of the church are all managed by the deacon. He’s a very competent deacon.”

Just as Thomas finished speaking, a clear and gentle voice of a young man was heard.

“Thank you for your praise.” Olovice walked over with a Bible in hand, looking at the group of noble young ladies, and smiled, “I am Olovice, the deacon of Letania Church. It’s a pleasure to meet you, beautiful and lovely ladies.”

Led by Emile, the noble young ladies stared at the white-robed deacon before them, momentarily stunned.

Although Lady Borgia had always said that this deacon was not only an outstanding artist but also had an exceptional appearance, Emile and the others were indifferent. In a rundown countryside place, there were plenty of shallow people. In the big city, they had seen all kinds of outstanding young people. Only someone from a small place like Lady Borgia would say such things.

This church had no stained glass, no high arched murals, no spacious and bright space, no incense lamps. But when that deacon appeared, the church’s external conditions seemed not so bad. All the symbols of backwardness turned into a retro artistic romantic feel.

The dazzling golden hair formed by the radiant light brought a blinding dizziness as soon as it entered the eyes. The rich golden glow danced on his long hair, and his gentle eyes were truly like aquamarine, making one linger on his perfectly handsome face. The white robe made him appear even more holy and warm.

Emile couldn’t hear what the deacon was saying anymore. He elegantly and gentlemanly greeted them, his voice gentle, as if the holy light was shining.

No, he was the holy light, so compassionate. When he was saddened by the difficulty of repairing the church, Emile was heartbroken and immediately, along with her girlfriends, took on the church’s repair costs.

It wasn’t until she walked out of Letania Church that Emile came back to her senses. She clutched the ivory fan handle, her eyes wandering, “Ahem, actually, Letania is quite fun, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement, their eyes sparkling.