Was there a way to use donations as a pretext to get close?
I was weighing possibilities when Raizen added more context.
“And Aysol himself is from a side branch of a noble family. His father committed a major offense and was disowned, and the family collapsed. That’s when he became a priest.”
“…Really?”
In that instant, a spark of inspiration hit me.
∗ ∗ ∗
Priest Aysol first heard the voice of God when he was thirteen.
After his family went bankrupt, his parents blamed each other and eventually abandoned their child, each choosing their own path.
Wandering the streets, shivering from cold and hunger, he eventually stumbled into a rundown temple.
In fact, the very existence of such a rundown temple was odd—especially in a city as bustling as the one he’d been roaming.
But from that day forward, Priest Aysol never doubted. In that random, shabby temple, he heard the voice of God.
[Poor child. Survive. Somehow, survive.]
It wasn’t a prophecy or a grand revelation.
Nothing special.
But it was exactly what young Aysol most needed to hear in that moment.
And so he became a priest of Sinoa.
He studied the doctrine more seriously after his ordination, but none of it really resonated with him.
After all, those teachings were written by people who had never heard the divine voice.
Priest Aysol believed in just one thing: the voice he had heard.
[Survive, no matter what.]
That, to him, was the will of God.
God wanted his survival—and even his happiness—no matter the means.
And as if to prove he was faithfully following that divine will, Aysol’s life had only grown more prosperous.
Today was no different.
Knock knock.
A knock echoed on his office door.
Seated at his desk, Priest Aysol smiled.
It was far from the kind smile of a pious man—closer to the greedy smirk of a scammer who just baited a big fish.
“Ahem.”
As always, he cleared his throat before meeting a ‘client.’
Instantly, his expression shifted.
He raised his eyebrows slightly and curved his eyes into a gentle smile.
Gone was the greed-stained conman—now, he appeared every bit the generous priest.
Footsteps echoed as he approached the door and opened it.
Standing outside were two men.
One of them was clearly a bodyguard.
Aysol immediately recognized the brown-haired man beside him as his client, and bowed his head.
“Welcome. Please, come in.”
Even to my ears, his voice carried a proper weight and reliability.
That too must have been a gift from the divine—so that I may live happily as a servant of God.
‘Thank you once again today, Sinoa.’
Muttering inwardly, the priest Aysol guided the guest to the sofa.
Only after the man had taken his seat did Aysol sit across from him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Aysol, servant of Lord Sinoa. Please feel free to call me Priest Aysol.”
“Ah, I’m Daniel. My goodness… I can’t believe I get to meet you like this. It’s truly an honor.”
He looked genuinely overwhelmed, like he was in the presence of a deity.
It was a reaction Aysol had grown used to—one he often saw from those who came to meet him.
And though he told himself it was excessive, a sense of pride still crept in.
Still, he reminded himself—Don’t get carried away.
“Haha, the honor is mine. More than anything, I give thanks to Lord Sinoa for allowing us to meet.”
Aysol clasped his hands and softly murmured, “Noel.”
Daniel followed suit.
Aysol watched him fondly—although his eyes were discreetly busy scanning him.
‘He definitely looks well-off.’
Daniel’s outfit, though neither flashy nor overtly expensive in appearance, was made of the highest-quality materials.
No jewelry, no accessories—ironically making him seem even more like the real deal.
‘Right, the truly wealthy never flaunt it.’
In fact, didn’t they tend to see flashy displays as vulgar?
‘Daniel… Daniel, huh…’
It was an extremely common name—so common that Aysol had never once heard it among the wealthy noble families of Crete Island.
Most rich people who moved to the island and started new lives under fake identities chose more distinctive names.
And yet, somehow… even that felt like something a truly wealthy person would do.
‘Could he be… actual nobility?’
Aysol’s eyes narrowed.
Truthfully, Aysol had never met a true noble before.
His usual clients were indeed rich, but often illegitimate offspring who loved boasting about being of noble blood.
Compared to himself—a former offshoot of a once-renowned house, now long forgotten—they were pathetic at best.
“Please, have some tea first.”
Aysol smoothly offered the tea set on the table.
Daniel beamed as if delighted, complying without hesitation.
Aysol’s eyes sharpened as he watched him—and then slowly widened.
‘He’s real…!’
Some might scoff at the idea of reading a man by the way he drank tea.
But it was in the smallest actions that one’s foundation was revealed.
The way he held the teacup, the pause to savor the aroma before drinking, the refined hand movement, the utter silence.
Aysol’s eyes glimmered with greed.
“So… what brings you here today?”
Of course, he already knew.
Word had reached him that a certain tycoon had specifically requested to make a donation to Priest Aysol.
Normally, he wouldn’t accept meetings without a formal introduction from a noble affiliate—but the promised amount had been too large to ignore.
It could’ve been a bluff.
Still, he’d accepted the meeting just in case—and had caught a massive prize.
‘Sinoa truly does love me!’
To Aysol, this was yet another sign that he was doing the right thing—that the divine approved.
“Well… I’d like to make a donation.”
“Ah, I see…”
At that moment, the escort who had remained silent until now suddenly spoke up.
“Young master, if the Lord finds out…”
‘How dare a mere escort interrupt.’
Aysol frowned before he could stop himself—but thankfully, he wasn’t the only one displeased by the interruption.
“I want to do this. Why do you keep interfering?”
“But…”
Unable to finish, the escort fell silent.
If he’d come all the way here, he must have been Daniel’s personal guard.
Aysol would’ve preferred Daniel alone, of course, but nobles were known for their caution—it wasn’t entirely unexpected.
Though they hadn’t spent much time together, Aysol had already drawn his conclusions.
A naïve young master, raised in delicate luxury.
“Haha, a donation?”
“Yes. I’ve been praying to Lord Sinoa, but nothing seems to work. I thought maybe if I made a donation, He might listen more closely to my prayers.”
“Ah…”
How absurd. As if a great god would listen to the petty prayers of a mere human.
Sinoa was far too occupied watching over His chosen—people like Aysol himself, or Karon Luavis , the newly appointed Saint.
‘Still, if the donation is large enough, maybe the divine will consider it…’
Or rather, if it was given to someone chosen by the divine—himself.
But taking the money outright felt like a waste.
Aysol quickly ran calculations in his head.
Was there a way to secure both the donation and a connection to this likely noble?
“By the way… does your father disapprove of this?”
“If so, it might be difficult for me to accept your offering.”
“What? Why? It’s my money! I sold a building I got as a birthday gift!”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. But, may I ask why your father disapproves of the donation?”
“My father… doesn’t believe in Lord Sinoa. He says he prayed during hard times and was never answered. He says the temple’s never shown any real results. He even hates it when I go near it.”
“Oh my…”
Just as he expected.
Aysol barely stifled his smirk and lowered his gaze, putting on the most sorrowful expression he could muster.
