Chapter 8

Everyone tried to persuade him, but young Reinhardt stubbornly refused to bend. The adults thought it was just a childish whim. They believed he would soon find another new dream and chase after it.

In the end, with both the Dukedom and the Holy Federation turning away—not quite rejection, but not support either—the child quietly nurtured his dream of becoming a vegetarian priest. Thanks to this, he was able to build his skills in an old monastery.

No one had expected that, less than twenty years later, a revival of vegetarian priesthood would arrive.

* * *

Reinhardt returned to his townhouse, which served as both his workshop and residence, and threw off the hood he had been wearing deeply. In that short time, the sweet smell seemed to have soaked into him, and it was incredibly unpleasant.

“So sweet…”

It felt as if the sickeningly sweet scent clung to his whole body. The sweetness was so overwhelming that it made his head spin.

He was utterly sick of it. Yet he couldn’t stop the fantasies that the persistent sweetness brought to his mind.

“Ugh…”

He collapsed onto the large sofa. His stomach was so tight he couldn’t even lie flat, forcing him to curl up like a shrimp.

He hastily unbuckled his belt and grabbed his aroused member. What he had suppressed for so long erupted, making him sit up abruptly. Even as embarrassment and shame made him tremble, he couldn’t help but clutch the angry thing in his hand.

“Ha, d*mn…”

The rough palm stimulated him, making his body shudder and leak prec*m. The friction grew heavier, and his palm felt sticky.

Even that stickiness made him think of her, and his mood soured further. The sharp scent mingled with an imagined sweetness that wasn’t even there.

He wanted to curse, but nothing came to mind, which drove him even crazier. ‘D*mn,’ ‘h*ll,’—those were the only words he could think of.

Cotton-candy-like hair that seemed ready to melt at his fingertips, and the glimpses of her white nape that appeared between the strands, filled his mind. The soft curves of fabric falling gently, and the glimpse inside the slightly open collar, which promised a tender sensation, fueled his imagination.

“Kgh…”

He barely managed to keep himself from spilling. His hand and trousers were soaked and sticky. He was so frustrated he wanted to curse at the situation.

He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t get this woman out of his head, or why he ended up doing such ridiculous things.

His excitement gradually subsided. Though his mind boiled with all sorts of fantasies and stray thoughts, outwardly he remained composed.

He picked up the hood he had tossed in the corner of the parlor and folded it neatly. Housekeeper Madame Myla would take care of it, but he didn’t want to be so careless.

Madame Myla had been the housekeeper responsible for Reinhardt’s workshop for several years now, sent from the main house. At first, he suspected she might be a spy, but soon he had to admit her skills.

‘If she’s spying or gathering information, I can’t help but accept it at this level.’

Honestly, he wondered if there was anything worth spying on in a workshop where he drew vegetarian priesthood illustrations every day. She might pick up on small habits or business contacts, but that was about it.

He dropped those suspicions after learning she had been carefully selected by his older brother. Moreover, Madame Myla’s diligent attitude suited Reinhardt perfectly.

Madame Myla was quick-witted, and her hands moved even faster. Knowing her employer was sensitive not only to commotion but even the smallest noise, she was skilled at handling household chores quietly and efficiently.

Reinhardt valued a static environment greatly, since his work required extreme sensitivity.

A vegetarian priest was a profession that involved transcribing books and illustrating them, divided broadly into scribes who handled writing and illustrators who added drawings. Among them, Reinhardt was renowned in the field of illustration.

In truth, vegetarian priesthood was not a particularly famous profession. In the past, its value was high due to the need for hand-copied books, but with the development of printing technology, demand plummeted.

Nearly a hundred years had passed since the advent of printing, and scribes had all but disappeared. Occasionally, elderly monks in old monasteries managed to keep the tradition alive.

This situation was reversed only recently. About ten years ago, the Grand Duchess of Rosenbauer attended mass at the Great Temple with a beautifully illustrated sacred text. 

Even after the mass, this sacred text followed the Grand Duchess everywhere, carried by a maid. Whether she was giving interviews to newspapers or attending tea parties with noble ladies, she treated it as if she were displaying a precious jewelry collection.

The reaction was explosive. Interest in old books, especially illustrated ones, soared dramatically. The desire of nobles to seek out new things reached its peak.

However, most old books were kept in temples, especially the Great Temple and the Imperial Palace. Naturally, they were not things that would be lent out.

Sometimes, a few remained in the libraries of ancient families, but their preservation was poor. As printing technology advanced, portable and easily readable books became plentiful. Books that lost their value were discarded or shoved into dusty storerooms.

Naturally, the value of old books skyrocketed, and hand-made books became prized collectibles. This led to a surge in demand for new illustrated texts. Yet, due to the impact of printing technology, the tradition had long since faded.

Reinhardt’s appearance was like a beacon in this context. Even the Pope, who had long secluded himself in the Great Temple, took an interest.

Requests poured in, and Reinhardt’s popularity soared. Even his family, who had half-disowned him, began to show subtle interest—enough said.

The printing industry also showed interest in Reinhardt. Although printing technology had developed rapidly in less than a century, the method for printing images was still rudimentary. Lithographs could only reproduce a few colors.

The coloring technique Reinhardt had learned happened to fit perfectly with lithography. Clean lines and mosaic-like segmented coloring were ideal for transferring to lithographs.

Within only a few years of working as an illustrator, Reinhardt found himself overwhelmed. Requests came from the Imperial Family and the Great Temple, as well as from nobles. Famous printing houses also asked him for designs.

It was far more than he could handle alone. But most of his masters had already passed away or were elderly, nearing their final rest. Even when they taught him, they were already in their seventies or nineties.

In the end, even training apprentices became Reinhardt’s responsibility. He split his time so that one day a week was devoted to teaching promising artists the art of vegetarian illustration. There was so much to teach—from designing lithographs for printing to creating gemstone pigments tailored to the tastes of nobles.

The remaining days were spent entirely on his own work. There were more commissions than he could handle. As a result, seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day were never enough. For him, every minute, every moment was precious work time.

He also paid close attention to his health. If his health suffered, days of work could be lost. He kept strict sleeping hours and was careful with his diet. He instructed Housekeeper Madame Myla to pay special attention as well.

Especially recently, he had become even more sensitive, since a very important commission from the Great Temple had arrived.

The ruler of the Holy Federation, the Pope, had been secluded for nearly ten years, citing illness. Rumors circulated that he was preparing for eternal rest.

Then, one day, priests from the Holy Federation visited Reinhardt’s workshop in secret.

After a polite exchange of greetings, the priests got straight to the point. For Reinhardt, this was the ideal way to converse.

“Soon, the Pope will enter eternal rest. The Pope asked that you not forget the moment when he anointed the young lord with the first olive oil.”

“…Understood. Please tell him I will answer this honorable call.”

The connection between Reinhardt and the Pope went back many years. Since Reinhardt’s birth, their relationship had been intertwined for exactly as long as his life.

He was born in the holy city of the Holy Federation. Moreover, his birth symbolized the friendly ties between the Empire and the Holy Federation. The Pope, regarded as the ruler of the Holy Federation and the representative of God, personally blessed the child’s birth and anointed Reinhardt’s forehead with the first oil.

Even as a child, he frequently traveled between the two powers as a goodwill envoy. Eventually, he became absorbed in vegetarian illustration at an old monastery, deepening their bond.

To Reinhardt, the Pope was like a second father. When he left the Dukedom and hid himself away in the monastery of the Holy Federation, it was the Pope who supported and cared for him.

Now, the Pope was nearing eternal rest. For Reinhardt, this was a commission he absolutely wanted to fulfill with his own hands. To paint the sacred image that would decorate the Pope’s bedside as he slept would be the greatest honor, and the perfect opportunity to repay him.

But the priests had not come with only this one commission.

“There is one more request.”