They are all characters I control.

Given the current situation, Claire decided that she could only improve her own strength first.

He could only endure Ophelia for now.

Helplessly giving up the struggle, Claire leaned against those two soft mounds, closed her eyes, and brought up the system.

Let's check on Lia's side first.

Lia's card floated in the field of vision, with a bond value of 89%, unchanged.

It's not that Lia's affection for Claire stopped increasing, but rather that once it reached nearly 90%, every additional point of bond value was several times or even dozens of times greater than before.

So there has been an increase, but a major breakthrough in the relationship is still needed, right?

Claire looked at the system's screen and saw Leah sitting in the garden of the Earl of Orlando's mansion, drinking tea, with her maid Anna standing behind her.

Nothing happened, although the Rost family members were imprisoned by Bishop Simon.

However, no more important evidence has been found to judge the Marquis of Rost and his associates, so they are currently just being kept in custody.

There were no other developments, but His Majesty Darian and Bishop Simon were secretly vying for power.

Claire swiped away from Leah's screen and looked at Eleanor's screen, which had already passed the anti-addiction period, and selected 'Login'.

Consciousness sank into darkness, then rose again.

After the perspective quickly shifted, Claire smelled the scent of soil and grass.

It wasn't a pleasant smell; it was the kind of earthy, chilly scent unique to the North, a mixture of cow dung and hay.

I could hear roosters crowing, dogs barking, and distant bells tolling.

When Claire opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a hard wooden bed, covered with a faded coarse cloth blanket, and with a pillow stuffed with dry grass. It was a bit hard, but much better than the stone slabs in the dungeon.

This is a small wooden house.

The walls were made of stacked logs, with dried moss filling the gaps. The windows were covered with oil paper, letting in a dim, gray light.

In the corner was a table with an oil lamp, several earthenware bowls, and a copper kettle on it. Dry grass was spread on the ground, and a yellow dog lay dozing on it.

He was wearing a clean linen shirt, which didn't fit him very well; the cuffs were a bit too long and rolled up twice.

The pants were new, but the rough fabric made my thighs a little itchy.

There was no collar around his neck and no chains on his hands.

This is not a church cell; this is Eleanor's home.

Sitting on the bed, Claire read Eleanor's saved data from this period.

This guy wasn't foolish enough to walk right into a trap and return to the 'Holy Lance Knights'; he went back to his hometown as he had previously decided.

Claire got out of bed and controlled Eleanor's body to walk out of the room.

As soon as I stepped out of the room, I saw Grace fast asleep, slumped over a table piled high with bottles.

She changed out of her prison uniform into a coarse cloth outfit, and her hair was washed, revealing a face with sharp features and several old scars.

She looks much better asleep and is much quieter when she's asleep than when she's awake.

Megan huddled on a pile of hay in the corner, still clutching the shriveled dead cat, motionless like a statue. Her hair had been cut short, revealing a pale, almost translucent face.

Mel wasn't there, but according to Eleanor's memory, she had temporarily left.

That guy was undoubtedly a high-ranking member of the 'Church of Life', but Claire couldn't figure out Mel's purpose. What she could be sure of was that Mel always appeared near where the 'Church of Life' was causing trouble.

What Claire was most concerned about during the save file loading was the relationship between Mel and her 'mother'.

Although Mel never spoke or whispered to the 'mother' in front of Eleanor, Mel and the 'mother' never even bumped into each other.

But this is even more suspicious.

If it were up to Mel's personality, she would have been happy to approach Eleanor's 'mother,' because that would be the only way to easily control Eleanor.

For Eleanor, that 'mother' was like a mentor and savior in her life.

Because Eleanor is not the 'mother's' biological child.

The other party's identity is also...

"Eleanor? You're awake?"

A woman wearing a grey nun's robe walked in.

She was about forty years old, with a gentle face, a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and a kind smile.

She was carrying a basket filled with bread, eggs, and a small jar of honey. Seeing Claire standing in the hall, she smiled gently, a warm and tender smile.

The nun stationed in this remote village is the 'mother' who found Eleanor more than ten years ago and raised her.

This 'mother' is also the one who single-handedly transformed Eleanor into the church knight she is today.

However, in Claire's eyes, the nun exuded an aura of suspicion.

Chapter 34 Eleanor's Background

"Eleanor? What are you standing there for? Come and have breakfast."

Mother Martha's voice was as gentle as a spring breeze, with an approachable quality that made people want to let their guard down.

She placed the basket on the table and took out bread, eggs, and a small jar of honey from it.

Claire looked at her, controlling Eleanor's body as she sat at the table, holding a ceramic bowl in both hands, the oatmeal porridge inside steaming.

Claire didn't rush to drink; she watched Mother Martha bustling about.

She lit a fire at the stove, cut bread on the cutting board, and stirred honey in an earthenware pot. Every movement was skillful and natural, like a mother who had done housework for decades.

Her fingers were rough, with large knuckles and dirt that couldn't be washed off under her fingernails. They were hands that had worked hard for years, not hands that held a sword or cast spells.

"Why aren't you eating? Is it not to your liking?" Sister Martha turned around and saw him holding the bowl in a daze. She walked over and reached out to touch his forehead.

"You're not feeling unwell, so why are you still worrying about those troublesome things?"

"Don't worry so much, silly child. If you can't think of an answer right now, then take your time. Your health is more important than anything else."

"No matter what happens, I trust you. I don't think you would do anything disloyal to the church."

Claire could feel that Mother Martha's fingers were cold, carrying the chill of well water, and a faint scent of soap.

There was no magical fluctuation, no potion residue, nothing at all; it was just the hand of an ordinary nun.

“Mother Martha,” Claire began.

"Ok?"

Do you know magic?

Sister Martha paused for a moment, then laughed: "Me? Magic? Eleanor, I don't even know any holy magic, I can only recite a few prayers."

Claire tilted her head and continued, "And what about swordsmanship?"

“Furthermore,” Sister Martha withdrew her hand and continued preparing breakfast. “When I was young, I did want to learn, but the nuns at the convent said that nuns don’t need to learn those things. Being able to cook, sew, and take care of people is enough.”

Claire was silent for a moment. He took a sip of porridge from his bowl, then stood up.

"I'll go fetch water."

“No need, I’ve already prepared it.” Sister Martha pointed to the bucket outside the door.

Claire glanced at the bucket, then at Sister Martha. "I'll go chop wood."

"The firewood is chopped."

"Then I'll go—"

“Eleanor.” Sister Martha interrupted him, walked up to him, and looked up at 'Eleanor’s' tall figure.

She only reached Eleanor's shoulder and had to tilt her head slightly to meet his gaze.

“It seems you’ve become strange again, just like your friend Grace said.” Her voice was soft, her eyes filled with worry. “You’ve been acting strange since just now. Did you have a nightmare? Or are you under too much pressure? You don’t need to worry so much with me, Eleanor.”

Claire looked down at her.

The nun's deep brown eyes were crystal clear, without any impurities.

"It's nothing," Claire said, looking away. "I just wanted to stretch my legs."

"That's good. You should get some rest and relax, but remember to come back and have breakfast later."

After saying that, Sister Martha picked up Claire's breakfast, turned around, and took it away, placing it on the stove to keep it warm.

He walked toward the door, but stopped just before he stepped out.

Without warning, Claire turned around and began to form magical runes toward Sister Martha behind her.

However, Sister Martha still did not make any move.

Even as Claire's electric tentacles were about to touch her heels, Sister Martha remained completely unresponsive.

It lacked both the elemental perception of someone skilled in magic and the instinctive reaction of someone skilled in swordsmanship.

If this can be faked, Claire would be quite impressed.

It seems that Sister Martha really doesn't know any magic or swordsmanship? Claire withdrew her electric tentacles.

As he stepped out of the cabin, he was patted on the shoulder just as he squatted down by the barrel.

It's Greta. She woke up while Claire and Mother Martha were talking.

"Hey, what's wrong, female knight? Why do you look so serious? What were you doing using magic on your 'mother' just now?" Grace noticed and saw the electric tentacles Claire had released on Sister Martha.

“It’s nothing.” Claire shook her head.

He washed his face a few times and then wrung out the water from his hands.

Looking back at Sister Martha, who was still busy, he asked a question.

"Grace, you've spent a few days with Mother Martha. Do you notice anything strange about her?"

Grace thought for a moment. "No. She cooks well, sews clothes skillfully, speaks gently, and is beautiful. She's just too much of a worrywart, always trying to prepare different nourishing dishes for you every day."

"Didn't she ask you where you came from?"

“I was asked, and I told them that I was also in prison, along with Megan, and that the three of us had escaped.”

Grace shrugged, pondered for a moment, and said, "But Sister Martha doesn't seem to mind at all. It's a bit strange of her. Do you think she might secretly tell the Knights and have them arrest us?"

"Otherwise, even if you were raised by her alone, her loyalty to the Church of Goddess is terrifying."

"This nun didn't seem conflicted or hesitant at all."

“Even if you weren’t her adopted daughter, we two people would have no relation to her at all, as we would have betrayed our own faith and taken in us, who were wanted by the Knights of the Church.”

Claire remained silent for a moment, without responding to Grace's words.

Claire didn't think that alone proved that Mother Martha had any major problems.

However, Grace's words still gave him some inspiration.

"I'll go chop wood." Claire glanced at the axe leaning against the corner of the wall and walked to the woodpile at the back of the yard.

He raised his axe, aimed at a piece of wood as thick as an arm, and chopped down.

The axe blade landed precisely in the center of the wood, and with a "crack," the wood split in two.

Claire didn't stop, she kept chopping. One, two, three, she deliberately made her movements slower and clumsier than usual, like a less skilled beginner.

Sister Martha came out of the house, carrying a bowl of honey water.

"Eleanor, stop chopping! Your injuries haven't healed yet—"

Before he could finish speaking, Claire's axe veered off course. The blade grazed the edge of the wood and struck his calf.

It wasn't acting; he really got slashed.

Blood gushed out instantly, soaking her trouser leg. Claire frowned, but didn't cry out in pain.

"Oh my God!" Sister Martha rushed over, knelt down, and covered the wound on his calf with her hand. Blood seeped from between her fingers, staining her cuffs red.

She frantically tore off a piece of her own clothing to bandage him. Her hands were trembling, her face was pale, and her eyes were red.

"Does it hurt?" Sister Martha looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

Claire shook her head.

Back inside, Sister Martha knelt at Claire's feet and cleaned his wounds again.