What troubles could a noble young lady possibly have?

Olovice sat in the priest’s designated confessional room, also known as the confessional chamber, on a chair with a table in front of him. On the table lay a copy of “Heavenly Rest,” a universal Bible used for funerals. Separated by a thick woolen felt cloth, he couldn’t see Lady Emile sitting opposite him, nor could she see him. However, Olovice maintained his excellent professional demeanor, sitting upright and ready to listen to the troubles of the young lady who was his benefactor.

After waiting for quite a while, Olovice still hadn’t heard Lady Emile’s voice. His thoughts drifted to when he would arrive in Montpelier, where he hoped to buy a pocket watch or wristwatch—anything that would allow him to check the time at any moment.

Perhaps she had no troubles?

Just as Olovice was speculating, he finally heard Lady Emile let out a gentle sigh. Olovice perked up, ready to listen.

“Olovice,” Emile said, lying unceremoniously on the small table. With her personal maid outside the door and Olovice unable to see her, she made an ungraceful gesture, bending her back, her small leather shoes swaying under her long dress. She lay sideways on her folded arms, twirling her brown hair with her fingers, her light purple eyes filled with a bit of melancholy. “Do you believe in undying love?”

Olovice’s face fell slightly. He had never been in love, so how could he know? But it didn’t matter; he had dealt with a few such matters of the heart before. Compared to some of the passionate and bold married women in the small town, Lady Emile’s problem was like a small witch meeting a great wizard.

“They say witches can brew a love potion. As long as both parties drink it, they’ll love each other forever and never betray one another. Is there really such a magical thing?” Emile covered her mouth with a handkerchief, a tickle rising from her throat causing her to cough lightly. “Sorry, I’ve been in poor health since I was young.”

“It’s alright, Lady Emile. Would you like a cup of sunflower tea?” Olovice asked with concern.

“No, no, I’m much better now. The forest coverage in Letania is the highest I’ve ever seen, and the good air here helps with my cough,” Emile replied.

“Lady Emile, do you know there are two things in this world that cannot be hidden?” Olovice’s voice grew softer, as if he was a bit helpless and worried about her disregard for her health.

Emile instantly felt she should have accepted the deacon’s earlier suggestion. She felt the urge to cough again. It was terrible; when her emotions were stirred, she couldn’t control her cough. Emile covered her mouth with a handkerchief and coughed lightly again. “What are they?”

“Coughing and love,” Olovice found that this opening was quite fitting for today’s theme.

Emile was momentarily stunned, her heart struck by the words. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief, her purple eyes glistening with tears from holding back her cough. Finally, she removed the handkerchief and coughed hard twice, but her breathing became much smoother. She murmured the words again.

“But more importantly, the two things you should never squander are health and love,” Olovice smoothly offered his advice. “There’s a master healer at Letania Church. He’s a patriarch from the Natural God Religion in the Northern Continent. He injured his leg in a battle against evil, but it hasn’t affected his medical skills. After this session, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce him to you.”

Olovice wanted to open a channel to high society for Mr. Briel and also help this noble young lady.

“Alright, thank you,” Emile didn’t refuse this time. She spoke a bit more about her illness. “My father and mother had famous doctors and priests from the church look at me when I was very young. The symptoms are somewhat like the pale rose disease from the last century, but don’t worry, it’s not contagious, and I’ve never coughed up blood.”

“It’s just a simple cough,” Emile was indeed troubled by it.

Olovice was quite amused by the extravagant and flamboyant style of the last century. Even a lung cough had to be given a name that pursued extreme beauty and elegance. It was simply ridiculous. He said, “Then you should drink more sunflower tea. It has a soothing effect on the lungs.”

“I will, I’ll drink it when I get back. Olovice, what are your thoughts on love?” Emile now regarded Deacon Olovice as a very reliable person. She wanted to know what kind of answer the mature, steady, gentlemanly, and elegant Olovice would give. Perhaps she could take some inspiration from his views on love.

“Love is probably the eternal theme and insurmountable peak in the history of human art,” Olovice thought for a moment and said. “I haven’t experienced love yet, but I’ve heard of its fame. It’s uncontrollable, untamable, and elusive.”

“Yes, who can capture love?” Emile said wistfully.

“Sometimes, you try your hardest to grasp it, but it slips through your fingers like sand. Anger and resentment mean nothing to it, and praise and gratitude are meaningless,” Olovice said. “Sometimes I think the god of love could be renamed the god of mischief. It’s so unreasonable, isn’t it?”

Emile smiled, her lips curving. “Olovice, you know, I already have someone I like, but my father wants me to marry the baron’s son. To avoid this arranged marriage, I transferred from Morito City to Montpelier’s noble academy. My father and mother have been trying hard to match me with the baron’s son, but my heart already belongs to someone else.”

Olovice couldn’t help but marvel at the coincidence. The baron’s son—there was only one baron in Morito City. He never imagined Lady Emile would be the one the baron’s son was supposed to marry.

When Emile spoke of her beloved, a happy smile appeared on her face, her cheeks blushing. But soon, she sighed. “But he’s a commoner. My father and mother won’t agree. They still hold onto old beliefs, thinking that a noble young lady marrying a commoner is a disgraceful and embarrassing thing. It would make them lose face in the noble circle.”

From Emile’s riding attire, Olovice could already glimpse a bit of her situation. Moreover, the Black Tower Baron was quite influential in Morito City, so it was no wonder Emile’s parents favored this marriage. However, from another perspective, Emile’s family must also be quite powerful.

“But Noah is different from others. He comes from Mincheswei, the romantic city of flowers,” Emile said.

“I’ve heard that people there are emotionally rich and passionate, very expressive,” Olovice gently reminded Emile. Mincheswei’s romance and lovers were as famous as its sweet words, which could easily lead one’s heart astray.

Emile was a smart noble young lady. She laughed, “Olovice, you might not believe it, but I was the one who pursued Noah first. If you met Noah, you wouldn’t believe he’s from Mincheswei. He’s so shy and quiet, like a knight made of stone.”

Olovice raised an eyebrow. If this Noah’s personality was just a facade, then he must be a master in the art of love.

Let’s hope not. Lady Emile had already fallen in love.

“And what does Mr. Noah think?” Olovice asked.

“He loves me. He graduated from university last year and is working under an editor at a newspaper. He hopes to have a respectable status to meet my father and mother,” Emile said. “I love him too.”

A half-hour-long session was about to end. Although Olovice hadn’t provided a substantial solution to Lady Emile’s troubles, she felt much better when she pushed open the confessional door. After all, talking was a way to relieve stress. Led by her personal maid, she prepared to make another donation, while Olovice went to inform Mr. Briel.

Upon learning that he would be treating a noble young lady, Mr. Briel was delighted. He gave Olovice a strong hug and quickly tidied himself up.

“The young lady doesn’t mind my leg problem, does she?”

“I told her you were injured fighting evil, a hero,” Olovice said, mentioning the characteristics of Emile’s cough. “You can ask more details then, which will help with the treatment.”

“That’s a must,” Mr. Briel said, noticing Olovice still following him. “Don’t worry, Olovice. I’m more professional than a doctor when it comes to healing. You don’t need to see me off.”

Olovice supported the old gentleman. “Lady Emile invited me to dinner at the Borgia Vineyard.”

“Having a pretty face is nice,” Mr. Briel sighed. “If I were you, I’d rely on my looks rather than my skills.”

Olovice touched his face and smiled brightly. “I think so too.”

The kindness Olovice received in this world owed much to his face. To be honest, sometimes when he stared at himself in the mirror for too long, he became a bit entranced. This face was flawless.

“Don’t smile at me; it’s blinding!” Mr. Briel said, annoyed by Olovice’s narcissism.

When Olovice arrived at the Borgia Vineyard, he noticed that the number of male and female servants had noticeably increased. The entire estate was renewed, with flowers everywhere, fountains spraying higher than before, and marble statues polished spotless. It seemed Mr. Thomas valued his daughter’s friendship with these noble young ladies.

Olovice’s main purpose for coming this time was to discuss the gardener’s matter. He had to inform the director, and as he expected, the director didn’t care about the drowned gardener. He didn’t even know the gardener’s name was Simon. At his suggestion, Eufra smoothly took over his position. The director was only focused on pleasing Mr. Thomas, who wore a patient expression.

“Olovice, it’s been a while since you last visited,” Lady Borgia said with a smile, complaining. “If it weren’t for Lady Emile inviting you, we might not have seen you. You’re always so busy.”

“I’m walking the path of spreading the glory of the Father and dare not slack off,” Olovice replied with a smile.

Lady Borgia firmly believed Olovice’s words. In her heart, no, in the hearts of everyone in the small town, Olovice’s appearance, tone, demeanor, and every move exemplified what a true follower of the Radiant Church should be.

A textbook version of a standard saint.