12. Grudges Settled

Slowly, Tujea lowered his gun. ♔🏆 🔥⛵

He followed the shattered images to the ground floor of the mansion. No one stopped him; the people in charge of this task were all dead.

This was not the dark dungeon he had imagined; it had absolutely nothing to do with cages. If he had to describe it, it was more like a warehouse.

Therefore, even though he successfully reached the basement of the mansion, he still didn't know how to react.

Numerous metal beds encased in glass filled both ends of this enormous warehouse, each with a cold, black cable extending from its end, spreading across the floor, and ultimately connecting to a complex cluster of machines.

Located in the center of the warehouse, it had ceased operation. Its bloated and ugly appearance was quite unsightly, with six pipes, seemingly for heat dissipation, rising high from the back of the machine, from which no heat escaped.

Tujea couldn't figure out its specific purpose, but fortunately it was a cluster of machines. He walked around it twice and finally recognized a series of inexpensive life-sustaining machines, including a nutrient delivery system.

And so, he guessed its purpose, and thus more hidden truths came to light, and he suddenly understood what this place was.

Just like people raise Grox, this is also where Chupani Moran raises his children, and this machine is his fully automatic feeding trough.

Tujea slowly raised his head and looked at the huge Cogitator screen in the center of the machine. The children had followed him there. They lit up the surroundings, giving the normally dark screen a reflective sheen, allowing Tujea to see his own face clearly.

He began to find it absurd, and even had an urge to burst out laughing.

How could that be? Even if these souls truly exist, what makes them capable of illuminating him?

The man on the screen in the Cogitator numbly twitched the corner of his mouth.

After a while, Tujea left the complicated machine.

He began wandering aimlessly among the iron beds, stumbling and sweating profusely. This seemingly random selection continued until he nearly tripped over one of the iron beds.

Amid the lingering sounds of boots and bed legs clattering against the floor, Tujea bent down and pressed his palm against the sturdy glass dome. It felt extremely cold to the touch, and the condensed water droplets quickly soaked his hand.

He gently rubbed it twice, and a sleeping, innocent face appeared before him.

This is a boy, probably no more than ten years old.

Two transparent, gelatinous tubes were attached below his nose, containing some clear liquid that had stopped flowing. There was a deep wound on his right forehead, no longer bleeding, but through which his pale skull could be seen.

Looking at it, Tujea felt a phantom pain surge in his mind. He finally understood what the scalpel in the illusion had done.

Tujea stared at the boy for a long time, until he was sure that the boy would no longer breathe, before he straightened up.

He started feeling dizzy again, this time much worse, and he couldn't even stand up. He collapsed to the ground with a thud, crashing into the floor tiles like a stone sculpture.

After a long while, Tujea Acai slowly stood up, gripping the edge of the iron bed. He was panting heavily, his heart filled with burning anger.

He wanted nothing more than to rush to the ground, bring that damned nobleman back to life, and then smash his teeth one by one.

With these terrifying thoughts in mind, Tujea slowly regained his footing. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a familiar soul. He turned his head and saw the girl again.

She stood before him expressionlessly, saying nothing, only raising her left hand and pointing to a certain bed.

Following her directions, Tujea slowly walked over.

He still clung to a sliver of hope that the child lying in the bed was still alive. But reality is always a million times crueler than any fantasy.

After wiping away the water droplets on the glass and observing it carefully for a few seconds, he came to a disheartened conclusion—the girl lying on the iron bed was also not breathing.

Water droplets clung to her face, sliding down her pale eyelashes like tears.

"She found peace, without pain, sir, as if she had taken a nap," the girl said, leaning against the glass dome.

"What?" Tujea asked instinctively, his mind blank.

"She's my sister; we went to the charity home together."

The girl raised her head and glanced at Tujea. Her pale and ethereal face displayed a strange calmness, as if she had no more attachments. Tujea looked down and saw that the ethereal hands were stroking that cold face.

"I promised my parents I would protect them. So, when they were choosing someone, I told her to keep quiet."

Tujea loosened his grip on the iron bed and took several steps back.

The dizziness was changing; he had already vomited once, but now he felt an even stronger urge to vomit.

Anger, disgust, and another intense emotion he couldn't quite describe were assaulting his rational defenses, blurring everything except for the souls. The flames in their eyes had died out, and they were staring at him with empty sockets.

Looking at them, Tujea's intuition suddenly began to warn him—without thinking, he immediately blurted out a question.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes," the girl said. "Our Vengeance is over. Thank you, Mr. Investigator."

"But... but where to?" Tujea managed to utter the words from deep in his throat.

No child answered the question; they simply turned away slowly, holding hands and waiting. Only the girl remained standing there, staring intently at Tujea.

The temperature suddenly dropped, and an indescribable, terrifying cold swept in from the darkness in an instant, like thousands of sharp knives cruelly piercing through Tujea's body.

He knelt on the ground, shaking his head, unable to distinguish between reality and illusion. The chill did not let him off so easily; the illusory sharp knives continued to penetrate his flesh, bringing even more cruel pain.

Tujea couldn't help but scream in agony. He didn't understand what was happening, nor could he comprehend it at all. The pain intensified, but at that moment, a hand gently touched his shoulder.

"Take a deep breath," Zel said. "Stay calm."

His words seemed to have power—no, not just seemed, the language he used possessed power.

It hissed, a long and melodious sound, with a sigh-like tone. Unbeknownst to him, Tujea had indeed calmed down, just as he had said.

The thousands of sharp knives that had penetrated his body began to transform at that moment; the coldness receded, replaced by a warm wave of heat.

They surged from his limbs and bones, and their appearance evoked a powerful longing. Tujea lowered his head, a hoarse sound coming from his throat. He was suddenly overcome by an impulse.

He clenched his fists, and a language he had never learned before was spoken naturally, hissing softly, almost like a whisper.

The feud is over.

Boom--!

Smoke and dust billowed, and raging black flames spread from a place deeper than darkness. A phantom burning door rose out of thin air, and a howling wind filled with whispers smashed it open, revealing a gloomy and silent ruined city.

The moonlight illuminated it, and a tall, dark figure wearing a pale white crown stood by the door, waving to the children as if to welcome them.

Zel changed his stance, placed one hand on his chest, and lowered his head deeply.

Tujea didn't understand what he was doing, but there was nothing he could do. He could only watch helplessly as the children walked in, and then the door closed, the flames died down, and everything vanished, but the warmth remained.

It took away the chill, soothed the pain, and restored Tujea's ability to think. Then, a full ten million questions came rushing in, forcing him to look up at Zel.

"What is this?" he asked, his lips trembling. "Where did they go? And who killed these children?"

Zel looked at him with a hint of pity and shook his head.

"This is one of the things you, as a Vindicators, must face. The wrongfully killed will come to you, and you can Vengeance them. But what happens after that? What will you do then?"

"Should we let them return to the world of the dead to find peace, or should we leave them in this world to suffer?"

What are you saying?

"I'm talking about that child." Zel raised his hand and pointed to the darkness beside him.

Tujea turned his head and saw that the girl was standing alone, motionless. He took a deep breath, supported his knees, and struggled to his feet. He slowly walked to the girl, knelt down again, and then began to ask her questions.

Why won't you leave, child?

The girl shook her head in silence.

"Speak, child," Zel urged calmly, standing in the darkness with his arms crossed.

"I need your help, sir, is that alright?" the girl finally spoke.

Tujea was stunned. He looked at the girl helplessly, and it took him a while to remember that he had someone else he could ask for help from.

He turned to look into the darkness, only to find that Zel had vanished. A faint sound came from above him, followed by a deliberately dropped sentence.

"Act according to your principles, Vindicators; this is your domain. Remember to return to church when you're done; you have much to do tonight."

Tujea slowly turned his head. Looking into those empty eyes, he could no longer say a word.

--

At 2:24:036 a. m. local time in Litatera, Zel returned to the small chapel in the second ward. He entered through the bell tower and, to his slight surprise, Horst was drinking.

"Does finding a successor make you feel good?" Zel asked meaningfully from behind him.

"No," Horst said without turning his head.

He leaned against the pulpit, his hands folded in front of him, a bottle of beer held between two fingers, the liquid inside swaying gently.

The Emperor statue, now restored to its original form, bowed its head in pity, looking down at the priest who dared to drink in the church, but did not impose any punishment.

Zel looked up at Him and casually made an Aquila Salute. He seemed insincere, but in reality, he was expressing his piety in his heart with great solemnity.

"Then why did you drink?" He asked the question only after he had finished doing that.

"Because I think, is that not allowed? Lord Zel, you're asking far too many questions."

Zel chuckled softly, stepped down the stairs, and slowly sat down. Miraculously, the ordinary stone materials bore his weight without making a sound.

"If you act as an interrogator as often as I do, you'll have more questions to ask, Lord Horst."

The pastor shook his head. "Do we really have to have adults come and go like this? This will never end, Lord Zel."

"So you knew about this, Pastor?" Zel looked at him with feigned surprise.

Horst didn't respond, but simply tilted his head back and drank the entire bottle of wine in one gulp.

He didn't seem to drink often and couldn't appreciate the deliciousness of this beverage; he not only frowned as he swallowed it but also showed a dislike for it.

Moreover, the effects of alcohol had even begun to ravage his gaunt cheeks.

Seeing this, Zel couldn't help but chuckle and sigh.

"The first fragment to be reactivated," he murmured. "It's unbelievable."

Horst put down the bottle expressionlessly, then couldn't help raising his right hand and pounding his chest. He let out a burp before answering Zel's question.

"I can't believe it either."

"Haven't you encountered any warning signs?" Zel pressed, sounding very curious. "I mean, anything unusual?"

"Does dreaming count?" Horst asked, half-jokingly.

What dream?

"A nightmare," Horst answered softly. "I saw Litatera engulfed in flames, Daemon rampaging through the land, corpses everywhere. Then, his statue began to weep blood."

Zel's smile faded, and he nodded calmly. "So that's why you sounded the alarm."

"Yes," Horst frowned. "But I fear my actions might make this nightmare a reality."

"You don't have the talent for foresight. Horst 'Book of Prophecy clearly points out that any prophecy or vision is merely a sideways deduction of the future."

"We can be wary of prophecies, but we must never believe any prophecy—not even those made by Konrad Curze Curze himself."

"You don't believe this fragment has been reactivated?"

"We believe it, but we need to verify it in some ways," Zel replied expressionlessly. "The main force is already on its way, Horst and Shen will also be coming in person. Therefore, you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

Horst didn't speak again; he simply nodded silently.