### Chapter 97: The Beginning and The End
“Mommy, Mommy…”
In the luxurious yet messy bedroom on the third floor of the Castle of Silence, a girl who had just washed up lay on the bed, covered with a soft blanket. Her silky blonde hair spread out like a flower at the head of the bed.
She wiggled her restless little hands, her thumbs crossed and her fingers straight as green onions, flailing around. The light from the lamp cast her hand shadows on the wall, resembling a bird taking flight.
“Look, a little bird!”
The girl chirped in a sweet voice, then let out a weak laugh.
That smile was sweet as candy.
Her fair face was touched with a hint of color in her blue eyes, which had regained a bit of clarity. Her small, delicate nose stood straight, long eyelashes fluttering, her rosy lips looked a bit parched, crescent-like, with pearly whites peeking through. The area around her eyes was slightly darkened, and a few beads of sweat glistened on her smooth forehead—she looked terribly weak, but paired with that smile, there was a haunting beauty, as pale as snow.
She was truly beautiful.
Beautiful enough to tug at one’s heartstrings.
Seated by the bed, the woman had also tidied up and changed into a simple, clean white dress. Her blonde hair was simply tied up in a bun. She took the girl’s hand and tucked it back under the blanket, leaning down to gently kiss the girl’s forehead.
“Sweetheart, bedtime.”
But the girl’s eyes remained wide open.
Turning her little head, she pointed at the three knights standing in the room, giggling, “Little bird.”
“…My bird is not little at all,” one of the knights murmured.
This knight, who had guided me before, stood over six feet tall—two whole heads taller than me. As he said this, a hint of pity crossed his otherwise gloomy face.
The girl continued to giggle. Her mother rearranged the blanket for her, smoothing her golden hair, then gently touched her forehead in silence, her expression sad.
I stood quietly next to the knight, observing, then whispered, “Shall we step outside?”
“Yes, sir,” the knights nodded, turning to leave the bedroom with me, quietly shutting the door behind us.
Outside the bedroom was the equally chaotic reception hall.
Tumbled tables and chairs, books scattered everywhere, and smashed paintings… I casually picked up a chair from the floor, dusted it off, hugged a black suitcase to my chest, and sat down.
Not far away outside the window, a din of shouting mingled with the torrential rain.
“What’s with those corpses—”
“Speak up!”
“All the women in the dungeon have been released. Bring people here to testify! I want to see what other nonsense you can come up with—”
“Are there really bodies in the back mountain? Get knights to check…”
Listening to these voices, I found my gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the hall, slowly losing focus.
The nuns arrived quickly…
I hadn’t been in the dungeon for long when they entered the castle, headed straight for the dungeon under Isaac’s orders, working with the knights to rescue the tortured women one by one.
Along with them came dozens of clergy from the Faith Organization, and that young bishop whose name I couldn’t recall but found familiar. It was said that his healing miracles were quite extraordinary. Under his arrangements, the clergy worked tirelessly to treat the wounded women, who were eventually brought up to the first-floor hall to rest, soothed by the nuns.
Some women were severely injured, on the brink of d*ath; despite the bishop’s healing miracles, they often proved futile—many had missed their chance for recovery, their wounds infected and festering, diseases taking hold beyond remedy.
Others were less injured physically, but the psychological scars were beyond anyone’s remedy. The nuns tried to talk to them, but they remained unresponsive, some even running around n*ked, others screaming hysterically, while some simply sat in silence as though their souls had departed, reacting to nothing, puppets for anyone to manipulate.
Later, I left the dungeon with the guiding knight and a mother-daughter pair who had already received treatment, and we ascended to the third floor—the former quarters of the castle’s master.
That girl had gone mad…
In the cellar, when a nun approached the mother saying the girl was hurt, ready to perform a healing miracle, the girl looked at the approaching man with vacant eyes, even instinctively spreading her legs.
Whenever a man came close to her, she would open her legs, which is why the knights had kept their distance.
In her mind, it seemed like this was the way to survive; all she remembered was this and her mother.
To destroy a person, to shatter her life, to crush her expectations for the future, to erase all beauty from her eyes—some people find this incredibly easy to do.
A bunch of brutes…
Shortly after, the woman emerged from the bedroom.
“She’s asleep,” she forced a smile at us, “She has a bit of a fever and is very weak. Could you please allow the clergy to check on her later?”
The leading knight nodded affirmatively, “No problem, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
The woman smiled again, her gaze shifting towards me.
The guiding knight introduced, “This is Pope Knight Silvya, who along with Vice Captain Isaac, led the advance knights to take back the Castle of Silence from the demons.”
I stood up, the black suitcase hoisted back onto my back, and I lifted my skirt to perform a proper noble greeting.
The woman returned the gesture, “Please forgive my earlier disarray when meeting you, esteemed Pope Knight. I am Lady Oseli Tiya Alanster, the mistress of the Castle of Silence, and I thank you for saving our lives.”
Her voice was hoarse and trembling, still marked by tear stains. Clearly, she had not yet emerged from the shadows of fear, her hand still trembling as it held the skirt.
“My lady, please sit and speak.”
I gestured for a knight to bring over a chair, and Lady Alanster sat down, smoothing her skirt.
“In the room is my daughter Tilia. She has just turned sixteen.”
As she spoke, the woman ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, sitting upright. Even though her other hand resting on her knee trembled, and the pain in her eyes had slightly lessened, her posture and poise were elegant enough to draw attention.
She was another stunningly beautiful woman.
She reminded me of my own mother back in the Empire.
“My husband, Lord Alanster, returned to the embrace of the deity during the battle many days ago…”
Next, Lady Alanster recounted to us, in a fragmented yet somewhat calm tone, the horrific tale that unfolded in this castle—a gruesome and barbaric tragedy that sounded utterly absurd.
About ten days prior—she had been trapped in the dark dungeon for so long that she could no longer recall the exact day.
Suddenly, many refugees came to the castle, surrounding it and demanding food. At first, the master of the Castle of Silence, Lord Alanster, seeing the suffering of the refugees, filled with pity, commanded that nearly a hundred bags of bread and vegetables be thrown out; he even had a few cows butchered to throw to the starving people outside. They scrambled to divide the food but did not leave.
Two days later, the people outside, having finished the food, began demanding more. Some cried out that they could no longer endure, getting sick in the ceaseless rain. The lord, being sympathetic by nature, once again commanded food to be thrown down, but this time there wasn’t much—no telling how long the flood would continue; he couldn’t let the people inside starve too.
The leader among the refugees, a man named Weithermill, began inciting the crowd, claiming that the castle’s granary held enough food for two years, but they were unwilling to share, asserting that the nobles inside wanted them to starve to d*ath.
The refugees began to riot outside the castle, demanding to be let in, hoping to prove the lord’s innocence, to show he was not a wicked villain hoarding food while allowing them to perish.
However, the lord, displeased with their greedy attitude, ignored them. At that time, most inside the castle still didn’t know that the people outside were not just refugees but also followers of demons, wielding the power of Sin Fire.
The refugees rioted all day, demanding the lord open the castle gates. Unfortunately, the lord never appeared on the walls again, and that very night, someone, unable to contain themselves, burned two guards alive with Infernal Fire.
The next day, the lord and his guard charged outside to confront the refugees—his intention was to drive them away, and he had ordered that, unless absolutely necessary, no swords should harm them. However, once he went out, he never returned.
When the remaining guards finally returned to the castle, they had already betrayed the Castle of Silence, turning against their master and opening the gates, allowing the refugees to stream in; thirsting for vengeance, they quickly transformed into demons, plundering, killing, and insulting women, leaving no child unscathed.
Lady Alanster said she saw the look in the refugees’ eyes and knew they were filled with genuine hatred.
Hatred that the Castle of Silence had let them starve outside.
Such hatred swiftly morphed into uncontrollable madness.
Under the hellish power of demons, all the living guards inside surrendered. The lord’s brother led eighteen loyal guards to defend the inner castle but ended up being burned to cinders. All the women hiding in the castle were captured, including Lady Alanster and the lord’s daughter—of course, their son was taken too.
Those fortunate enough to survive in the city were forced to drink bl**d, becoming part of the demons; some even voluntarily requested to do so to survive—that, under the demons’ orders, they killed their own elderly family members or even their flesh and bl**d to endure.
Kneeling in the rain on the square were those creatures.
Those with a backbone were all dead.
As for the women, they did not receive such “lucky” treatment; they were imprisoned in the dungeons and used for the amusement of others—demons encouraged the refugees to do anything to them, and the refugees felt exhilarated.
“Look at the spark in their eyes; they probably haven’t seen many beautiful women in their whole lives,” Lady Alanster said this in an almost flat tone, yet her eyes glistened with tears.
With the demons’ incitement, the refugees acted without a care; perhaps with the mindset that survival today didn’t promise tomorrow, they brutally abused those poor women, and each day there were new cries of agony, with corpses dragged from the cells. As for what happened to them… one time, she heard the sound of meat being chopped and dared not think further.
Owing to their special status, she and her daughter were kept in a separate cell; fortunately, they experienced certainly less ab*se than others, only being “entertained” by a few select individuals—like the demon leader named Weithermill, certain notable heretics, and…
“Where is Kevin Alanster?” the lady softly asked, her expression frosty as ice.
