Kalsas’s voice became solemn again: “Even if you’re truly disappointed with your past life, so what?” He held her tighter, a hint of a smile in his voice: “Despite having experienced pain and despair, you still believe in justice and light, wanting to find a path that hurts no one, unwilling to abandon your principles, even willing to sacrifice yourself. Just this point…”
He laughed hoarsely, sounding somewhat melancholic: “You’re stronger than me.”
“But do I really believe in justice and light? Maybe… maybe it’s just a facade to make myself feel better…” Nalie remained curled up, her voice muffled and distant.
Kalsas sighed, almost gently consoling her: “Truly hypocritical people never doubt that they are hypocrites. They are obsessed, fanatically believing they are saviors, never thinking to self-reflect.” He whispered coldly: “I was born in their hands and destroyed by them. No one knows them better than I do.”
Nalie trembled at his words.
His gaze was dark, looking at the girl in his arms with an indecipherable expression. He held her tightly until she abandoned her defensive posture, and softly whispered in her ear: “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t specify what he was apologizing for, but she understood everything, yet couldn’t articulate it.
She finally began to cry.
He then kissed her tear tracks, his lips barely touching, skimming her cheek, neck, and earlobe.
Only now did they realize they were too close, crossing a certain line.
The long night finally gave way to dawn, gentle light seeping in, the first rays of daybreak peeking through the curtain cracks.
At this point, if she were to stop his plan, would he still preemptively eliminate her to start over? Some issues remained untouchable, with any confrontation potentially causing a complete upheaval. She lowered her eyes, obediently responding: “I understand.”
Kalsas paused momentarily, his lips brushing past her earlobe as he spoke quickly and softly: “News just arrived. Lord Berdwen has been assassinated, and Nafale is about to descend into chaos.” She trembled all over, lifting her head to seek more information from him, but he had already let go, his figure passing through the room like a gentle breeze and disappearing into the morning light.
Naily rose and left the room. She paused briefly outside the room where Gerard had originally lived, then walked to the end of the corridor, directly encountering a servant sent by the duchess: “Today, the duchess is attending a temple service and cannot see you off. Please understand. The arrangements for going to the port will be handled by me…”
He made no mention of Gerard’s sudden disappearance. Naily had no interest in further conversation, so she nodded casually and asked indifferently: “Are there any new developments today?” The servant replied without changing expression: “No news has come from other territories.” Naily narrowed her eyes. Perhaps she was overthinking, but she had not specifically inquired about situations outside Aquin. The gaps in his words proved that Ifa and her confidants were already aware of Berdwen’s death. She couldn’t help but recall the message Berdwen had asked her to deliver to Pepin: “The scales are about to tip. It’s best to prepare more chips.”
According to Ifa’s words, Pepin was consumed by power and intended to manipulate the world’s trajectory to his advantage, no longer qualified to be an observer. Berdwen’s message clearly indicated his inclination towards Pepin. By extension, the assassination of Berdwen might have been orchestrated by Ifa and her associates. Berdwen’s request for Naily to deliver the message was not a spontaneous act, but a carefully calculated move: this action would silently draw her completely into the arena of competition between Pepin and the other four, making her a valuable chip on the scales. As a hero, no faction could casually act against her as they did with Gerard, so they could only try to win her over. Ifa’s invitation for Naily to become an observer was a strategic move – presenting everything before Naily and attempting to overwhelm her with truth, and then subtly enticing her to achieve their goals. The more Naily thought about it, the more suspicious she became. From under her hood, she discreetly observed the guiding servant, determining he was also an expert in intelligence, and decided to abandon her plan to linger in Aquin.
The information she had previously gathered was likely deliberately provided by Ifa to entice her to become suspicious and explore the treasury at night. She would only obtain the information Ifa wanted her to know, and further inquiries in Aquin would be futile.
“Wish you a smooth journey! May you soon defeat the evil Demon King!” Naily nodded, boarding the prepared ship and heading towards the capital. The route from Aquin to Mez was easy to navigate, and Naily was traveling on a light sailboat, so she arrived earlier than expected.
The colorful flags fluttered against the clear blue sky at the port. However, this scenery no longer broadened her mood as it once did. She glanced briefly and left the pier, carefully concealing her movements as she circled the port area, collecting various rumors from sailors.
In just half a month, everyone had learned of the assassination of the Nafale Lord. The assassin committed suicide immediately after the act, with no identifying items. Speculation was rampant, with the “magic army spy theory” being the most popular. Nafale, having lost its ruler and facing imminent collapse, with only a remaining military force defending the border, was uncertain if they could withstand the next magical army assault.
Aquin, Merovinia, and Saxony had already sent troops to support, but even if they arrived in time, the former maritime trading power was destined to face a catastrophe.
The atmosphere in the capital was charged with anxiety due to the Nafale crisis. The prime minister and king were managing the situation, and despite the unease, most residents remained optimistic, hoping Burgundy would send cavalry to drive out the magic army.
Regarding the hero chosen by the goddess, people praised the hero’s courage and sanctity, though few believed anyone could single-handedly defeat the Demon King.
After wandering the city for most of the day, Naily chose an unremarkable inn in the old city to stay.
“Aren’t you excited? His Majesty is truly preparing to confront the Demon King. All the lords have arrived in Mez to meet with the prime minister and hold court meetings, and the king might even lead a northern expedition!” a cobbler said, drinking beer and discussing politics.
The blacksmith beside him dismissed the comment: “What do those nobles know! They’ll just point at the map and nitpick!”
“Try saying that to their faces!” the cobbler retorted.
Recently, they’ve received several big orders. Those nobles realized pointed shoes are outdated and are rushing to make new shoes before their audience. The blacksmith sighed dramatically, heavily placing his empty glass on the table, wiping his mouth and roughly saying: “Another drink!”
Naily listened for a while, then silently got up, left the money for the meal, and left the inn. The gradually darkening night was the best disguise for an assassin. Naily turned into an empty alley, ran a few steps, and leaped onto the wall. She grabbed the edge of the roof tiles with both hands, flipped over with a twist of her waist, and landed steadily on the roof. She swept her gaze left and right and swiftly moved towards the direction of the river.
The “official residence” mentioned by the shoemaker was conspicuous, with a large number of guards surrounding it, lights blazing inside, and faint sounds of people. Naily stood on a distant rooftop for a moment, memorizing the situation around the official residence, then silently jumped down.
