Chapter: 141
Roman Orphanage.
It was one of the orphanages run by the Grand Temple’s foundation.
The head of that orphanage was…
“Pedro, was it?”
Just a lowly priest, an old man running a country orphanage. Someone hardly worth remembering.
And yet, his name stuck in Isaac’s mind because—
“He was so annoyingly persistent.”
Always writing complaints: that there wasn’t enough bread and milk for the children, that the bedding and clothes were too worn out.
Every time, begging when the Temple would finally increase the orphanage’s budget.
Normally, Isaac would have ignored such requests without hesitation. But when more than fifteen letters arrived, he grew tired of it.
Of course, he had rejected every single request for an audience.
But Pedro never backed down. Instead of giving up, he kept writing more letters.
Whenever enough time passed for Isaac to forget, Pedro would even come in person to request a meeting.
It had been going on for a full year.
Finally, Isaac sent a reply—telling him to just “do his best with what he had.”
“And now, he’s followed me all the way to the capital to request an audience?”
So persistent that in the three days Isaac had been staying in the capital, Pedro had submitted nine audience requests. Morning, noon, and night.
“Father Pedro insists he must speak with you this time. He says it’s about the orphanage’s management.”
The attendant priest cautiously reported.
“I told you to—”
Isaac almost cursed and refused again. But then he stopped.
“Wait.”
A naive, country orphanage head who cared deeply for his children.
And—someone with the passion to come see the Chief Priest himself.
“This might actually be useful.”
The sky-blue eyes that always looked gentle now gleamed dangerously.
“Tell him I’ll grant the audience.”
A short while later, Priest Pedro entered the office.
“Greetings, Chief Priest Evans. I am Pedro, humble head of Roman Orphanage.”
Pedro was a thin, middle-aged man. His old priest’s robes were wrinkled, and the Goddess pendant around his neck was crudely carved from wood.
He looked poor and shabby, every bit the country priest.
But his eyes—those shone with unyielding determination.
“Forgive my boldness in disturbing you today… I came to ask if you might provide just a little more support for Roman Orphanage.”
Isaac looked down at the much older priest, as if waiting for him to continue. His attitude was full of arrogance.
But Pedro didn’t falter.
“I heard the Grand Temple receives over ten million derks in donations each year.”
He seemed well-prepared. Numbers flowed smoothly from his lips.
“If even a small portion of that went to our orphanage, the children would be able to eat their fill.”
His voice trembled with desperation.
“Right now, we provide only thin stew with no oil and stale bread, twice a day. Even that will run out this month. Starting next month, we’ll have to cut the stew entirely. Please…”
“Father Pedro.”
Isaac cut him off.
Pedro closed his mouth, staring at him with pleading eyes.
Isaac spoke slowly, almost kindly.
“First, I respect your dedication and love for the children.”
Then he sighed, putting on a sorrowful expression.
“I wouldn’t say this to just anyone… but since you’ve been so persistent all this time, I’ll tell you.”
“Please, I’m listening.”
Pedro leaned forward respectfully.
Isaac dragged it out, as though it was painful to say. Finally, he spoke in a heavy tone:
“I’m sorry for rejecting your requests before. The truth is, the Temple cannot freely distribute its budget to orphanages… for a reason.”
“What reason, sir?”
“You mentioned the ten million derks in donations. That is correct.”
Isaac clicked his tongue.
“But more than half of that comes from the Duke of Claudius.”
“Ah… and because the Duke recently founded his own welfare foundation, is that why the Temple is struggling?”
Pedro frowned, doubtful.
“But surely they didn’t take back their previous donations?”
“No, that’s not it.”
Isaac fixed Pedro with a sharp gaze.
“Why do you assume the Duke’s donations truly belonged to the Temple?”
“…What?”
Pedro blinked, not understanding.
Isaac leaned in and whispered:
“Only thirty percent of those donations are really ours.”
“I… I don’t understand…”
“Money laundering.”
“…What?”
The country priest froze. The words were almost too much to comprehend.
“To launder money, it has to pass through many hands.”
Isaac shrugged.
“And orphanage foundations are… the perfect channel for it.”
“What…!?”
Isaac nodded grimly.
“Yes. The Duke of Claudius has been laundering funds through ‘donations’ for years, creating a hidden fortune.”
Pedro’s face went pale.
Isaac lowered his voice, feigning sadness.
“Please, blame me if you must. But don’t blame the High Priest or the other elders. You know how powerful the Duke is. They didn’t turn a blind eye willingly… they simply had no choice.”
“They were powerless.”
Pedro was struck speechless.
Isaac studied him carefully, then suddenly grasped Pedro’s hands firmly.
“I need someone like you.”
“…Me?”
“Yes. Sometimes I feel the Goddess herself has guided you to me.”
Pedro’s eyes widened, overcome with emotion.
Isaac slipped a small card into his hands—it was the business card of a notorious yellow-press newspaper, famous for scandal stories in the capital.
“I pray you’ll set the Goddess’s will right again.”
Pedro stared at the card with trembling eyes. And then, he gripped it tightly.
