The winter chill was dispelled by the warm fireplace in the study of Duke Olivia’s mansion.
Eleanor sat behind the wide mahogany desk, dressed in a simple white outfit suitable for movement rather than the elaborate ceremonial robes of a saintess.
The feather pen in her hand moved swiftly across the parchment, making a rustling sound.
Beside her, the mountain of documents was visibly shrinking.
“Young miss.”
The elderly steward walked in quietly, holding a cup of steaming red tea.
He glanced at the processed documents, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes.
“These are the material allocation requests sent from various churches in the Southern Diocese this morning, along with the preparation reports for the Winter Festival.”
“Just put them there.”
Eleanor said without looking up.
Her voice was gentle, but it carried a newfound sense of efficiency.
“Also, tell the finance officer to double-check the accounts from last quarter. I don’t want any unclear expenses, especially regarding those funds allocated for repairing the border churches.”
“Yes, young miss.”
Ron replied respectfully, set down the red tea, and withdrew.
Eleanor put down the pen and rubbed her slightly sore wrist.
She picked up the red tea, took a gentle sip, and her gaze fell on the gloomy sky outside the window.
She hadn’t had a moment of rest since returning to the territory.
With Julius, Gavi, and that Ghost master watching over Helos, no major problems should arise there.
But as an older sister, she had her own battlefield to fight.
The Southern Diocese.
This vast region was nominally under her jurisdiction, but in reality, it had always been secretly controlled by various forces. Now, it faced unprecedented turmoil.
Chaos Believers were becoming more active, border villages were frequently attacked by magical beasts, and unrest was spreading within the diocese itself.
The areas near Olivius City were relatively stable, but the dioceses outside the Olivias Territory were much harder to handle.
To stabilize the situation and ease her father’s burden, Eleanor had no choice but to take over the affairs that should have been handled by the diocesan bishops early on.
Thanks to her upbringing at Duke Eisend’s side and the knowledge she gained during her studies at the Divine Magic Academy, Eleanor handled these matters with ease.
Whether it was allocating supplies, comforting refugees, or coordinating relations between churches, she made the most accurate judgments in the shortest time possible.
However, even with perfect work, there were always some irritating noises.
“Bishop Duran.”
Eleanor murmured the name, a cold glint flashing in her sapphire eyes.
Duran Cast.
The Cardinal Bishop of the Southern Diocese and the real power broker of the region before Eleanor took over.
He was a typical church bureaucrat.
He had a round, kind-looking face, always wearing that hypocritical smile.
But beneath that amiable exterior lay a greedy and power-hungry heart.
Since Eleanor returned to the territory and began forcefully intervening in diocesan affairs, this Archbishop had outwardly shown her respect, calling her “Her Holiness the Saint,” but behind her back, he constantly threw obstacles in her way.
He seemed to hold a grudge against this young saintess.
In his eyes, Eleanor was just a naive girl who got her position thanks to the Olivias Family’s background.
What did she know about management? What did she know about church affairs?
The loss of power made him deeply hostile toward Eleanor.
Though he dared not openly defy her due to Duke Eisend’s authority, secretly causing trouble and making things difficult for Eleanor was what he did best—and what he enjoyed most.
For example, now.
Eleanor picked up a newly arrived report.
It was a budget request for the Winter Festival.
According to past customs, this money should have been allocated long ago.
But Duran, citing “poor harvests this year and tight church funds,” had deliberately held up the payment, refusing to sign off.
He had even subtly hinted at church meetings that the new saintess’s lack of frugality was causing the church’s financial difficulties.
“Tight funds?”
Eleanor sneered, tossing the report back onto the table.
She stood up and walked to the window.
“When he privately accepts ‘donations’ from wealthy merchants to expand his private mansion, which is more luxurious than the duke’s estate, he doesn’t seem to think funds are tight, does he?”
Though young, Eleanor wasn’t naive.
From her first day back in the territory, she had used the family’s intelligence network to thoroughly investigate Duran’s actions over the years.
The man was not only greedy but extremely snobbish.
He fawned over wealthy and powerful nobles, while showing utter indifference to the poor faithful who truly needed help.
That was why his reputation in the diocese had always been low.
In contrast, though young, Eleanor far surpassed Duran in winning people’s hearts.
It wasn’t just because of her halo as a saintess, but also her genuine kindness and sincerity.
She personally visited disaster-stricken villages, using her holy light to heal injured commoners.
She unhesitatingly used her personal savings to buy food and clothing for homeless orphans.
She even lowered herself to listen to the prayers and appeals of the lowest-ranking believers.
In the hearts of ordinary people in the Southern Diocese, Eleanor Olivias was the true saintess representing the Goddess’s will.
And Duran, the bishop who only issued orders from his lofty throne, was nothing more a politician reeking of money.
Duran knew this well, which was why he feared Eleanor so much and tried every means to undermine her authority.
“You want to play games with me?”
Eleanor looked at the gloomy sky outside the window, a confident smile curling at the corner of her mouth.
“Then I’ll play with you properly.”
She turned and sat back at the desk.
Picking up the feather pen, she unhesitatingly signed her name on the budget request Duran had blocked.
And below, she added a note:
[Effective immediately, all expenses for the Winter Festival will be fully borne by the Olivias Family. Furthermore, on the day of the festival, we will publicly display the diocese’s full financial records for the past year, subject to the oversight of all believers.]
Since you, Duran, like to cry poverty and use funds as an excuse, I’ll simply bypass you.
After all, the Olivias Family doesn’t lack money.
But the public disclosure of the financial records—that was the real killing blow.
Once the accounts Duran had deliberately concealed, or even embezzled, were exposed to the light, his position as bishop would likely be over.
“Bishop Duran.”
Eleanor stared at the still-wet note, a sharp glint in her eyes.
“You’d better pray your tracks are clean enough.”
“Otherwise…”
She was the saintess of the Southern Diocese, the person with the highest religious authority on this land, second only to the Pope and the Great Saintess.
If she couldn’t even take down a corrupt and incompetent bishop, how could she ever become a true Great Saintess? How could she achieve that grand goal—sending all those useless old fossils in the church to the northern territory to grow potatoes?
“Steward.”
Eleanor called toward the door.
The elderly steward pushed the door open and entered.
“Young miss, your orders?”
“Have this document copied several times and stamped.”
Eleanor handed him the signed application.
“Then send copies to every church under the diocese. I want every priest and believer to know that this year’s Winter Festival will not only take place as scheduled but will be grander than ever.”
“Also.”
She paused, her tone turning playful.
“Send a copy to Bishop Duran as well. And tell him for me that I look forward to his performance at the festival. I hope he doesn’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, young miss.”
Ron took the document, looking at his young lady’s composed demeanor, his eyes filled with pride.
The little girl who once hid behind the duke had finally grown into a leader capable of standing on her own.
“One more thing.”
Just as Ron was about to withdraw, Eleanor called him back.
A trace of worry appeared on her face.
“Has there been any word from Helos?”
“Reporting to the young miss.”
Ron replied.
“According to the letters sent back by Young Master Julius, the second young lady’s special training is going smoothly. Though the process is tough, her progress has been very fast. And that Mistress Sylvia seems very satisfied with her.”
“That’s good.”
Eleanor sighed in relief.
As long as Helos was doing well, she could handle the matters here without worry.
She picked up the pen again, diving back into the seemingly endless pile of documents.
Behind her, outside the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, the dark clouds were slowly parting, revealing a rare ray of sunlight.
Though faint, it stubbornly pierced through the haze, illuminating the study and the girl striving for her future.
It was time for a change in the Southern Diocese.
Whether it was the Cultists lurking in the shadows or the parasites entrenched within the church.
Anyone who dared to stand in her way or harm her family would be swept into the dustbin of history by the power she wielded and the holy light the Goddess had bestowed upon her!
“Achoo!”
Dozens of miles away, Archbishop Duran suddenly sneezed without warning.
He rubbed his slightly reddened nose and looked at the clearing sky outside the window, an inexplicable foreboding rising in his heart.
“Strange… Why does my back feel cold?”
“Your Excellency Bishop, please don’t catch a cold. Your health is very important.”
A gentle voice came from beside him, and a slender hand placed a cup of hot tea before Duran.
“This is a warm tea I specially prepared for you. Warm yourself up.”
Duran turned his head and looked at the young nun smiling beside him.
She appeared to be a girl of only fifteen or sixteen.
She wore a faded apprentice nun’s robe, but the simple clothing could not conceal the innate warmth radiating from her.
She had short, chestnut-brown hair, slightly curled at the ends, playfully resting against her cheeks.
But what caught the eye most were her eyes.
They were a pair of emerald-green eyes, as clear as spring water, even greener than the eyes of an Elf.
Strangely, the green wasn’t deep, but as bright as newly sprouted leaves in spring, full of vitality and hope.
When she looked at you, you felt as if you were bathed in warm sunlight, and all your troubles would melt away.
A sweet, sincere smile was always on the girl’s face.
It was a smile from the heart, pure and free of any impurity.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, revealing two shallow dimples, making her instantly likable.
“Thank you, child.”
Duran took the cup of tea.
Looking at the girl with her bright smile, the gloom on his face softened.
In this treacherous church, perhaps only this simple, kind young nun could still bring him a trace of long-lost warmth.
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