The sun was shining brightly as a unicorn carriage made its way out of town. Lady Borgia’s vineyard was just five miles outside the small town. For an average person, it would take about an hour to walk there, but with a carriage, the journey could be shortened to forty minutes, or even less, unless one could endure the bumps of the ride.

Olovice sat on the velvet bench inside the unicorn carriage, feeling the unique unevenness of the cobblestone road. On either side of the road were woods, scattered shrubs, and sparsely blooming hanging lilies of the valley.

“Olovice, why don’t you have lunch at my manor today? I had the maids prepare the wine yesterday, and Mr. Thomas even brought out some of his treasured items. You must try the caviar from the northern continent of Eudor,” Lady Borgia said, gently waving a feather fan more for decoration than for actual use.

“Thank you for your and Mr. Thomas’s hospitality,” Olovice replied warmly and politely, placing his right hand over his heart and nodding slightly to Lady Borgia. “I imagine it will be a very sumptuous lunch.”

Lady Borgia half-covered her smiling face with her fan. Every time she saw Olovice’s face, she felt delighted, as if the summer heat and irritability were swept away. She couldn’t help but say, “Olovice, you shouldn’t be in a small place like Letania. With your looks and talent, wouldn’t it be better to go to a big city?”

Hearing Lady Borgia’s suggestion for the third time, Olovice thought to himself that as someone without original memories, running around in this dangerous world filled with true gods, evil gods, witches, and demons could be risky. If any of the righteous religions detected that his soul had crossed over and occupied someone else’s body, he might end up in jail, or worse, be eliminated as a demon.

Olovice smiled more kindly, looking at Lady Borgia with sincerity. “I just want to spread the glory of the Lord. It doesn’t matter where I am. Besides, meeting you in Letania is already a blessing from the Lord.”

Olovice knew that Lady Borgia’s repeated words were less about persuading him and more about expressing her own dissatisfaction and distress. Deep down, it was Lady Borgia who wanted to leave Letania.

Hearing this, Lady Borgia laughed even more happily. “Olovice, talking to you is always so pleasant.”

“I feel the same,” Olovice replied with a smile. Lady Borgia wasn’t a difficult person to get along with. On the contrary, once you found her interests, she would easily consider you a friend.

“I’ve prepared that ultramarine pigment this time. I must say, Olovice, you are truly a painter with refined taste,” Lady Borgia said proudly, her face beaming with joy. “Last month, I went to Montpelier to visit my cousin. When I mentioned ultramarine, she didn’t even know that this pigment could only be extracted from rare lapis lazuli.”

Lady Borgia continued enthusiastically, “I spent a lot of money at the Sunflower Gallery to buy some from Master Promi, and I showed him the ‘Spring Under the Grapevine’ you painted for me. He couldn’t stop praising your work and said he would visit you if he had the chance. Olovice, did you know?”

“Master Promi even wanted to buy that oil painting for ten gold pounds,” Lady Borgia said with a smile. “But I didn’t sell it to him. It’s a masterpiece-level artwork.”

No wonder Lady Borgia was so happy this time and generously donated a Hearn gold note. Olovice’s thoughts wandered a bit. If he ever stopped being a deacon, perhaps becoming a painter wouldn’t be a bad idea. In his previous life, due to poor health and the need for quiet recuperation, he often used painting to pass the time and had quite a bit of experience in it.

“You flatter me,” Olovice said modestly. “I’m not a great painter. For ‘Spring Under the Grapevine,’ I can only say that inspiration and color outweighed my actual painting skills. And since you are the subject of this painting, it is your muse.”

Lady Borgia clutched her chest, excitedly saying, “Olovice, you speak so well! You are a born great artist!”

He really wasn’t, Olovice thought helplessly. Painting was just a hobby for him, and he was lucky to have combined it with painting techniques that didn’t exist in this era. He didn’t take pride in it, and he felt a bit embarrassed by Master Promi’s praise.

By the time they reached the vineyard, Lady Borgia was still praising Olovice. The butler opened the carriage door, and Letania’s mayor, Mr. Thomas, wearing a top hat and a neatly tailored suit with a matching vest, leaned on a gentleman’s cane, sporting a fine mustache, and reached out to welcome his wife.

“My dear, your laughter is more melodious than a nightingale’s song,” Thomas said affectionately.

“That’s because I’ve invited the glory of Letania to our home,” Lady Borgia, Hannah, said, holding her husband’s arm as they stood close together.

“Haha, Olovice, welcome to the Borgia Vineyard,” Thomas said, spreading his arms and giving Olovice a deacon’s hug.

“Mr. Thomas, your enthusiasm could outshine the sun,” Olovice replied with a smile, presenting his gift. The intricate social etiquette was a must at the mayor’s house, and Olovice was well-prepared.

Inside the exquisite box were two Holy Light Cross necklaces. In the Kingdom of Hearn, these were the preferred gifts for clergy visits. Unlike the trinkets sold at street stalls, the Holy Light Cross contained the spirituality of clergy, meaning it emitted a soft white glow, fitting the image of the Radiant Church and beloved by the people of Hearn. To them, it could ward off the evil whispers of witches, the temptations of enchantresses, the entanglements of demons, soothe the soul, aid sleep, and bless a happy marriage, among other benefits.

Olovice wasn’t sure if the Holy Light Cross he gave had these effects. After all, he had never encountered the witches, demons, enchantresses, evil gods, fairies, or sea monsters described in books. If it weren’t for the fact that he could actually emit holy light, he might have thought Father Andre was just making things up.

“May the Holy Light bless you,” Olovice said to the mayor and his wife.

“This is the perfect gift,” Thomas said, putting away the gift and warmly welcoming Deacon Olovice into the vineyard, while Lady Borgia went ahead to prepare lunch.

It was July, and the air was already filled with the scent of grapes about to ripen. The vineyard was situated on a hillside, including a small forest behind the slope.

Thomas led the way, entering the vineyard from a forest path at the foot of the hill, showing Olovice around while chatting with him.

The vineyard’s entrance was marked by a small fountain, with an overall style reminiscent of the late Renaissance period of Caesar V, featuring exaggerated reliefs and exquisite carvings. Many green plants had climbed onto the stone pillars, and even climbing vines had taken over an entire mural.

“This Borgia Vineyard belonged to my grandfather, and it’s been over a hundred years since it was passed down to me. I grew up here,” Thomas said, stroking his mustache and looking at the old building with a sense of nostalgia. “This style isn’t popular anymore. Hannah often says we should sell it and buy a house in the city center of Montpelier, where we can be with Elizabeth, who’s attending university there. Her brother also works in the government, so the whole family could be together.”

“Family heirlooms aren’t easy to part with,” Thomas sighed, then smiled. “Olovice, if you ever have time, feel free to come and visit.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Olovice replied. “Fashion is cyclical. Who knows, the next trend might be the Renaissance style of the last century. Buildings with a sense of history are always fascinating.”

“Fashion is cyclical?” Thomas pondered the phrase and laughed. “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

The two had a pleasant conversation. As the mayor of Letania, Mr. Thomas held multiple roles in this small place. He was not only the town’s only police chief but also the kingdom’s tax collector, legal educator, and the main agent for the import and export of the town’s agricultural products. He had several business associations in Montpelier that could purchase the crops of Letania’s residents at relatively fair prices.

After a serious conversation, Olovice found Mr. Thomas to be a diligent worker. Of course, the perks from these positions likely provided enough to send his daughter to a private noble school in Montpelier, his son to hold an important government position there, and himself to own a manor and vineyard in the countryside.

The lunch atmosphere was friendly. Mr. Thomas and his wife were both followers of the Radiant Church. After Olovice finished his prayer, he joined them for lunch. The caviar from Eudor received a grand introduction from Lady Borgia, and in return, Olovice showed respect for the price of the caviar.

As for the taste, Olovice could only say that expensive things aren’t always delicious. It was both fishy and salty, and Olovice sometimes admired his own acting skills.

After lunch, it was time for painting.

Lady Borgia, when nervous, liked to talk. She kept asking Olovice about her posture and expression, whether they were natural. Clearly, the success of the previous painting had filled her with both anticipation and anxiety.

By the small lake, Lady Borgia held a book and read under a tree while Olovice painted her. His expression was calm, his long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hand holding the brush was steady. Occasionally, he would talk to Lady Borgia about her favorite fashion and jewelry to distract her from her nervousness.

Mr. Thomas was fishing by the lake.

In the shade, Lady Borgia’s pearl earrings gleamed, and she wore a blue headscarf. Her brown hair cascaded down, and the dappled light and shadow fell on her. Everything was captured in Olovice’s painting.

At some point, Mr. Thomas stopped fishing and stood in front of the canvas, eyes filled with amazement.

“It’s truly amazing, Olovice. If you were a painter, you’d be famous throughout the Kingdom of Hearn.”

“I’m a deacon,” Olovice replied with a smile, as the sunset began to paint colors in the distant sky.

“That’s a pity,” Mr. Thomas muttered.

“What will you call this painting?” he asked.

Olovice thought for a moment, looking at the ultramarine pigment, and suddenly felt a little playful. “The Girl with a Pearl Earring…” The words “girl” lingered in his mouth, and he paused. “Lady Borgia.”

After saying it, Olovice felt a bit lonely.

Mr. Thomas applauded. “A perfect name for a perfect painting.”

Lady Borgia was equally delighted and praised Olovice’s painting skills. When it was time to leave, she gifted Olovice a Hearn gold note worth one gold pound as a return gift.

Having received the largest sum of money since his transmigration, Olovice’s mood improved a bit, and his small treasury was replenished.

He politely declined Lady Borgia’s offer to have the butler drive him back to the church in the unicorn carriage.

The bumpy cobblestone road was an experience Olovice didn’t want to repeat.

He preferred to walk back on his own two feet.

In front of the manor, Lady Borgia expressed her concern. “It’s almost dusk. Aren’t you worried about encountering the ‘Twilight Fairies,’ Olovice?”

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Thomas reassured her. “Those mischievous Twilight Fairies might not even come out when they see him.”

“Olovice is a deacon of the church.”