At this moment, their cold gaze still locked onto him.
Sure enough, the Inquisition was everywhere.
Allen suspected he had been marked the moment he stepped into the market.
One second, two seconds, three seconds…but the anticipated rotten eggs and vegetables never flew.
An old voice finally broke the silence: “Ah…A prodigal son’s return is worth more than gold…”
“His father…the old Viscount Laval truly was a good man,” someone whispered in agreement.
“Looking at him now, it doesn’t seem like an act…”
“God’s Revelation…could it really be true?!”
“Who hasn’t made mistakes in youth…”
The townsfolk had never really been bothered by the “real” Allen.
Their resentment was more about the nobility as a whole, projected onto this notorious scapegoat.
Now that they were seeing this repentant young master anew, their hostility naturally faded.
Murmurs spread, no longer purely scorn or anger, but mixed with sympathy, reflection, and a glimmer of hope.
At last, a sudden round of applause rang out, piercing the silence.
Then a second, a third…
The clapping rippled like stones tossed into a lake, quickly spreading until it formed a sincere, enthusiastic ovation!
Some even cheered.
“Well said, Young Master Allen!”
“Admitting mistakes and changing for the better is the greatest virtue!”
“We’re watching you! Do well!”
“Treat your father and that maid better from now on!”
“Act like a man!”
Allen slowly straightened.
When he lifted his head, tears streamed down his face.
These tears were not entirely feigned.
The simple, direct kindness shown by the people—the willingness to give a “lost lamb” a chance—struck his heart like a warm current.
This was the warmth he had longed for most when he died alone last cycle.
Several young girls blushed as they pressed freshly picked wildflowers, still glistening with dew, into Allen’s hands.
The feeling of being accepted…wasn’t bad at all!
Of course, Allen had to ignore the burning glare from Marianne beside him—
She was staring daggers at the girls offering flowers, her possessiveness and murderous intent almost tangible!
“Thank you… thank you all…”
Allen held the simple yet fragrant wildflowers, his voice choked with genuine emotion, “Thank you for your forgiveness, thank you for giving me this chance. From now on, I will atone for my past with my actions!”
As Allen jumped down from the crate, he was suddenly tackled by a “human cannonball”!
“Waaah! Allen, you poor thing!”
Anna cried, tears and snot smearing Allen’s clothes as she hugged him tight like iron shackles, “I’ll never steal your snacks again! Waaah…”
“Marianne…help me…”
Allen could barely pay attention to the truth about the missing snacks; he felt like he was being strangled.
Marianne, also touched by Allen’s past story and with tears still at the corner of her eyes, quickly snapped out of her daze and struggled mightily to pull Anna off Allen.
She looked at Allen with deep pity.
She fully understood the sorrow of this villainous young master, understood his initial wish to die, and comprehended what the relieved smile on his face meant when she pushed him into the water.
To be Allen’s servant, to be his sibling—this must be God’s will.
Allen was God’s Messenger sent to redeem the world, and she was his apostle, destined solely to redeem Allen.
Marianne did not ask for much; as long as she stayed by Allen’s side, the gates of God’s paradise would open wide for her.
When Allen’s identity was discovered, it felt like stepping into a hostile jungle.
But now, as he left the small square, he was surrounded by a warm crowd, their kind eyes and encouraging words sending him off.
Before Allen departed, the old woman selling accessories handed him a beautiful butterfly hairpin free of charge.
Her face was kindly as she said,
“Take it, child, and give it to your ‘sister.’”
As she spoke, the old woman nodded toward Marianne with a look of sympathy and relief.
She seemed to have already seen that Allen’s adorable “sister” was the poor little maid from his story.
A new story—one of a prodigal son’s return and divine rebirth—was taking root that afternoon amid the bustling streets of Lucien’s Lower District, destined to spread like wildfire throughout the Capital.
This process was unstoppable.
The Inquisitors and their retinue hidden among the crowd exchanged glances, their faces grim.
Victor Soren, tasked with monitoring Allen, even broke out in a cold sweat at his temple.
He had seen countless charlatans exploiting God’s name, their eyes filled only with greed and calculation.
But this Allen de Laval—his tears, his remorse, his sincere words, and the support he was gaining—felt too real! More terrifying than any disguise!
He recalled a politically wise saying from a high-ranking court figure: “You must stand behind someone before you can stab them in the back.”
Wasn’t Allen now, in full view of everyone, successfully standing behind the Church?
When would he strike the fatal blow?
“Quick!”
Victor snarled at his subordinates, “Immediately! Ride hard and fast! Report everything that happened here to Archbishop Lucien, word for word! Now! At once!”
Unlike the chaotic Inquisitors, behind a rundown stall selling secondhand goods on the market’s edge, a boy about fifteen years old watched Allen’s departing figure with a complex expression of shock and confusion.
This boy was slight and agile, like a mouse always ready to slip into a hole.
He wore a patched, filthy coarse cloth tunic, layered with an equally worn leather vest polished smooth from wear.
Around his waist was a wide cloth belt bulging with various “little gadgets.”
Beneath messy brown hair, his darting eyes were wide with surprise.
“Hey! ‘Sparrow’!” a similarly aged, freckled boy elbowed him impatiently, “What are you spacing out for? So many people crowded in to listen to that guy spouting nonsense—what a perfect chance! Fat sheep everywhere! Why didn’t you make a move?! I covered for you for nothing!”
The boy called “Sparrow” snapped back to reality and slapped the freckled boy’s head with irritation: “Idiot! Use your pig brain! Without the Laval name shielding us, do you think we could have lasted even a few days in this Capital’s sewer?”
“Did you forget last month when you stole half a loaf of black bread from the bakery and that fat guy almost broke your leg? If I hadn’t shouted ‘Charge it to Young Master Laval’s account’ at the last second, you’d be feeding the rats in a dungeon by now!”
“Well…now we’re still using his name…” the freckled boy protested, rubbing his head stubbornly.
“Bullshit!”
Sparrow’s eyes sharpened as he pointed toward Allen’s vanished direction, “Didn’t you hear what he said? He’s changed! Completely! He’s no longer that asshole who ignored us but at least let us freeload under his name!”
“He’s going to ‘turn over a new leaf’! ‘Redeem himself’! Do you think he’ll tolerate us continuing to steal and cause trouble under the Laval banner, ruining the little reputation he’s just starting to rebuild?”
The freckled boy was stunned, finally realizing the gravity of the situation: “So…what do we do?”
“What do we do?”
Sparrow’s small face showed an unsettling mix of worry and ruthlessness beyond his years, “You go back immediately! Gather everyone! Something big is coming! I’ll try to talk to this lord a bit more later. Otherwise, the end might really be upon us, us rats who live in the shadows!”
He glanced once more toward the spot where Allen had disappeared, leaving behind the bustling crowd and the clamor of city life—a black-haired youth’s figure vanished, but the ripples he left behind were enough to overturn their gray world.
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