81: Chapter 81 The Poor, Helpless Little Nightingale! Such a warm, big hand!

The phased resolutions of the Church inevitably leaked out through various secret channels.

Within the major aristocratic manors of Gino City, sighs and laments were endless.

In his study at Snow Velvet Manor, Rowan carefully analyzed the information gathered from various sources.

One piece of news was somewhat unexpected to him.

It was about the Gladstone Family.

In his original predictions, the Mist Territory of the Viscount Gladstone family was bound to be on the purge list.

However, the latest news indicated that there was a disagreement within the Church regarding the handling of the Gladstone Family.

The reason was also related to him.

Viscount Gladstone and his confidant, Knight Derek, had already been killed by Rowan at Mist Castle before the execution phase of the Crimson Sacrifice.

This resulted in the Mist Territory not actually participating in the subsequent Crimson Sacrifice activities.

Unlike Viscount Shepherd, who went to the sacrifice site in person and was caught on the spot by the Temple Knight Order.

The existing evidence relied mainly on that letter from Count Farrell, the source of which was questionable.

But for an imperial viscountcy, to convict the entire family and strip them of their title and territory based solely on this was procedurally insufficient and easily criticized.

Disputes between the Church and aristocratic territories are always sensitive topics, requiring ironclad proof.

Without ironclad proof, the Mist Territory of the Gladstone Family would likely be let off lightly.

But what surprised Rowan even more was that the little Gladstone, Carlos, had actually died three days ago.

It was said that he had slipped and fallen into a lake, and rescue came too late.

Rowan understood almost instantly whose handiwork this was.

Count Farrell.

This shrewd count had left a backup plan for a possible failure even before participating in the Crimson Sacrifice.

"Parents who love their children plan far ahead for them..."

Rowan whispered to himself, his fingertips tapping lightly on the desktop.

Before Count Farrell headed to Mist Town, his final move was truly ruthless.

He had directly purged the last heir of the Gladstone Family, Carlos Gladstone.

Highly soluble in water—an excellent method.

Then he isolated his daughter, Elena, from the real bloodshed and created an outward appearance of a poor relationship between father and daughter.

This way, even if he eventually failed, his daughter Elena would only shed her aristocratic halo and become a commoner, without being stained by any guilt.

At this moment, Elena's status as "Lady Gladstone" served a new purpose.

After Carlos's "accidental" death, as the widow of Viscount Gladstone, with no other direct heirs, she would automatically become the rightful first heir to the Mist Territory!

As long as the Church could not firmly nail the Gladstone Family to the pillar of heresy, according to imperial inheritance law, it was almost inevitable that Elena would inherit the Mist Territory.

And all traces of the Mist Territory had long been cleaned up by him, with all sacrifices provided by other territories.

"Good planning..."

A glimmer of amusement flashed in Rowan's eyes.

His original backup plan was, if the scheme for the Golden Flame Territory failed, to settle for the next best thing and take the Mist Territory.

Now it seemed that while the Mist Territory would not be part of the final distribution, it was presented to him in another, more interesting way.

He would gladly accept this legacy from Count Farrell.

His Little Nightingale, Elena Farrell, must be immersed in the tremendous shock and confusion of her family's collapse at this moment, fragile and helpless.

Then, as a bard who had once had deep artistic exchanges with her, wouldn't it be reasonable to go and comfort this beautiful and sorrowful widow at this time of cold worldliness?

...

At the entrance of Elena's newlywed manor.

Fine snow was falling.

The once heavily guarded manor now had its gates tightly closed and sealed by the Church.

Elena stood alone on the snow outside the gate.

In the past few days, all the property of the Farrell Family had been confiscated by the Church, and this manor was no exception.

She carried a small luggage bag in her hand, containing only her remaining few pieces of clothing and a little pocket money.

Her pretty face had lost its usual pride and melancholy, leaving only a kind of hollow blankness.

She looked at the familiar yet strange gate in front of her, feeling that everything was incredibly absurd.

Just a few days ago, she was still a high-ranking member of the Farrell Family, with noble status and servants in droves.

And now, her father was dead, branded a heretic.

The family was finished, centuries of foundation gone like smoke.

That husband in name, Carlos, had also suddenly died from an accidental fall into a lake a few days ago.

A chill spread from the soles of her feet to her whole body, but she didn't seem to feel the cold, only feeling empty inside.

Now, where should she go?

Where could she go?

Just as she felt lost and helpless—

A dark, unassuming carriage slowly stopped not far in front of her.

The curtain of the carriage window was gently lifted by a hand.

Rowan's voice carried a hint of just the right amount of surprise:

"Isn't this my charming Little Nightingale? Why are you standing here all alone?"

Hearing this, Elena lifted her eyes, somewhat sluggishly.

When she saw that face in the carriage, her pupils contracted sharply, and her body trembled almost imperceptibly.

It was that face that had once left an indelible mark on her!

It was Rowan Flynn!

Complex emotions instantly overwhelmed her defenses at that moment.

Surprise, grievance, embarrassment, shame, and a trace of reliance—like a drowning person grabbing a piece of driftwood—that she hadn't even realized herself.

"I..." She opened her mouth, her voice dry and hoarse, not knowing what to say.

Say she had been kicked out by the Church people?

Say she was now homeless?

What could she say?

The smile on Rowan's face widened a little, carrying a reassuring warmth, and he reached out his hand to her:

"Get in the carriage first, it's cold outside. We can talk slowly in the carriage."

His voice seemed to carry a strange magic, making her chaotic thoughts settle a little.

Looking at his outstretched hand.

Elena bit her lip, and with almost no hesitation, she walked over quickly and placed her cold little hand in his warm, large hand.

Rowan used a little force and pulled her into the carriage.

The carriage was as warm as spring, covered with thick blankets.

A pot of steaming fruit tea was kept warm on a small table, emitting a sweet fragrance.

It seemed like two different worlds compared to the icy world outside.

The carriage door closed, cutting off the wind and snow outside.

Elena sat on the soft and comfortable seat, but her body remained tense, head lowered, fingers unconsciously twisting the corner of her clothes.

Rowan sat opposite her, his gaze falling calmly on her.

Silence permeated the warm carriage, with only the monotonous sound of wheels rolling over the snow.

A moment later, Rowan sighed softly.

He didn't ask, nor did he console, but simply got up naturally and sat down beside Elena.

Then, he stretched out his arm, gently wrapped it around her slender, slightly trembling shoulders, and brought her somewhat stiff body into his embrace.

Elena's body stiffened suddenly, seemingly wanting to resist.

But that familiar scent, and the solid warmth coming from the embrace, made her tense nerves suddenly relax, and a huge wave of exhaustion and grievance surged up.

Her nose tingled, and her eyes instantly turned red.

Rowan's [Charm] skill activated silently, turning into a delicate, warm trickle, quietly soothing her panicked heart, magnifying the sense of security and solace brought by this reliance.

"It's okay, it's all over..." His deep voice sounded in her ear:

"I am very sorry about your father."

"But some paths are chosen by oneself, and one must bear the consequences."

"You are still young, Elena, your life is still long, and you shouldn't be dragged into the abyss by other people's mistakes."

"Even if he is your father."

"The Church has already investigated clearly; you have nothing to do with those things. You are innocent, and that is enough."

His fingers gently combed through her slightly messy, light blonde hair, his movements gentle:

"Don't be afraid, I'm here."

Hearing this, Elena finally couldn't help it, buried her face in Rowan's chest, and sobbed repressedly, her shoulders heaving, tears quickly soaking the fabric on his chest.

Rowan let her cry, just gently patting her back and combing her long hair.

I don't know how long it had been, Elena's crying gradually lowered, turning into intermittent sobs, but she still leaned in Rowan's arms.

Suddenly, her muffled voice sounded from his chest:

"I... I heard rumors outside saying... it was... it was you who killed my father..."

The arm Rowan had around her paused almost imperceptibly. But he relaxed quickly and didn't answer immediately.

He could feel the slight tension of the body in his arms.

At this moment, the carriage paused slightly and stopped. The driver's respectful voice came from outside:

"Master, we have arrived at Snow Velvet Manor."

Rowan lowered his head, looked at Elena, who was still buried in his chest, and gently wiped away the undried tear stains on her cheeks with his thumb, his voice still gentle:

"My Little Nightingale, go inside first. It's cold outside, we'll talk slowly, okay? I will tell you everything, exactly as it happened."

Elena raised her head and looked at him with teary eyes.

She looked at Rowan's calm and sincere eyes, and finally, she nodded gently, responding with a sobbing voice:

"Mm."