Reincarnation of a Hunter – Chapter 32 – The Diocese of Marseille

Author: Nikss

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—Swoosh!

The lord’s ship, Benedicta, entered the port of Catalonia.

I stopped by Catalonia to attend the papal court. From here, a three-day ride on horseback would take me to the Vatican.

Coincidentally, the lord of Dijon had sent a letter conditionally agreeing to the establishment of a diocese, so I set off without delay.

From the deck of the Benedicta, I looked down at the harbor.

“The traces of the pirate attack are still visible.”

Scorched marks were scattered throughout the port of Catalonia, and even collapsed warehouse buildings were noticeable.

But perhaps because it was such a massive trading port, it was recovering from the damage remarkably quickly.

“The resilience of a great territory is enviable. They’re restoring everything in no time.”

Pascal, whom I had brought along as my attendant, came up to the deck.

“My lord, will you be paying a visit to the Marquis of Catalonia?”

“No. I’ll send a letter through Captain Adrienne. Too busy to stop by.”

Visiting noble houses for formal greetings is no small matter. If I get caught up, half a month could fly by just like that.

For someone as pressed for time as I, it’s better to tactfully avoid it.

“Then I’ll go ashore first and arrange for the horses.”

Martin, the head of security, jumped onto land before the gangplank was even fully lowered and dashed off somewhere.

“He looks way too hasty. I hope he took money with him.”

As expected, Martin soon returned, scratching his head sheepishly.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Martin was a swordsmanship prodigy, but at just 19, his impatience still showed his youth.

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When moving urgently, if only the knights are present, we can feed the horses stamina potions and ride nonstop, day and night. Knights have the endurance for it.

But with attendants and Pascal accompanying us, we had to travel while camping along the way.

By sunset, we arrived at a roadside campsite.

“Ah, my lord, my lower back feels like it’s splitting in half.”

“Pascal, stop exaggerating. Aren’t you embarrassed in front of the knights?”

“It’s fine. I’m just a weak commoner, after all.”

As we joked around and entered the campsite, travelers had already settled in. Their shabby appearance suggested they weren’t part of a noble procession.

Wanting my attendants to rest quickly, I stepped forward without delay.

“Listen, travelers. I am Count Eric Marseille. If you have no objections, may we share this campsite?”

At my words, a young man stepped forward and replied, “Of course. This is a campsite open to all. And it is an honor to meet the great Lord of Marseille. I am Enrique Iglesias, a singer and wandering poet.”

“You know of me?”

“Your esteemed name, Count Marseille, is known far and wide.”

To meet someone here who recognizes my name—it seems my reputation has spread quite far.

Well, it’s only natural, given the blessings I’ve received and the distribution of the scurvy remedy.

After dismounting, I instructed my party to prepare the camp and dinner.

Soon, when dinner was ready, my group and Enrique’s gathered around the campfire. But Enrique was spreading out a blanket, as if preparing to kneel in prayer.

Curious, I asked him, “Which god do you serve?”

“As a wandering singer, I worship Bharata, the god of dance and song. Of course, I also pray to Annapurna, the goddess of abundance.”

This world truly has all kinds of gods. Today was the first time I’d met a follower of Bharata.

As the meal was prepared, Enrique expressed a wish, “If you wouldn’t mind, Lord Marseille, could you offer a prayer to Bharata?”

“Of course. I do not favor any particular religion.”

My ready agreement seemed to move Enrique.

By the look in his eyes, he might have prostrated himself right then. Having experienced before how my ordinary Korean mindset was perceived as virtuous in this world, I didn’t pay it much mind.

Following Enrique’s request, I began to pray to Bharata.

“O Lord Bharata, we beseech you to bestow upon us your wisdom and inspiration, to make our dance and song more truthful. Bless our efforts with your divine inspiration and grant us the realization of the true value of rhythm and harmony.”

At that moment.

As soon as the prayer ended, a beam of light pierced through the dark sky and descended. The light touched my hand and illuminated the surroundings brightly.

Another blessing had been received.

‘Huh. That’s unexpected. They never gave it when I asked. I guess the gods must want something from me. To receive a blessing like this twice—something most people only get once in a lifetime.’

Until now, I had prayed many times hoping for a blessing, but it was useless.

In the end, it seemed the gods only granted blessings when they felt like it. Regardless, unlike my indifferent self, Enrique and my companions were making a fuss.

“Ooh! Another blessing! Truly, you are beloved by the gods!”

“Sniff… To witness a blessing with my own eyes—what an honor! Thank you, O gods!”

“Long live the lord! Long live Marseille!”

And, as always, a system message obstructed my view.

‼️System Alert‼️

🔹You have received the temporary buff 〈Song of Truth🎵〉from Bharata.🔹

🔹No similar skills found. The temporary buff will remain.🔹

⏩ The magic skill〈Low-Level Appraisal〉 has been changed to 〈Convenient Low-Level Appraisal〉 by Bharata.

The temporary buff〈Song of Truth🎵〉 grants the ability to easily persuade others for a short time.

Of course, ‘a short time’ from a god’s perspective is about a day in human terms.

As for 〈Convenient Low-Level Appraisal〉, compared to the original 〈Low-Level Appraisal〉, it displays two additional pieces of information.

I immediately tried it on Martin.

🔸Martin Maurice (19 years old)

➺ Second son of Pierre Maurice, former knight commander of Marseille.

➺ Chief Security Secretary of the Marseille territory.

➺ Serves Annapurna.

Three pieces of information were displayed, whose child they were, what they currently did, and which god they believed in.

Not a groundbreaking improvement, but still, I can get more useful information now.

After checking the skill, I calmed down the still-noisy group.

“Enough now! We still have to eat!”

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After the brief commotion settled, the excited group gradually regained their composure and resumed their dinner.

Enrique’s party, despite their shabby appearance, turned out to be quite well-mannered—especially Enrique himself.

I immediately activated〈Convenient Low-Level Appraisal〉to check his information.

🔸Enrique Iglesias (20 years old)

➺ Second son of Julio Iglesias, a viscount and member of the Lisbon Noble Council.

➺ A wandering singer.

➺ Worships Bharata and Annapurna.

If he’s from the Lisbon council, most of them are shipowners. Isn’t he filthy rich?

Out of curiosity, I asked him directly, “You look like a noble from a wealthy family, so why the rough appearance?”

Enrique chuckled before answering, “Doesn’t seem like something a lord who eats rye bread and oatmeal porridge should say.”

I looked down at the bowl of porridge in my hand—thick, plain oatmeal. While the other party members ate meat for stamina, I stuck to cheap food.

Back in Korea, rye and oats were considered health foods, even more expensive than wheat bread or rice. I ate them for their rich nutrients and fiber, as well as to manage cholesterol and hemoglobin A1c levels, but many misunderstood it as simple frugality.

Still, it was better to let them think that than to outright say, This is health food.

“Well, I’m a lord. Budget constraints leave me no choice.”

“Budget constraints?”

“Lately, I’ve been relocating settlers to newly cultivated lands, so finances are tight.”

“Seems the rumors are true—you really do care for your people.”

It’s not really like that, I just decided to let it be.

As I always say, making a good impression isn’t easy.

“But Enrique, you’re a noble—why did you choose the path of hardship?”

“I left home to wander aimlessly and sing. Right now, I’m just a traveling singer.”

A companion standing behind Enrique chimed in.

“Count, that friend of ours is actually a pretty famous singer. Nobles line up to invite him to their banquets.”

A famous singer, huh?

As soon as I heard that, something came to mind.

Just from listening to Enrique speak, he seemed trustworthy enough, so I made the offer right away. With the 〈Song of Truth🎵〉 buff, persuasion should be easy.

“Do you take commissions? Like writing and spreading songs about certain people?”

“Count Marseille, there are already plenty of songs about you circulating. You don’t really need me to make more.”

“No, not songs about me. I want songs about a specific person.”

Enrique seemed to catch on, stepping closer and whispering in my ear.

“Are you looking to manipulate public opinion?”

“Yes. Is it possible?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret, so I answered plainly. What I was planning would be forgotten soon, even if it got out. No one really cares about songwriting anyway.

But Enrique wore a troubled expression.

Maybe it was a matter of pride and reputation for him.

After a long pause, he spoke again, “May I ask what the purpose is?”

“The development of my territory. If that person’s social standing rises, it benefits our land.”

“You don’t mean personal advancement, do you?”

Seems like Enrique is something of a philanthropist. That only made me trust him more. And since his intentions were so transparent, I chuckled lightly and replied.

“Of course not. This isn’t about lining my own pockets. It’s about ensuring the people of Marseille Territory don’t go hungry and live better lives.”

Obviously, that was a lie.

He answered by reversing the order of priorities.

What I want is a wealthy and powerful territory. The prosperity of its people comes afterward.

“Haha! Just as the rumors say. Very well, I accept.”

Enrique readily accepted my proposal.

Was the 〈Song of Truth🎵〉 buff at work?

I reached out and shook hands with Enrique. His hands were too rough and firm for a noble.

‘He must have weathered many storms. That makes him more trustworthy—should I take him to my territory and put him to work?’

I resisted the fleeting temptation to recruit him as a subordinate and continued the discussion.

“How much funding do you need?”

“It’s fine. You can distribute my share among the people of Marseille.”

Good. That eases the budget a little.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. But who is this person you’re referring to?”

“Daniel Salamanca, Vice Director of Internal Affairs in the Papacy of the God of Plenty.”

Enrique’s expression brightened.

“That’s a relief. I was worried you might name some greedy, corrupt official.”

“Is Daniel’s reputation good?”

“He’s a clergyman who focuses on politics, but I’ve heard he doesn’t lust after money or women. And his father, Viscount Salamanca, is driven by pride but has no interest in hoarding wealth. By all accounts, he’s a decent lord.”

It seems Daniel’s family values honor greatly. A true noble household.

“My goal is to make Daniel the Pope.”

“…That doesn’t sound achievable with just a few songs.”

I waved off Enrique’s bewilderment.

“No, no. For now, he’ll be appointed as bishop of the Marseille diocese.”

“Ah, you mean to gradually elevate him.”

“Can you do it?”

“I’ll do my best.”

I don’t particularly like answers like ‘I’ll do my best,’ but this one was acceptable.

“If you ever need help or decide to settle down, come to Marseille.”

“It would be an honor. If the Lord guides me, I will.”

‘That’s a no.’