Hype is fleeting after all, since she was just a child adopted by a church in a remote region—nothing particularly special about her.
If she were the child of a noble family, everyone in the kingdom might remember her name.
Selina thought this way as she snuggled in Sela’s arms, reading a book.
Sela always had a pleasant floral scent about her, but Selina couldn’t quite identify it.
As a bookish recluse who rarely touched flowers, it didn’t matter much.
Still, being near Sela always brought her a sense of peace.
Did that mean she subconsciously saw her as a mother?
Not that it made much difference.
Everyone already treated Sela as Selina’s foster mother, and in others’ eyes, Selina didn’t understand the distinction between a foster mother and a biological mother.
Morning sunlight streamed across Selina’s face.
The advantage of living in this remote border town was its isolation: no phones, no computers, no video games—not even Tetris.
The only entertainment was reading.
To outsiders, Selina seemed mature for her age.
While other kids her age were still crying for milk, she had already learned to read.
Selina, current age: one and a half.
She wondered how long it would be before she could walk.
Her face had started to open up a little, revealing the potential for beauty.
Since she had blond hair, some visiting believers mistook her and Sela for a biological mother-daughter pair.
Maybe because Selina herself was so precocious, Sela didn’t find her difficult to raise—not that Sela had any experience with children.
Perhaps she assumed all newborns were like this.
Father Laite and Sister Manila had both had children of their own, but since Sela seemed to be doing a good job and Selina rarely cried, they didn’t interfere much.
Their own busy schedules also contributed to them not noticing anything unusual.
As for her best friend Milia, every time Selina thought of that reckless girl, she couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
If Sela hadn’t found her that day, Selina might not have survived even half a year.
Pushing aside these tangled thoughts, Selina focused on the book in her hands.
The Lives of Saints, a biography chronicling the lives of all the saints throughout history.
She had also learned that her own name came from Chapter Three of the book—the third saint in history, Saint Selina Purait.
She should share Sela’s surname, but Sela had never told her what it was.
Just a rural nun’s surname, nothing to worry about.
For now, she should just enjoy this peace.
But peaceful times were always destined to be broken by some unexpected event.
…
“Be-be-be-be… betrothed childhood bride!!!”
Milia’s mouth hung open, and she stammered, “But, that’s against the rules.”
“With all due respect, Sister Milia, the child called Selina is adopted by you, isn’t she? There’s nothing against regulations about this.”
A tall, thin man with a dashing mustache held a curly-haired boy in his arms, looking down at Milia from a lofty height.
At that moment, Milia wanted to slap herself.
Why had she let Sister Manila go fetch Sela and Selina when this lavishly dressed man had shown up with his son, specifically demanding to see them?
She should have handled this troublesome matter herself instead of standing here awkwardly, wanting to dig a hole in the floor with her toes.
Still, Milia maintained her professionalism as a nun.
She quickly composed herself and asked, “May I ask for your name, sir?”
“How rude of me. I am Thomas Quills, a baron from the neighboring town. I heard that this town’s church has a baby girl blessed by the goddess. If her appearance is suitable, I must have her as my son’s betrothed bride.”
Milia forced a smile.
Was he judging by appearance alone?
Though the church and the empire had many disagreements, they could still set aside their differences when facing a common enemy.
As long as the other side didn’t go too far, they could tolerate each other.
There was also a clear hierarchy in status.
The Pope and the Saint corresponded to the Emperor, Archbishops to Dukes, regular Bishops to Marquises, the Curia to Counts, local Bishops to Viscounts, Priests to Barons, and nuns were roughly equivalent to Knights.
So in terms of status, Milia was subordinate and should defer to this Viscount.
That said, he couldn’t force anything, so Milia felt somewhat confident.
She studied the curly-haired boy in the baron’s arms.
He looked about four or five years old.
His face wasn’t ugly, but judging by appearances, she was certain this kid wasn’t worthy of her little Selina.
Already thinking of her as her own?
“With all due respect, Baron, isn’t it a bit early to talk about a betrothed bride for your son?”
“Early? Marriages between noble families in the capital start from the womb. My son is only four and a half—it’s already quite late. Unfortunately, there haven’t been any suitable outstanding women around him. Since I have the chance to find a good match, I can’t let it slip by. This is also a blessing for you, isn’t it?”
Baron Quills didn’t hide his arrogance at all, as if once Selina’s appearance satisfied him, she already belonged to him and his son.
Father Laite entered through the back door, having heard everything.
He said, “Baron, this marriage alliance isn’t decided by you alone. Both guardians must agree at the very least. Let’s wait until the person arrives.”
Quills smiled slightly and sat down in the church pew.
“Fine. I’ll discuss it after I see the child’s appearance.”
Not long after, Sela arrived holding Selina.
On the way, they had learned the situation from Sister Manila.
When the three of them hurried in, the church was eerily quiet, except for the sound of the curly-haired boy munching on snacks brought by the butler.
When Sela entered with Selina, Quills’s eyes lit up as he stared at the mother and daughter—or rather, they went wide.
“Daddy, I want her.”
The curly-haired boy pointed at the half-asleep Selina in Sela’s arms.
Selina had actually been excited to hear someone wanted her as a betrothed bride.
There was no way she would agree.
She’d rather throw a tantrum, cry, hang herself, anything but agree.
But she still wanted to watch the excitement—it was an instinct carved into her soul.
Unfortunately, this weak infant body was already drowsy halfway there.
At this age, she spent at least two-thirds of the day sleeping.
Right now, Selina fought off her drowsiness, barely able to hear what was happening outside.
“As you can see, my son is quite taken with this child. So, according to our agreement, I will designate this child as our Quills family’s betrothed bride.”
Faced with this minor baron’s outrageous statement, Sela barely suppressed her anger and maintained a nun’s composure as she retorted, “Mr. Quills, it seems you’ve misunderstood something. I haven’t agreed to such a major matter as establishing a marriage contract.”
“That may be true, but I am a baron—a noble of the empire. I am willing to have my child marry an ordinary imperial citizen, which is already a supreme honor. Surely you don’t intend to refuse this honor?”
Quills spoke with such passion that he might as well have been a duke laden with glory, not a mere baron.
“According to imperial law, when both children are not yet mature, any marriage contract between the parties must be negotiated by parents or guardians, sealed with thumbprints, and formalized as a written document. Superficially, this child’s guardian is Sister Sela, but imperial law also stipulates that for children adopted by local churches, the guardian defaults to the local church’s head, which is me.”
Laite said calmly, showing no favorable attitude toward Quills.
Quills furrowed his brow.
“Then I ask you, Father, to sign and seal this marriage contract.”
“Baron, please stop talking about sealing the contract. We haven’t even negotiated yet. I am the guardian in the legal sense of imperial law, but the actual guardian is still Sister Sela.”
“Isn’t it still her in the end?”
Quills grew impatient.
His butler had already prepared the contract, as if the matter was settled.
“Just sign it quickly. I can’t stand being in this shabby church a moment longer.”
“I refuse. Baron Quills, please leave.”
Sela said expressionlessly.
“I am a baron, young lady. The only person here who can speak to me as an equal is your priest. You have no right to interrupt.”
Quills stroked his mustache, looking down at Sela.
“Of course, if you’d like to become my wife instead, that’s also an option. My son could use a mother.”
“Her will is mine. Baron, please leave.”
Laite said flatly.
Quills’s face was already falling.
His earlier elegance and restraint were crumbling.
Even a fool could see that everyone in this church was united against him.
Yeah, right.
Selina was the group’s darling.
Even the Emperor would have to eat dust and leave if he showed up here.
“I advise you to be sensible. I am a baron—a noble of the empire. My son will inherit my title. Those who oppose nobles rarely end well.”
The mustached baron suddenly surged with energy, and several flames appeared in midair.
“Let me show you why nobles are nobles!”
Perhaps feeling the heat of the fireballs, or because the scene was so striking, Selina’s drowsiness faded a little.
“What are you doing?! You’re provoking a conflict between the church and the empire!”
“Just a remote local church. If it burns down, no one will care. Blame yourselves for adopting this girl!”
“Fireball!!!”
A fist-sized fireball shot toward the group in the church.
It vanished less than half a meter later, leaving no trace.
The mustached baron was stunned.
He looked at his staff, raised it high, and shouted, “Fireball!!!”
Again, it disappeared within half a meter.
“What… how is this possible?”
“Blessed by the goddess.”
Laite prayed devoutly toward the statue of the goddess.
The others followed suit, as if the goddess herself was protecting them—or rather, protecting the child in Sela’s arms.
“Baron, is there anything else? If not, please leave. Your town has its own church; there’s no need to keep coming here.”
Laite said indifferently.
The mustached baron picked up his not-so-bright son and hurried out, shouting a few characteristic curses before leaving, practically writing “troublemaking petty person” on his face.
Milia even made a face at him.
As for why the baron’s magic was so weak?
Selina looked up.
In Sela’s eyes, the glow of magic was slowly fading.
Everything seemed to settle down.
Afterward, Laite dismissed everyone, leaving only Sela, himself, and Selina.
‘Watching the drama, watching the drama. Our mom is definitely a woman with a story~’
Selina closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
She was less than two years old—even if she eavesdropped, it wouldn’t matter.
She wouldn’t remember anyway, and she couldn’t say anything.
Laite sighed.
“I’ve told you many times. If you want to stay here peacefully, don’t use magic.”
“I couldn’t really let that guy burn down the church. I know my limits.”
“Your limits? Using a sixth-tier shielding spell to block a first-tier fireball? Do you have any idea how powerful your family is? If you want to avoid being found, you have to hide your power—preferably hide it forever.”
Laite scolded.
“That mustached baron didn’t figure it out, did he? As long as no one talks, it’s fine.”
“He didn’t notice, but do you think others won’t? Fireball is an offensive spell—it’s not something we learn in the countryside.”
Laite sat by the window, gazing at the moon about to rise in the sky, looking as if he had aged several years.
‘Mom, it seems you’ve got quite a background, too~’
Selina thought sleepy.