Chapter 44: The Trap (Part Two)
Romani Doctor.
Not long ago, I had inquired with the Knight Commander in the adjacent cell about her whereabouts, only to receive the answer: “I’m not acquainted with her, but if she’s not in the Fortress of Silence, she must be in the Holy City.”
Ramiel was right; I was indeed concerned about this matter.
“Do you know where she is?” I squinted at him, eyes narrowing.
“Yes,” the man nodded immediately.
But after a brief pause, there seemed to be no further elaboration.
“Oh, so you want to negotiate with me, huh?” I realized his intentions right away, sharp gaze locked, a smirk playing on my lips. “Spare me the nonsense like ‘I’ll tell you if you let me go.’ No one’s that stupid.”
Cough, cough, “I get it… I get it,” Ramiel replied weakly, “In your eyes, I’m the ‘enemy.’ You wouldn’t let me off easily. As I said earlier, once you caught me, I had no illusions about leaving this place alive.”
“Is that so?”
Raising an eyebrow, I started to find this guy somewhat interesting: “You make it sound like this has nothing to do with you… Don’t you want to struggle a bit? Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
“In the Choir of Saints, there’s no one who really fears d*ath.”
Ha!
I didn’t believe that for a second.
But the man before me, at least at this moment, struck me as someone who, if d*ath had meaning or value, wouldn’t hesitate to throw his life away—rational to the point of madness, a regular oddball.
“What do you want?” I leaned back against the chair, tilting my head to look at him.
However, the man did not immediately answer my question.
“You hate her, don’t you?” he asked instead, his low voice trembling slightly. “I mean the Romani Doctor.”
Without waiting for my response, he continued, “You must have a clear idea of what she’s been doing all along, right?”
“I have no idea.”
I smiled innocently, eyes glued to the dark cell: “How could I possibly know what a madwoman is up to? Why don’t you tell me instead?”
“……”
The man named Ramiel fell silent for a moment, suddenly lifting his head. “She wants to save the souls of this world.”
Hahaha!
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Yet there was no glimmer of amusement in my eyes: “Sounds like something a three-year-old would yell.”
“That’s what she believes.”
“Yeah, the big boss of the Gate of Truth probably believes the same.”
“You know it—”
“Alright.”
I waved my hand dismissively, interrupting his attempt to continue: “I regret asking you this. Let’s drop this absurd topic; the longer we talk, the closer you are to your demise.”
“The Holy Wall is in imminent danger; disasters are soon about to befall this land.”
Ramiel, undeterred, continued: “And if you k*ll the Romani Doctor, k*ll us who are trying to make a final stand… what then? Are you going to face that maddened Mother God of Abundance all on your own? How do you plan to deal with it? Because it’s not just a half-awake shell without a Fire Seed.”
“……”
“Or have you never considered this at all? Just treating it all as a game of ‘good vs. evil,’ blindly deciding who is right and who deserves to d*e, acting on whim without thinking of the consequences. After all, with your abilities, even if disaster truly strikes, you’d think you could escape, right?”
He paused.
“After all, you are a monster who crawled out of the Abyss, not afraid of the corruption of Abyss Mud.”
If that wasn’t pure provocation, I didn’t know what was.
This guy really didn’t fear d*ath…
A wider smile spread across my face, but my eyes were cold as ice, staring through the iron bars into the darkness, focused on those eyes devoid of emotional fluctuation.
After a moment, I said, word by word: “Your name is Ramiel. Good, now I know you.”
This man knew everything.
He was fully aware of what the Church had done to me, understood how the Romani had led me into the Abyss—he knew my “innocence” too well, yet he still dared to provoke me, calling me a monster that crawled out of the Abyss—he clearly didn’t intend to survive; he simply wanted to stir something within me—perhaps he wanted me to resolve myself to confront that even more terrifying monster known as a “Deity,” just like I had with Woodward Forest.
Even though at that time, he was long dead.
This had no benefit for him—he had said he grew up in Cataloma, he was an orphan, with no family or parents.
But he knew I had family. He clearly understood my nature but intentionally twisted his words.
Ramiel…
The Choir of Saints, huh.
I didn’t know whether to be angry or amused; a complicated wave of feelings began to swell within my calm heart—if the Romani Doctor was someone like him, would I still be able to go through with it?
After all, this guy was right about at least one thing.
If I killed them, I might truly be left to face the “Deity’s” fury all alone.
And I had no confidence I could handle that.
I didn’t think anyone could.
But I couldn’t escape; I still had family in this world.
Father, Mother, Grandma Claire, Viki…
They were all alive and well.
I hoped they would live better lives.
“d*mn it…”
I rubbed my forehead forcefully, my temples pounding rhythmically, fingertips distinctly feeling my restless pulsation. “You idiots really think you’re saving the world from the heart, huh…”
“Am I wrong?” the man replied calmly.
“Not wrong at all, you’re absolutely right…”
I waved my hand, knowing that debating him on these matters was pointless. It felt just like dealing with that old Mayor back in Eastern Continent Town; now that I think about it, the Choir of Saints’ values were alarmingly similar to those labeled as heretics by them.
“You really think the world can’t survive without you… Where’d that arrogant notion even come from? Can’t I just go find Saint George?”
My casual sarcasm struck a chord with Ramiel, who immediately answered seriously: “If you place your bets on someone like St. George, you’re done for. He’s a sly and despicable opportunist, only concerned with immediate benefits; he won’t even tell you what really happened in the Holy City, because that would be against his interests. So until disasters strike, you will never know what you’re truly facing; probably not even he himself fully understands.”
…………
“Your Majesty Skarlij, do you think I’m the type to act blindly?”
At a brightly lit desk, Queen Elizabeth sat cross-legged, her calm gaze sweeping over the other two men at the table.
“Over two months ago, during that secret meeting in Ethanbel, St. George gathered all of us to tell us one crucial thing: what really happened in the Holy City and the true reasons behind those events.”
