“Your Grace must be joking. If it were truly a young dragon, the wrath of the dragon would have already swept from the land of Fayinala to the border. She is the product of the Magic Association’s directly affiliated workshop, reputed to be the magic puppet closest to a god-made angel—a true artificial life in every sense.”
“Oh? Is it the one that caused such a stir recently?”
The Red-robed Duke drew out his words, “The Magic Association really has made something impressive.”
As he spoke, the Red-robed Duke reached out from his voluminous sleeves, attempting to stroke Lulumia’s chin.
But Lulumia turned her head aside, deftly dodging his hand.
The air seemed to freeze at that moment.
Everyone’s eyes widened, astonished by what they witnessed; Lulumia could even hear the terrified gasps rippling through the crowd.
The Red-robed Duke’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.
He withdrew his hand and gave a soft chuckle.
“How interesting.”
“Lulumia is rebellious by nature and has not yet been properly disciplined. Please do not take offense, Duke Kanglan.”
Saint Son Ino bowed, displaying impeccable courtesy.
“The Geffen Diocese is the poorest in the Holy Nation. Saint Son Ino hails from there, so you ought to discipline your magic puppet well, lest you give others an excuse. You should know, there has been much discontent toward you in the royal capital lately.”
“I will remember Your Grace’s teachings.”
Not caring about Ino’s response, the Red-robed Duke led his entourage onward.
Only after the crowd had moved off did Lulumia finally breathe a long sigh of relief.
The other’s aura was so strong she felt nearly suffocated, especially when she dodged his hand—there had been a flash of displeasure in his eyes that sent chills through her.
It was as if a single misstep would cost her life.
Regaining her senses now, she realized her back was already drenched in cold sweat.
This duke left Lulumia with an even worse impression than when she first met Xinleira.
If Xinleira was cold and proud, then the Red-robed Duke was pure arrogance—he didn’t even bother to hide the contempt in his eyes toward Ino.
Truly terrifying.
The power he wielded was likely beyond imagination.
“Are you alright?”
Ino placed her right hand on Lulumia’s shoulder, signaling her not to be nervous.
“The young man walking ahead is this country’s Second Prince. The one in the red robes is Duke Kanglan—they are the representative figures of the Second Prince’s faction.”
As the crowd gradually dispersed, Ino explained in a low voice.
“The King is getting old, and all sorts of factions in the capital are stirring. Although the eldest prince has the rightful claim by law, the Second Prince’s faction is much stronger—especially Duke Kanglan, who is ruthless and holds power in every corner of the kingdom’s south. Most of the kingdom’s decrees require his approval to be implemented. In private, everyone calls him the Southern King.”
What Ino said was true—among Duke Kanglan’s many titles, there was indeed both “Southern King” and “Serpent of the Southern Territories.”
Seeing that Lulumia wasn’t shocked enough, Ino specially emphasized, “The power he holds is far beyond what the Fourth Princess can compare to. The Fourth Princess only has noble status, but no real authority. If he and the Fourth Princess were to clash, even she would have to yield. Including the King and the Three Princes, there are fewer than ten people in the whole country whom he truly respects.”
“I see… Ino, did I just offend him?”
“What are you afraid of? If you dislike something, you should refuse,” Ino was not only uncritical, her face was full of satisfaction and encouragement, “Besides, we are members of the church. He wouldn’t dare offend the church over such a trivial matter. If it had been me, I’d have dodged as well. That old thing still dares to take advantage? The church is not his private property.”
So rebellious, Sister Ino.
Now Lulumia somewhat understood why the Holy Knights and nuns said “Ino has a bad temper.”
Subjectively, though, she liked this unyielding personality—a timid superior was just annoying.
“Yo, Ino, what a rare sight. Are you here with Duke Kanglan as well?”
Just as Ino was about to take Lulumia away, a young voice drew their attention.
This time, it was a young man dressed as a noble.
He wore the church’s insignia and was quite stylishly dressed, but his messy blond hair and frivolous expression left a sense of discord.
If Lulumia were to judge, she’d say he looked like a lapdog dressed in human clothes—lacking all sense of breeding.
She opened her panel, and on his titles it read: “Saint Son of Blackstone,” “False Saint Son,” “Dog of Baron Belen,” “Slanderer,” “Impostor,” “Deceiver,” “Bullying with Power,” “Silver Tongued.”
Oh?
A fellow, huh.
Unlike Lulumia’s surprise, Ino instantly showed the sharpness expected of her age.
She shifted her stance, sneering unceremoniously.
“Thank you for your concern, Dog of Baron Belen.”
“No need for such harsh words, Sister Ino. We’re both Saint Sons—we ought to devote ourselves to serving Lady Istelle. Why make things difficult for one another and quibble over words?”
The young man sighed dramatically, his affected sarcasm making Ino’s anger surge.
“Don’t think I don’t know your tricks. You’re the one sowing discord in front of the Cardinal.”
Ino’s eyes narrowed, a cold gleam flashing in her sapphire irises, “Since you lack strength, you resort to underhanded means to tarnish your opponents’ names. That suits your background perfectly, Roden. Don’t let me catch you with evidence, or else—”
Ino drew a cross-shaped sword, the cold gleam reflected off its blade making everyone hold their breath.
With a swoosh, she sheathed the sword again, making hearts tremble.
But Roden didn’t care about Ino’s threat at all.
With a rogue’s air, he spread his hands and began ticking off Ino’s “crimes” on his fingers, one by one.
“What evil reputation? I’m only telling the truth. As a Saint Son candidate, you’ve repeatedly skipped the Saint Son Selection, running off to care for a useless puppet. Arrogant and overbearing, you use your little bit of talent to boss around nuns and clerics in the temple—even the Cardinal can’t rein you in. Now you threaten your competitor with violence. Where did I go wrong?”
“Pitiful Geffen Diocese thought they chose a Saint Son who’d bring them glory. Instead, the more they try to cover for you, the worse you look.”
He’s serious about this.
Lulumia raised an eyebrow.
Not only did this guy’s titles resemble her own, but he also knew how to manipulate words like a seasoned spin doctor.
If not for the fact that his titles didn’t include “Transmigrator,” she’d have suspected Roden was also from Earth.
Jokes aside, Ino’s patience was wearing thin.
Lulumia quickly tugged at Ino’s sleeve, pointed at Roden, and asked innocently, “Sister Ino, is this dog-faced fellow also a Saint Son?”
“Oh?”
Only now did Roden notice Lulumia.
He sneered, “You’re the useless puppet Ino just bought? So-called closest to a god-made angel, but at a glance you’re nothing more than a defective product.”
“I’m artificial. But as for you, being a dog… is that something you were born with?”
Roden was stunned, his face darkening.
Anyone would clench their fists at being mocked by a ten-year-old girl.
But this was exactly what Lulumia wanted.
She clung tightly to Ino’s arm and seriously suggested, “Sister Ino, don’t stoop to a dog’s level. A crippled cur barks madly—talking to him is a waste of time.”
“A crippled cur barks madly? Not bad.”
Seeing Roden’s face turn from green to white, Ino felt thoroughly delighted.
She patted Lulumia on the head in praise, then glanced at Roden, “You’d best pray you don’t end up in my hands someday.”
But before Ino could walk away, Roden’s cold laugh rang out from behind.
“A word of advice for you, Saint Son Ino—quit the Saint Son competition early and crawl back to your Geffen Diocese. The capital is no place for outsiders. Your little strength is nothing among nobles. Don’t wait until you’re ruined to regret it!”
“Sister Ino, who is he?”
Ignoring the voice behind them, Lulumia asked.
“Saint Son of Blackstone, Roden Belen. His father was a scoundrel from the capital’s slums, his mother a maid in a noble household. He used to live in the slums with his father, but one day, supposedly inspired by Lady Istelle, he suddenly became the adopted son of his mother’s master—Baron Belen.”
“The reason for all the negative rumors about me in the capital is the Baron Belen family’s doing. They bribe thugs to spread slander, saying I’m from the poor Geffen Diocese, a half-vampire who, emboldened by a little talent, looks down on everyone and ignores church rules. Because of them, until I took part in rooting out the smugglers, the nobles in the capital all shut their doors to me.”
“You’ve probably heard nuns or Holy Knights in the church say I’m stubborn, arrogant, hard to get along with—those rumors all came from the Belen family. Honestly, I can’t understand why Lady Istelle would choose such scum as a Saint Son.”
By the end, Ino clicked her tongue, her sapphire eyes full of impatience, clearly vexed by the whole business.
Just as Roden said, as an outsider, Ino found it hard to gain a foothold in the intrigue-ridden capital.
If the Saint Son election were decided purely by strength, it wouldn’t matter so much—but reputation and virtue were considered just as important.
That was also why Sharina strongly opposed Lulumia becoming Ino’s puppet—the negative reputation would drag her down.
“Hmm…”
Lulumia mused, “So, he’s just manufacturing rumors to smear Sister Ino?”
“Exactly.”
Ino sighed helplessly.
“Sighing lets happiness slip away,” Lulumia rose on tiptoe, poking Ino’s cheek with her finger, “And Sister Ino, why do you look so resigned? Shouldn’t you be thinking of a way to deal with him?”
Ino smiled, gripping Lulumia’s hand tightly. “The innocent have nothing to fear. Besides, haven’t I been negotiating with Lant on how to deal with him? The Belen family and Lant’s Tambur family are rivals—they can’t stand each other.”
“So Sister Ino isn’t just waiting to be bullied…”
“Do I look like someone who just sits and waits?”
Ino flicked Lulumia’s forehead with a laugh, “If they come knocking at my door, of course I have to give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Yes, that’s right! We must give them a taste of their own medicine!”
Lulumia’s tail stood up straight.
She waved her little fists, her delicate face full of righteous indignation.
The adorable sight made Ino’s eyes curve with a smile as she pinched Lulumia’s nose, thinking how much this little one’s personality resembled her own.
No wonder Lant said they looked like mother and daughter.
But what Ino didn’t know was that, at this moment, the evil inside Lulumia was swelling to the point where her positive virtue value was about to drop.
Lulumia had many faults—one of her most prominent was that she bore grudges.
A False Saint Son, putting on airs, calling her a useless puppet, and even trying to use vile means to drive away her greatest shield.
When it came to manipulating public opinion, who was afraid of whom?
Wasn’t one of the Propaganda Bureau’s original functions to smear political enemies?
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