Roughly 22 years ago, the Saint was found and raised by a skeleton and a ghost. The skeleton retained her martial prowess, and though she was all bone and no muscle, she was strong. And the ghost was no longer bound by the restraints of a physical body, and made full use of his magic.

The two of them raised the Saint with as much love and care as a normal set of parents. The skeleton trained him in the art of fighting and physical conditioning, whilst the ghost drilled into him magic.

By nature, the undead are unnatural. Once a soul passed, it did not linger around to find lost babies in the forest to raise. Instead, it simply returned to the eternal cycle of rebirth. But the Lich was far from natural.

Saint William received an all-rounded education. Magic, fighting, history, geography. All from the skeleton mother and ghost father. No one knew where he came from, not even himself.

The undead did not require food or water. But without the infrastructure of civilization, they had to get food. By being undead, they had transgressed on the gods. But by being the saint, the gods granted food. Holy bread, water, and an occasional piece of meat. They had a small vegetable garden, and raised a few chickens. Though, there was nothing free. At that time, William did not know it, but for the food, his parents burnt. Divine flames engulfed the skeleton’s bones everyday, and embers clung to the ghost. Most gods were vengeful, but not all. To be undead meant to be out of the cycle. To be in stasis. Unmoving in time, stagnant.

But as the Lich was slain, his parents died. Bones turned to dust, and the ghost matter became ash. It happened suddenly, but his parents knew. A small feeling in their souls, but they knew. Much like an uneasy instinct.

Due to certain circumstances surrounding a certain passing oracle, the Count Andiae adopted him. Of course, the title of Saint wasn’t appointed at that time. If it was, he wouldn’t have been passed around like a hot potato. More like a golden potato. Still, William ended up under the reluctant care of the count.

The undead parents were old. At least a century or two. And as such, William’s customs and knowledge were equally dated. He was given a harsh education, and served double duty. An adoptive son, and a vent for the family’s anger.

Often, the count would interrupt the private tutor. And more often than not, the count came and went after a few punches to the gut. But still, the Saint could only endure. A roof over his head, bread once per day, and a few glasses of water. His lips were dry, and his stomach fought him from inside. Beneath the rags that they called clothes, his ribs caught his loose skin. But still he trained. The words of his would-be mother echoed in his mind. Underneath the mansion, mustering what strength he could, he trained.

Of course, the Saint was not a saint for no reason. By virtue of being a saint, he had blessings. A minor one, but a powerful one. Some might even consider it to be perhaps the best gift of all.

The god of Travellers. Often relegated to the smaller roles in stories, but that god had power equal to Yharion, the god of time. Lilvan granted William a powerful blessing. Capable of travelling over large distances near instantly, it wasn’t hard to see why. William was certain that if he wanted to, he could walk to the moon. This of course meant that the cell wasn’t so much of a dead end and more of an annoyance.

Secondly, Seraphine, a minor god of plants. Compared to the insane level of Lilvan, her blessing was much more subtle. Thorny vines. That was it. Of course, he never spoke a word of it to anyone.

It was a pleasant autumn day. Breakfast was being served, though the nobles wouldn’t eat until slightly later. Echoing down into the basement, his stomach grumbled. Plates clattered as the maids pushed carts in and out. It was time.

William walked into the dining room once the clattering died down. There were no maids, nor were there butlers. Just an empty room, with four grandiose plates laid. He sat down at the head of the table, and began to eat. The door creaked open, and the butler gasped in shock.

“W-what?” he exclaimed. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“Why shouldn’t I be, Michael?” William asked in between bites. He kept his attention on the fork and knife, slicing the meat into smaller pieces.

“That’s the lord’s meal!”

“Your point being?” William wiped his mouth with a napkin. Walking normally, he headed out of the dining room , leaving behind a very confused butler.

The maids and servants stared, pointed, and whispered. He was an oddity. A beast that had wandered into the city. They quickly averted their eyes as he met them. He headed towards a quiet room on the third floor. He knew that it was unoccupied, and lay on the bed.

Once the commotion died down, a maid walked in. June, if William recalled correctly. She was the one that brought him his one piece of bread. Curly orange hair, and utterly mannerless.

“The lord wants to see you so don’t waste our time,” she grumbled.

“Nope, if he wants to talk, tell him to come here himself. And bring me a change of clothes too.”

“Who are you to order me around?”

“I am the adopted son of the count. Under empire law, I am to be considered on the same level as the other children, disregarding blood relations.”

“Don’t try to talk your way out of this.”

“Never tried to. And while you’re getting my clothes, give me some water to wash my face.”

The maid was flabbergasted. She sputtered like a failing car, and stormed outside. Soon after, she dropped a basin of water on the floor, and tossed a towel in it.

William pursed his lips. Sticking a finger into the basin, he scoffed. Cold. With the elegance of a saint, he picked it up and tossed it at the maid, splashing her entire upper body with water.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I told you that if he wants to meet with me, he will come here.”

“You won’t get away with this.” She growled.

“We’ll see about that.”

Though, it seemed like she wasn’t needed. The heavy footsteps outside were indicative enough. The door slammed open, and a panting man rushed in.

With his face full of wrinkles, he did not look at the age for physical activity. But he clung onto his power, hoarding it until his deathbed. He looked like he might just collapse from a heart attack at the moment.

“Father.”

“You bastard child! What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

“What I’m doing, you ask? I’m living.”

“As if you have a right to speak! Go back down!”

“If I refuse?”

“You...!”

The count reached for a tight slap. But his movements were sluggish. Weighed down by age and hedonism, it wasn’t a difficult task to catch his wrist. William glared, and pushed his adoptive father aside.

“Thanks to a certain intruder, my mood quickly worsened. Let’s discuss this at dinner. Don’t bother me before then.”

With his plan concluded, he walked out. No one else bothered him for the rest of the day, as he took a nap on the grass outside. Due to the season, the sun would set soon. It was time. He made his preparations, and got his insurance. He stepped into the dining room. As always, the meals were served long before the nobles actually dined. Why they liked to let it sit there, William didn’t know. But he sat down, and ate.

Once dinner time came, the nobles slammed the door open, fully expecting him to have pulled the same trick again. Naive. Before they even got past the door, they were already shouting and fuming. Vulgarities, insults, threats. Those were good.

Francis Rayleigh shook his head. The emperor motioned for them to stop by the door. It took several long moments for their realisation. The count and his son bowed down, whispering to each other.

“I don’t believe we’re acquainted,” the emperor commented.

“Indeed. This is Mr Andiae, and his son, Mr Ricardo.”

“Is that so?”

“Mister?” The count shouted out. “I apologize for interrupting you, Your Highness, but this is a problem child that I failed to discipline. Butler! Give His Highness the appropriate hospitality!”

“Hmm.”

“But Your Highness, if you wouldn’t mind this subject asking, what is the purpose of your visit t-today? We didn’t receive any notice...”

“Did you not? I believe I sent word of my visit long ago.”

“Y-you did? I really do apologize, Your Highness. But we must have disposed of your letters by accident. I will punish the servants appropriately.”

“Why would you? The messages were delivered successfully.”

“What..?”

“The fact that this dinner was prepared is evidence that you have anticipated my visit, no?”

The count looked like he struggled to find his words. His son, meanwhile, bit his lip as his mouth tensed up. He wanted to say something, but he chose to hold his words back.

“Your Highness, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. That’s Mr Andiae’s food,” William explained.

“Oh? And how did this mix-up happen, pray tell?”

“It appears that they did not receive notice.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! What that thing says is true! I will punish the maid that screwed up immediately!” Andiae stamped his feet.

“Maid? Who said it was a maid? If I am allowed to continue, the message was received, but not listened to,” William countered.

“Indeed. It was received by the head of the house himself.”

“What?” Andiae bellowed out.

“The head of the house already gave me his greetings. Might I ask what the two of you might be doing? And where is the rest of your family?”

“What?”

“Should I repeat myself? I believe I made myself abundantly clear.”

“You did. Perhaps they simply are lost?”

The emperor tilted his head. William stifled a chuckle. It was wrong to laugh, but it was hard not to. The utter confusion that the two disgraced nobles had was a sight to see.

“Should I go over things from the top?” Francis suggested.

“Your Highness, if you would be so kind.”

“Let’s start with Empire common law. Under chapter 207 of the penal code. Section 108B: Abuse against a legally recognised family member by a noble. Due to the fact that children, regardless of origin and legitimacy, are legally recognised as children of a noble, you are susceptible to legal repercussions.”

“A-abuse?” Andiae spat out. “What proof do you have?”

“More than you think. Eyewitness statements, medical records, receipts,” Francis explained. “As such, the Transference of Power and Influence Act is enacted. If a noble is suspected of having committed a heinous crime, with evidence to back it up, the next eligible heir is appointed as acting head. However, if said next eligible heir is also suspected of a heinous crime, whether related to or not to the current crime at hand, the acting head is chosen from the pool of heirs that the head has.”

“To cut it short, neither you nor your son will get the privileges or powers of an acting noble. And since I am older than my other siblings and you appointed Mr Ricardo as your successor, I am the most eligible heir.”

“You have a month to prepare your defense, and your trial’s in a month as well. Good luck, Mr Andiae.”

The emperor set down his utensils. Wiping his delicate mouth with the napkin, he stood up. With his red dress flowing behind him, he patted the kneeling count on the shoulder, and leaned in to whisper words that William could not hear. And the emperor turned around, tilting his head at an acute angle. The Saint only saw half his face, but with the soft moonlight, it was a sight that was hard to forget. The absolute confidence in that man. A person self-assured in their victory, as if he already knew the outcome.

William followed suit. With a cocky walk, he ignored the count and the son. What were they feeling at that current moment? Despair?

Though he was a saint, it was a tightly guarded secret. Only the most key figures were made aware of his existence. That, and the fact that he was an otherworlder, the natives might reject him outright. The emperor, the head of the church, and a few others. He walked past the count and his son, and once he left the mansion, he met up with Francis in the garden.

“Ready?” William asked.

“Can’t ever quite get used to it.”

“Well, you either take a week’s journey back or you come with me.”

“Easy choice.”

William took Emperor Francis’ hand. The Saint gripped it tight, and left. Invoking the power of Lilvan, they left for the capital. The Saint didn’t really quite know much about Francis, and he didn’t think to ask. At the same time, William didn’t reveal more than he needed either.