Chapter 1053: Act 225 – Cetty’s Revenge
When the battle at the Hanlu Manor came to a pause, unease and chaos were brewing under the night of Rustra. The December Square was teeming with people, and in the center stood the statue of Duke Durot, straddling his earth dragon “Guohuo,” with his long sword, “Dujuan,” pointed straight ahead.
Under the cold gaze of the demon-slaying knight’s statue, all the ambitious and conspirators beneath the night of Rustra were stirring restlessly, as if a grand performance was about to begin, just waiting for the curtains to be drawn.
As if to annotate this moment, someone in the distance was loudly preaching, their harsh voice sounding like two files scraping against each other, metallic and grating in the ears:
“The noble master shall surely return to the world, to cleanse this filth!”
In the “Cangzhi Shi,” an epic describing heroes, the angel Euphemia wielding the holy sword slayed the evil god Frederic, and perished with the Twilight Legion. After her fall, her blood flowed into lakes, and it was only after twelve centuries that someone retrieved one of her shields from those waters. The Flame King Gilt built this city in her name—Rustra represents the symbols of the sacred, justice, and victory in the Cruze Language System.
The secretive cultists proclaimed that the Empire was infamous for its cruelty, and after a millennium, Euphemia would return to this land to punish the evil Queen.
This insinuation was baseless, yet under the Queen’s rule, it spread widely, as if people were hypnotizing themselves, fully believing in it.
Cetty mingled within the crowd, the hot breath surged from all sides, mixed with the stench of sweat and excrement. Her hair clung tightly to her pale cheeks, but the maiden was oblivious, staring unblinkingly at the center of the square.
Among the throng, cultists dressed in opaque heavy robes formed a perfect circle. At the center, crimson patterns crossed on the square’s surface, blood taken from lambs smeared upon the pitch black stone, resembling thorns growing from hell, quietly radiating an ominous aura of bloody rain to come.
Yet the crowd seemed oblivious, a buzzing sound echoed above, chantings from the cultists reverberating as they praised some mysterious name.
“Euphemia!”
“Euphemia!”
A powerful and oppressive atmosphere spread, causing a stir among the crowd, soon someone began to shout as if mad, and this fervor quickly infected others. The throng seemed possessed, each person raised their arms, drenched in sweat, voices hoarse, and Cetty soon lost sight of Al in the crowd, but she remained unaware, also lifting her arms, her azure pupils reflecting what seemed like a blazing ring of fire.
Amidst the tide of noise, she discovered a serene place within herself. She saw the archangel wielding the holy sword stepping out from white light, the angel swung the sword toward the Empire’s palace, and the palace instantly blazed into flames. Cetty seemingly witnessed the evil Empire sinking and burning under the sword, nobles shrieking in agony, and the Queen also weeping amidst the flames.
She saw her brother who perished in that war in the south, witnessed that loathsome war, saw all those who caused this suffering—those rulers she despised, and even the indifferent, apathetic crowd; all turned to ashes in the flames.
When the entire world became a sea of fire, she couldn’t help but laugh maniacally amidst the blaze.
“Exactly like this, burn them alive!”
A voice echoed in her mind.
“Burn those damned rulers!”
“Burn those gluttonous nobles!”
“Burn those heretics!”
“Burn it all, this evil and filthy world!”
But the illusion soon dissipated, and Cetty felt someone tugging at her from behind. “Al?” She regained her senses, turning around only to find a cultist standing behind her.
The figure was shrouded in thick black cloth, with just one eye gleaming, flashing a cold light.
For a moment, Cetty almost thought she was seeing a venomous snake—she instinctively took a step back.
“The bishop is looking for you.”
“The bishop is looking for me?” Cetty paused, then remembered what Al had told her earlier in the afternoon. She looked around but didn’t see her lover: “Where’s Al?”
“You’ll find him after the ceremony ends,” the cultist replied coldly.
Cetty dared not say much more; she understood the consequences of defying the bishop’s will and silently nodded, following the cultist out from the crowd.
They walked one behind the other into a shop near the square—this seemed to be a bakery, the silhouette of the oven still barely visible in the dark room, but several tables were overturned, the ground in disarray, with several similarly dressed cultists standing behind the upturned tables. The bishop was amongst them.
The bishop was an elderly man who appeared quite kind, his wrinkled face seemed to radiate a benevolent glow, sparse white hair gathered on his balding head, shadows hiding several age spots that looked like dirt.
Seeing Cetty enter, he nodded gently, “Cetty, good evening.”
“Good evening, Your Excellency,” Cetty appeared somewhat anxious.
“There’s no need to be tense, my child, I’ve called for you to tell you something.”
“Your Excellency?”
“We just received news recently related to you, and as a believer of the divine, I believe you have the right to know.” The elderly man squinted, his blue-gray eyes flashing with inscrutable light.
Cetty blinked, still not comprehending what this matter could be that involved her and even alarmed the bishop.
“Do you wish to hear it?”
She nodded.
“It’s about the one who killed your brother.”
“What!?” The maiden’s eyes widened like a startled cat, her entire body bristled. Her brother had been conscripted due to the Empire’s war in the south, dying on foreign soil, and the cultists had told her that the root of this was the nobility who recklessly waged war out of greed—she had always viewed those people as the culprits, but now the bishop was telling her a different story.
“There’s no hidden agenda, my child, but you should know your brother died at the hands of Erluin people. Do you know who commanded that war from the Erluin side?”
Cetty paused for a moment, then gently shook her head. Though she was not a country girl, she could not have much understanding of the war occurring thousands of miles away; in fact, she didn’t even know where that war happened, only that her brother died in it.
“That person is an earl from the Kingdom of Erluin, with a territory in Toniger.”
“More of these greedy nobles,” Cetty thought, gritting her teeth.
The bishop sighed before continuing, “My child, I want to tell you that in these past few days, you have encountered him more than once.”
“Wh…what?” Cetty was taken aback.
“Those Erluin people stayed in your inn. Do you remember?”
“Y…yes, it’s them.”
The bishop nodded, confirming Cetty’s guess. Then he silently watched her, and the maiden seemed somewhat uneasy, frowning as if deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about, my child?”
“I…I don’t know, Your Excellency, what should I do?”
“If you want revenge, that’s understandable, my child, but it will be dangerous for you…”
“I’m not afraid of danger, Your Excellency,” Cetty replied, her voice trembling a bit, “I…but I don’t know what to do…”
“Do you want revenge?” The bishop’s blue-gray eyes took on a foggy hue.
Cetty hesitated for a moment, but the figure of her brother suddenly emerged in her mind, and she nodded firmly.
“But if something were to happen to you, have you thought about your ailing father, my child?” The bishop gently coaxed.
“Al…Alca will take care of my father well…”
“Alca, I know that young man, he is your lover, isn’t he?”
Cetty’s expression turned quite ashen, and she lowered her head, nodding weakly.
The bishop’s face hid in the shadows, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“You wish to seek vengeance, targeting Earl Toniger won’t work, my child,” he began slowly, his voice low and hoarse, as if infused with enchantment, gradually prying open Pandora’s box within Cetty’s soul, “But you can target those around him, just as he killed your kin…”
“And this Earl just happens to have a fiancée with him…”
Cetty didn’t know how she had made the journey from Rustra to here; she staggered along the road meant for coaches, not far from the familiar woodland, and the riverbank shimmering under the moonlight. Old Kent’s inn stood on the other side of the bridge, appearing like a vague shadow in the night.
The scenery on both sides of the road was familiar to her, but at this moment it felt utterly strange, as if a myriad of ill-intentioned eyes were lurking within the forest, watching her without blinking, tightly focused through the gaps between the trees.
In the distance, the call of an owl sounded somewhat ethereal, cooing softly; occasionally, the rustling of wings could be heard from within the woods, those winged beings hunting field mice.
All these sounds made her tremble; she felt like a wandering soul aimlessly drifting over this wilderness.
Old Kent’s inn came closer, the wooden structure’s outline gradually emerging from the dark; the sign and window frames, shrouded in black silence, slowly shed their hazy colors, becoming clearer under the moonlight.
But Cetty’s steps grew progressively slower.
She trembled and reached toward her bosom, where a vial lay. Grasping the vial, the cold ceramic touch sent a jolt to her heart.
It felt as if she were grasping her own fate, breathing in shallowly.
The bishop’s words floated back into her muddled mind.
“This poison, you must figure out a way to make that woman drink it. You are the inn’s waitress, you will find a way to make her comply. Old Kent isn’t at his inn tonight; this is your best opportunity.”
“See, it’s not difficult, nor is it dangerous; once you take your revenge, the cultists will rescue you.”
Cetty’s teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.
Her mind felt like a tangled mess, on one side were the guests staying at the Cat and Whiskers Inn, on the other was her brother who died in Erluin. At times, Al’s image surfaced uncontrollably in her mind, that young man looking at her with his unique, mocking expression: “Aren’t you going to avenge your brother, Cetty? What are you hesitating for?”
“But doing this will get Uncle Kent into trouble.”
“After tonight, the Empire will no longer exist; no one will bother Old Kent.”
“No, what about those Erluin people?”
“Be honest, Cetty, you’re scared. Look at your pale face, trembling fingers; where has your courage gone when faced with your enemies?”
“No, I’m just…”
Two voices clashed inside Cetty’s head, like two saws, creating a headache. She wanted to stop and catch her breath, but the two “cultists” behind her wouldn’t give her this chance; they pushed her staggeringly forward, saying to her:
“Go on, Cetty, don’t disappoint the bishop, nor let your brother down; we believe you can do it.”
Cetty didn’t dare look back; she instinctively felt that if she hesitated for even a moment, something terrifying would happen, the looks from those two reminded her of the wolves she had seen in Brukan as a child.
Cold and ferocious.
She hesitated at the front door of the inn; the door was tightly shut, but she knew Old Kent usually left the key under the mat when he was away. She nervously bent down, trying to feel for that brass key when, at that moment, a mildly curious voice came from behind the door.
“Who’s out there?”
The voice was light and rhythmic, full of a sense of buoyancy, as if its owner had infused all their intense curiosity into it.
Cetty froze; she recognized that voice—it belonged to the very amiable Merchant Miss.
……
