Chapter 256: It’s Impolite To Talk Behind Someone’s Back, Mmkay? Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
Her account went on and on for a long time, yet the three figures before her never once made a sound. No one could tell if they were still listening to her contrived narration.
“… finally, I came back here, to the Basilica, humbled and humiliated,” the Duchess finished.
Despite describing everything perfectly, the pressure in the air refused to leave her. She could not lift her body up.
The third shadow spoke with the same mechanical voice, “He let you go. Why?”
“I don’t know,” She replied gushingly. “Maybe he had fallen in love with my appearance? Maybe he didn’t think he could beat me? With the organization’s help, I’m no longer who I used to—”
She did not get to finish her sentence before she was interrupted by a sneer that rang out from whatever abyss that the third figure used to produce his mechanical voice. An unnerving, mocking, mirthless chuckle pierced the air before he said, “You actually thought that Hope was the same as those pathetic animals you’re used to seducing? Is that it? Or, you think you’re even more powerful than that worthless trash, Thaas?”
The suffocating pressure intensified, and this time, both her knees gave way, and she slumped to the ground in a kowtowing position, just like a frightened dog. Sweat oozed from her body out of terror.
“What are you hiding from us?” The second shadow’s voice boomed with compulsion.
She relented, her jaw loosening instantly, “I… I have a daughter, and she was just right there watching us. He is my daughter’s teacher, so I think… I think he just didn’t want to hurt me in front of her.”
Perhaps, the three shrouded figures decided that the woman had said everything she could, because immediately she had said that, the pressure vanished. The Duchess was relieved, but the aftermath of her terror stopped her from standing up.
Thus, she remained in her pathetic kowtowing position, with her head close to the ground as she begged the figures before her. “O Most Eminent High Reverends, please, I beseech you — leave my innocent daughter out of this. She is all that I have left in this world! The punishment should be on me, and not on her. Please, just leave her out of this.”
Every Godsfall cultist swore to uphold the secrecy of their organization. An exposed identity could only result in two outcomes: suicide, or murder of the eyewitness.
In other words, Vidomina had already made the cult’s hitlist.
The three figures were quiet for a long time.
Then, the first shadow suddenly spoke, “Rise, woman. What sort of organization do you think we are? A force of evil that delights in the culling of innocents? Or a flock of liars hellbent on disillusioning the masses? You’re the only one who has survived a battle with that Hope; that already makes you a little more worthy than others.”
The Duchess did not expect the figures to be this compassionate. She stood up, her face a canvas painted with disbelief and relief. If she was considered worthy, then her Vidomina would still be safe.
“I’m indebted to your grace, High Reverends,” she replied, with nothing else to say.
“Who’s your superior?” The third shadow asked.
“Grand Butler Quentin.”
A small part of the black miasma-like fog that had been enveloping the third figure suddenly broke away from him and formed the shape of a large raven. It circled the dome twice before it descended next to the Duchess and turned into black smog.
From within the black smog, a man clad in a black robe emerged.
“O Most Eminent Reverends; Quentin, at your service.” The man bent in a subservient greet to the three figures, and after raising his head, he scowled at the Duchess beside him as if he was looking at a boar. He turned back to the figures, and with the same low, hoarse voice of a middle-aged man, he asked, “Had my bumbling subject failed you, Lord High Reverends?”
“Arrange her into a safe, new job,” one of the figures said.
“I heard that the youngest son of the North Duke is a famous libertine. Shall I arrange her to meet him?” the Grand Butler offered suggestively.
The Duchess’ body shuddered uncontrollably. She had only just managed to leave the source of her suffering, but at that moment, all she could imagine was herself being taken against her will again — being savored by other savages, over and over again.
Her legs clasped tightly together. She wanted to fight back a fate this cruel. However, before the four men who decided where her fate lied, she did not have a single shred of mettle to speak out.
She did not need to say anything as the Grand Butler suddenly knelt down onto the floor. From the Duchess’ angle, she could see a rapidly wet spot caused by sweat on the man’s back; he, too, was being subjected to that terrifying pressure.
“I said, a safe, new job.” The voice was still unnaturally mechanical, but everyone could sense the impatience within it.
“Do you think we can only rely on the bodies of women to subjugate the world?” Another figure hissed.
“N-no. I’ll have her be our broker. I-it’s the safest job I have,” the Grand Butler’s replied in a shaky voice; his body was already teetering like a ball balanced atop a pyramid.
“Go.”
The first figure lifted the pressure, and the Grand Butler heaved in a deep nostril-full of air. He turned away and quickly strode out of the hall, and the Duchess followed suit.
Only after leaving the stiffening hall did the Grand Butler turn to face the Duchess. “Get over to my location as soon as possible!” He said. Then, his body suddenly turned back into a formless black miasma, which condensed back into a raven and returned to the hall.
This was actually a special communication technique between cultists. The raven-shaped black fog was called Corvine Messengers; they were used to summon any cultist at any time. The Corvine Messenger would assume the target’s face, with their soul imbued into it; this enabled the target to see and hear whatever the raven did. Even the pressure placed on the raven could be felt to the Grand Butler, who was at least a thousand miles away.
If any of the High Reverends so wished, they could easily flick the switch off any of their members through the Corvine Messenger.
The Duchess was drinking the air outside the hall after she took off her veil, revealing a bit of her beauty. She made it through this time. This time… and it was because Master Hope had let her go.
“You really did find yourself a good teacher, huh, my daughter?” She muttered
The hall of the Basilica was still quiet and seemingly unoccupied; however, the three shadows were still there, and there was no indication that they would be leaving any time soon.
After receiving the returning raven, the third shadow spoke, “Those idiots under us really have a deep misunderstanding of our organization, don’t they? They even consider themselves cultists. How pitiful.”
“Those who join us as cultists are ignorant and incapable of understanding the glorious purpose of our organization. It is hardly surprising that the lowest pawns lack the faculty to understand our great work,” the second shadow replied, indifferently.
“But, these idiots kept squandering the powers we invested in them! A ragtag band of imbeciles!” The first figure added in frustration. He was visibly displeased with his own subordinates.
“It doesn’t matter; it never did. The useless ones will always try to salvage a piece of dignity from those who are even less competent than they are…There is no need to waste time playing with these fools. Before our ultimate power, nothing matters. Remember that history is written by the victors, and we will be the victors,” the second shadow said. “Besides, many of those imbeciles have been cleared out by the ever-so-helpful Church, no?”
“Thanks to them, on the surface we seem to have been dealt a crushing blow. Many of our affiliated bodies have been hindered,” the third shadow pointed out.
“Suits me just fine. Cultists are dispensable.” The second shadow displayed a sense of unamused nonchalance as if the Church’s cleansing activity had only managed to scratch the cult’s foot through the sole of a shoe.
“It’s that Hope I’m worried about. Who is he? Thaas may be an idiot, but he was a powerful idiot; nevertheless, Hope eradicated him easily and hid this achievement from the public. He even spun a fib so shaky, it crumbled at the first line of serious examination,” the second figure added.
Back then, Baiyi kept saying that the enemy was already in an internal warfare against each other when he appeared, and he had taken advantage of that.
However, the Godsfall cult knew he was lying; they had no idea just why a man would lie like that. The opportunity was the perfect way of gaining wealth and fame, so why would one choose to talk down their true power before the world?
“He must possess a secret that would debilitate him. A secret so instrumental and important that he was forced to pretend be a weakling, playing Happy Family with his little girls,” the first figure said. “I heard that he really loves little girls, yet he wouldn’t just let that be his prime obsession. No, he had to ruin our plans, again and again! This is the third time our plans have been rendered moot by that disgusting ephebophile!”
“We must find out what that secret is. Perhaps… The Duchess would be a good pawn to be used,” the third figure replied. “Yet, somehow, I have a feeling… that Hope is not exactly our enemy.”
“What a strange hunch. Your instincts have always come to the oddest of all conclusions,” the second shadow said. “But, Umbra has already mobilized a team of assassins, so let us kick back and watch just how good this Master Hope really is. If he lives, perhaps we should pay him a visit.”
“Umbra? I don’t think those twinkletoes can put a dent on him.”
“Yes, they are very unremarkable, but this time, we had secured their elite.”
“Oh? Interesting. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”