Chapter 284: Chapter 137: Remembering When We Were Young...
Old Ernst grabbed the blade, a strange smile spreading across his face. He tilted his head, letting the sword slice clean through his neck. His head rolled to the floor.
"Quite decisive."
Mitra pursed her lips. Just as she was about to turn and leave, she seemed to remember something. She pulled a bottle of Magic Potion from her cleavage and poured it over Old Ernst’s body.
"Almost forgot... My lord instructed me that you’re so cunning, you’d likely try to fake your death. That’s why I was ordered to make sure your body was turned to ash."
"You—"
Old Ernst’s head suddenly snapped its eyes open. Bloodshot, they stared daggers at her. "I curse you! I curse all of you!!"
"It seems my lord knows you best."
Mitra shrugged, and the motion caused a shoulder strap to slide down, revealing the pale skin of her shoulder and décolletage.
Not until Old Ernst’s body had been reduced to ashes by the power of the Magic Potion did she pick up the item on the table and turn to leave the collection room.
’I can finally leave Caster. This place is terrifying. I need to get out of here, fast...’
...
...
「Meanwhile, inside Krimms Cathedral.」
Bishop Andrews still stood beneath the statue of the Lord of Dawn, gazing out at Tina through the vibrant stained-glass window.
"Lord Bishop."
A Guardian Knight appeared at the door, speaking with respectful gravity. "All Holy Professionals are ready. They are prepared to offer their lives for our Lord at any moment!"
Andrews withdrew his gaze, looking down in thought. "What is the status of the Abyssal Sacrifice?"
"The Judgment Knights, led by Kali and Melbel, have already gone to stop the ritual."
"Oh."
’Kali, Melbel... That’s fine, too...’
Andrews said with a solemn expression, "For the glory of the Dawn! Go, let that calamity witness the brilliance of the Dawn’s light!"
"Yes, Lord Bishop!"
Once the chapel fell silent again, a gentle smile returned to Andrews’ face. He looked at the statue of the Lord of Dawn before him and bowed with sincere reverence.
"Praise the Dawn."
Following these words of praise, he slowly stepped forward and reached into the statue’s left eye socket. He retrieved a sphere the size of a fist—it was black and white, crisscrossed with fine, blood-red veins. On closer inspection, one could vaguely make out that it was an eye.
"Forbidden Item 0-78, the Left Eye of Rover..."
Andrews recited its designation, his expression a mixture of reminiscence and sentiment. He murmured, "I remember back when we were young, when you and I had just left home..."
"You had such a fiery and stubborn personality, so determined to save the world. You insisted on slaughtering all evildoers, whether they were aberrations or not. Because of that, we suffered so much on our journey..."
"What’s worse, your excuse was that you couldn’t tell if they were aberrations or not. What the... Uh, may the Dawn forgive me."
"Mm, what I mean is, your actions really made me suffer. I must have lost at least twenty pounds..."
"That’s bullshit! Ten pounds at most!"
Just then, another voice spoke up in the chapel.
A figure in a black, hooded robe emerged from the corner, grumbling, "And you were any better? Back then, you were so obsessed with saving people that you’d stuff the flesh and blood of aberrations into the mouths of the dying..."
"Saying something about how if a dying person was contaminated and became an aberration, it was just another form of survival."
"I mean, listen to yourself. Does that sound like something a human being would say?"
Andrews, holding the eye in one hand, somehow produced a small cask of wine with the other and set it on the floor. He turned with a smile. "Ales, you owe me an explanation."
"An explanation for what? For why I didn’t die? Or for why all your pressure over the years didn’t manage to crush me?"
The man reached up and pulled back his hood. His aged face wore a monocle, and his salt-and-pepper hair stood up in a messy shock. He had a thick, matching gray beard, and his eyes weren’t sharp and bright but clouded, carrying the weariness of old age, as if he could fade away at any moment. It was none other than Ales Kilibali, the man who had supposedly perished along with the Abyssal Sect.
"Drink first?"
"Alright." Ales sat casually on the floor and pulled off his robe, revealing a high-ranking red uniform from the Secret Investigation Department. His broad frame still looked sturdy in it, but his left sleeve was empty, clearly missing an arm.
Andrews looked at the empty sleeve, a bitter expression on his face. "Ales, you’ve sacrificed a great deal for this chance..."
"I’ve endured for so many years. I wasn’t just giving without expecting anything in return." Ales held out his right hand, gesturing for him to pour the drinks. "But you, on the other hand... it must have been hard for you too, hiding everything, right?"
"Hiding?" Andrews poured two glasses of dark beer before raising his own arm to reveal a tattoo. "You mean this?"
"Is your time almost up?"
"Yes. Less than ten days left..."
"So, it started three months ago?" Ales gripped the glass with his good arm and took a large gulp, nodding. "I knew it. I was wondering why, after probing for so long, you’re only showing your hand now."
"But in the end, you still managed to fool me..."
Andrews sighed and also took a sip from his glass. "I don’t know when it started, but you changed. You’re not as reckless as you were when we were young. You started to think, to endure..."
"Wouldn’t you say I was forced into it by you, the Council, and that whole gang from the Noble Committee?" Ales undid the top button of his collar, his expression relaxed. For a moment, you could almost see the carefree young man he once was.
"But why you, and not someone else? Have you never thought about that?"
"I have. And in the end, I still think your whole philosophy of not treating people like human beings is dead wrong!"
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