When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1062 Embassy

Led by two eunuchs, Mittne walked along the François Gallery in the Palais de la Verdot.

Unlike the lesser nobles who rarely visited the palace, they were often awestruck by the extravagance of the Fanglu Palace.

From her first visit, Mittne was quite relaxed and at ease, admiring the stucco reliefs on both sides as she walked.

These scenes mostly feature the ancient elven hero Clahles, who symbolizes royal power, and are dominated by gold, white, ochre, and ultramarine.

Walking through the 60-meter-long corridor and past the vaulted ceiling with its hanging floral decorations, you can see groups of courtiers chatting by the toilet door.

Directly opposite the toilet was the office of the court official appointed by the Queen Mother, whose door was always open.

After being informed, Mittelne was granted permission to enter. He tidied his appearance in front of the mirror by the door and then stepped into the two-section study.

Compared to grand halls or long corridors, the king's study was a rectangular room of medium to small size.

The walls are covered with intricately carved oak panels, decorated with leaf motifs, scrollwork, and shell designs.

Unlike the simple style of Horn's study, Charles VIII had a collecting obsession.

Therefore, the niche in his study contains not only exquisite oil paintings, but also ancient bronze statues and scientific instruments.

The two rows of display cases under the niche also contain rare seashells and corals, animal specimens, exotic treasures, various mineral crystals, and ivory clocks.

Mittner even saw a row of Saint League player cards.

Charles VIII may not have known about football, a niche sport in the Holy League.

But one thing is certain: trading cards would have been a perfect fit for Charles VIII's collecting tastes.

Because he was a craftsman, he had a set of gold-leaf playing cards printed for him by the high-ranking officials of Fran and the legion commanders of various regions, which he often held in his hand and played with.

Basically, whoever gets their name printed on a playing card immediately enters the fast track to promotion.

Standing at the doorway, from a distance, Mittne bowed to Charles VIII, who was sitting behind the desk in the center of the room.

“No need for formalities, Mr. Mittner, please have a seat.” Charles VIII snapped his fingers, and someone brought in a cup of silky smooth coffee.

Mittne sat down before the king, who then handed him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope.

Mittne apologized for his rudeness, then opened the letter and began to read it.

Soon after, he put down the letter and, facing Charles VIII's cautious gaze, said, "This is Duke Omes testing your intentions."

"Why do you say that?"

“It has been a month since Jan Bazore capsized his boat, causing the Archbishop of Grandiva to fall into the water and die.”

Mittner's fingertips traced the words "Deepest condolences to the Bishop of Grandiva."

"They've come to you now, claiming to offer condolences, but it must be about the Five Cities Alliance of Dawn Island, a test of your attitude."

"Hahahaha." Charles VIII laughed twice. "You're absolutely right. You've convinced me."

"I wouldn't dare say that. Your sagacious mind is not in control; you are merely testing me. You know right from wrong far better than I do."

The nightingale outside the window chirped twice, and the morning breeze, carrying the scent of roses, slipped through the window cracks.

Charles VIII leaned back in his velvet chair, gazing admiringly at Mittne: "And what about Horn?"

"The Holy Grandson has never been stingy in extending a helping hand to his fellow believers."

Charles VIII picked up his crystal glass, the red wine inside swirling and producing fine droplets: "Is he truly intending to help those citizens, or is he just trying to muddy the waters?"

“Both,” Mittne said, putting down the letter. “A divided Leia is more in the interest of the Holy Alliance than a united Leia.”

Can you take responsibility for what you say?

"I can guarantee that the Holy Alliance's army will not cross even a single step of the border; at most, they will only send some civilian forces to provide support."

The war between the five cities of Dawn Island will only be fought by themselves.

It must be said that having an embassy has indeed made communication between some countries much easier. Especially between two countries of similar strength, if it were before, Charlie would probably have spent an entire night trying to figure out what Horn was up to.

It's not that an ambassador can necessarily represent the will of the country, but at least they can reduce misunderstandings and the unnecessary losses they cause.

"Alright, I understand." Charles VIII then praised and encouraged Mittne a few times, invited him to the dinner party, and then politely saw him off.

At that moment, the display case next to them suddenly pushed open to both sides, and Lorenzo walked in.

"Your Highness, what do you think?"

"What do I think?" Charles VIII stretched. "Whoever tries to muddy the waters of Leia, I'll lend a hand."

…………

The morning light slanted across the oak table in the study, casting a long shadow of Horn.

Jeanne sat on the edge of the table, her fingertips unconsciously picking at the carvings on the corner of the table.

Her decision to go to Dawn Island has been formally approved by the Cardinal Council.

Horn called her over specifically to chat with her and discuss the relevant matters.

"The militia on Dawn Island is lacking organization. When you get there, help them organize their ranks. Your main responsibility will be military matters," Horn instructed as he wrote a letter to the Five Cities Alliance.

With the soft scratching of his pen across the paper, he deliberately softened his tone and looked up at Jeanne: "Are you listening?"

Jeanne didn't reply, she just stared at the pigeons outside the window.

Those pigeons have immigrated to the Holy See over the past three years and always love to circle around the spire of the Holy See building.

She suddenly spoke, her voice as soft as a feather: "Next time I return to the Holy See, I hope I'll see Carrie with her big belly all the time?"

"Am I crazy?" Horn scratched his pen. "Stop testing me. You won't get married later than anyone else."

Jeanne pursed her lips, and after a long pause, she continued, "Then can you tell me that you, Carrie, and Catherine are all fake, and only me is real?"

Horn fell silent. He looked up and reached out to tuck her hair behind his ear. "If I really said that, it would be deception."

Jeanne looked into Horn's eyes: "Remember before, I always thought about saving the world, and you always thought about living your own little life."

But later, I got tired. I felt that we had saved enough people, but you were no longer willing to do so.

I even have dreams like this—we go back to Red Mill Village, you plant wheat, I spin thread, and Old Ke will be our wedding officiant.

“I’ll go there when I retire,” Horn said, patting Jeanne’s head. “I’ll build you a wooden house myself, and plant cornflowers that you love all over the outside.”

"Do you still dream?" Jeanne didn't respond to Horn's promise, but asked again.

"Of course, I dream of the Holy Alliance's army planting its flags all over the land, and everyone living well."

Her eyebrows twitched, plunging Na into a long silence.

"What's wrong? You don't want to go to Dawn Island?"

“No, no.” She looked up and stared blankly at Horn. “You no longer dream of Horn. Sometimes I feel like you are the Holy Alliance.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Horn didn't respond to Jeanne's words, but instead called out to the door, "Come in."

The door hinges creaked open, and Raphael stood in the doorway, the hem of his black robe damp with dew, his lips dry.

"What's wrong?" Seeing that it was her subordinate, Jeanne suppressed her sentimental side and asked Raphael.

Raphael didn't look at her; his gaze went past her and straight to Horn.

Horn frowned: "What's wrong?"

Raphael's lips twitched for a long time before he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence:

"Your Majesty, news has come from Jinhe Township that His Excellency Pasric passed away last night due to a relapse of his lung disease at the age of eighty-four."

(End of this chapter)