Chapter 376

Chapter 162 Epilogue

As the flowers bloomed in April, the world donned the dress of a bride.

This was a phrase often used by the people of Ethenburg.

Every late April, the rain in the capital became a sweet dew that nourished all living things, neither cold nor hot, neither thick nor thin, gently quenching the scorching heat, making old trees sprout new buds and flowers bloom in vibrant colors. The city was filled with fragrances, and everything was lush and green. In the past, people always wished that this scenery could remain forever in their eyes.

But this year, despite the same beautiful scenery, the capital lacked the usual bustling harmony.

In the southern part of the city, near the tall walls, once prosperous streets were now full of ruins and burnt buildings turned to charred ashes at first glance.

The light rain fell silently on the broken mud and stone roads, wetting the ground covered in ash. Bare-chested men ran through the muddy streets, lifting stones or carrying wooden beams, following several carts, drenched by the rain.

Occasionally, corpses were dug out and carried away. Most of them were soldiers in silver armor, but there were also civilians in plain clothes. The dead were laid in rows along the streets, covered with white sheets. Even from far away, one could smell the stench of rotting flesh. The strong men pinched their noses, unwilling to get close, but bereaved families ignored everything and knelt beside a corpse, their tears long dried, staring blankly, not responding to anyone who tried to pull them away.

Such scenes were visible throughout the city.

In the central part of the city, the towering, golden palace and the wide square in front of it were still visible under the morning light. Although the corpses had been cleared, large patches of dark red blood mixed with rainwater still stood out prominently.

The statue of an elderly man in the square had its head smashed, and next to it lay an uncollected hoof. The entire power center of Ethenburg was enveloped in a pungent stench. No matter how many soldiers and servants tried to clean up, the smell would not dissipate before the end of April.

The emotions of the citizens of the capital were very unstable.

Within less than three months, unprecedented disasters struck the capital twice. Boswell was destroyed, and many lives were lost, which plunged those accustomed to peaceful lives into extreme panic.

During these days, I saw more than one procession marching through the streets, condemning nobles, Elizabeth, and the church. The protesters did not do anything overly extreme, but there was daily friction with the arbitrators. Most of them had lost family members and homes, but there were always some troublemakers among them. Occasionally, I heard about accidental deaths, but I did not know whether they were true or false.

Once, these people blocked Rondor Street.

I stood by the window and saw Reckt appear from afar. He kept a low profile and negotiated for a long time with the leader. Eventually, it seemed they reached an oral agreement, and those people left before dusk.

There were rumors that they would soon organize a blockade at the Grand Cathedral of Saint Zayel, wanting to meet the Pope himself and have him explain the situation.

But this “soon” never seemed to arrive.

Victoria had been very busy recently, almost too busy to see me. After leaving the church, I only saw her three times.

The first time was that night when she came to look at me at the third residence. She looked very tired. We talked briefly, mentioning the Iron Guard retreating from Flerusk Castle, killing some prisoners out of anger as they left, but most escaped during the chaos. All matters concerning the Reckmont family, including the garrison that suffered more than thirty percent casualties, would be taken over by the son of Old Reckmont.

Things seemed to stabilize.

Then we talked about Duke Lex. He had miraculously survived, but Victoria had locked him away for other uses. I didn’t ask what he was being used for; I wasn’t really interested. As long as Victoria was safe, that was enough.

Before she left, Victoria returned my breastplate to me.

There was a clear sword mark on it.

“I’ll have your scythe brought over. Thank you, Peppe.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation was simple and didn’t require many words.

In the subsequent two meetings, both at dawn on Rondor Street, I saw her from afar, and she saw me, but she hurriedly got into a carriage and didn’t even have time to say hello.

I felt a bit annoyed, but thinking about how busy she was, I felt a bit sorry for her.

All I could do was not disturb her.

These days, I mostly stayed at home, feeling lost, not wanting to see anyone, except occasionally going out to buy food and listening to some gossip at the market. I learned that a cardinal named Saint George had arrived in the capital two days ago.

Arriving at such a time couldn’t mean anything good.

But that had nothing to do with me; let Angel worry about it.

As for Margaret, I hadn’t seen her since then… Probably she had already left… It seemed like she was deliberately avoiding me, perhaps not knowing what to say if we met.

But that was fine.

If I saw her, I might not know what to say either.

The courtyard of the third residence had been renovated.

It wasn’t severely damaged, just the lawn was re-landscaped and the flower beds were replaced. While I was unconscious, Victoria had arranged for these tasks to be completed, so when I returned, the residence looked no different from before.

Only a honey tree was missing.

And Ellie never came back.

The goat cheese was still as usual.

Mysterious and unpredictable, but every morning I would see its figure by the window.

The letters it brought back were placed in the nun’s robe I was wearing at the time. Later, during the fight, the robe was torn apart by the wind, and the letter was lost.

The contract agreed with Victoria ultimately did not have enough time, but this did not hinder the further relationship between Schantel Castle and the capital city. Cooperation could continue, depending on whether my father had the capacity.

So I wrote another letter.

I didn’t dare tell them that I was actually at the center of the event, and didn’t mention in the letter what I had done, to avoid worrying my mother unnecessarily. I only lied to them, saying that I was eating well here, sleeping soundly, and that the matters of the capital city hadn’t affected my life; I was still obedient and studying diligently every day.

After some thought, I didn’t mention the contract again, fearing they might guess that I hadn’t received the previous letter and think of something bad. Then I asked about my father and brother’s situation and threatened that if they didn’t tell me, I would go home directly.

After writing it, I let Goat Cheese carry the letter off towards the empire, thinking they wouldn’t know that I had fought again in the capital. But I was soon proven wrong.

On the last day of April, the new bulletin arrived.

Opening the first page of the bulletin, there was a vivid black-and-white hand-drawn picture.

This was the first time I saw a picture in the bulletin.

The girl in the picture had delicate features, with long black hair flowing. She tightly held a large black scythe in her hand, and the Papal Knight cloak behind her fluttered, clearly showing the iris pattern. At her feet was a terrifying monster, which looked lifeless, with a pitch-black body and a grotesque appearance. The girl stood on one foot on its head, with the scythe raised high, as if ready to chop off the monster’s head in the next second.

Underneath this picture, there was a striking line of text.

[A sixteen-year-old girl who does not fear the erosion of the abyss, a shining star piercing through the darkness of the capital city — Miss Hilveja, the Papal Knight.]

On the left page of the bulletin, there was a full page of text, densely packed, more than three times longer than the report on the disaster in the capital city.

With a complex mood, I glanced over it roughly, discovering that the entire article focused on portraying the hero’s image and the cruelty of the battle, as well as the indomitable spirit of the young girl.

I didn’t want to look at the specific content too closely.

In the lower left corner of the bulletin, in an inconspicuous small box, there was a brief account of Cardinal Nero’s death.

[Nero Brown Taylor, once a revered cardinal, a devout believer in God, returned to the embrace of the divine yesterday morning. His life…]

The entire article was very short, filled with grandiose words, but mentioned nothing about the cause of Nero’s death or his actions, even the time of death was false.

After quickly scanning through it, I threw the bulletin aside, not wanting to speak for a long time and not knowing what to think.

After a long while, only a boring thought surfaced from my heart.

Now… I guess I am really famous.

This isn’t something worth being happy about.

These days, it seems like nothing is worth being happy about.

In fact, my mood has always been very low.

Occasionally in the dead of night, I still dream of the silver-haired girl with red eyes. Sometimes she talks to me, sometimes she pulls me to sing, and sometimes she pesters me to tell her stories about the big castle. These dreams are always very short, and I wake up halfway through, unable to hold back walking to the mirror and staring at the white strand of hair on my forehead for a long time.

Then comes a whole night of insomnia.

When I can’t sleep, I always think about the things Angel told me, until dawn before closing my eyes.

My thoughts finally sorted out roughly.

I was caught by the “research organization” of the “Gate of Truth” and taken to their “clinic,” where I was used as a test subject to study the power of “blood.”

Eruish and I were probably the ones who could adapt to the experiments better. After verifying this, they moved us to Silgaya, where they conducted more advanced experiments, eventually awakening due to some契机 (circumstance).

Was the experiment successful?

I think it failed.

Because I am not under the control of the Gate of Truth, and I even killed their senator. And Eruish… she also doesn’t seem to be under control. Not only that, she couldn’t control the chaotic power within her body, and was possessed by the “will of the abyss,” ultimately dying in the chaos of her own power, just like the “explosion in a novel.”

She may have been a more failed test subject than me.

So… what would a successful case look like?

I guess, it might be like Teresa.

Or perhaps, no success has ever been achieved yet.

I still can’t understand what the Gate of Truth wants. There are too many doubts, many things confuse me, and many things even Angel can’t figure out, which require further investigation.

But currently, all the facts seem to tell me that I’ve finally touched the door to the truth. Next, I just need to follow this direction and everything will eventually come to light. One day, I will dig out that Dr. Romanian and those people in black cloaks.

What is the blood-colored pill, what exactly does the “clinic” of the Gate of Truth want to do, what kind of power are they trying to create, how are these experiments related to the gods, why have we become the abyss…

I will find out all these things.

But…

Occasionally, when I’m half-asleep, I wonder…

Is this really the truth?