“Please believe me,” Eileen’s voice remained steady, yet carried a strange power that pierced the soul, like a sudden star shining in the depths of darkness. “The corruption of the Abyss… hasn’t completely consumed your souls yet. I… can feel it.”
Her gaze swept over the twisted figures in the cage, as if penetrating those terrifying shells to see the imprisoned, tormented core inside. “You… are still in there. Trapped.”
She paused slightly; each word struck like a hammer on the hearts of the female knight, as well as on Roswitha and Helga.
“I can… turn you back.”
“Turn… back?”
The female knight’s hateful eyes suddenly widened, her pupils contracting sharply.
The light in her compound eyes flickered wildly, as if struggling to comprehend the impossible words.
Rage and despair ebbed away like a tide, leaving only profound confusion and… a faint spark of something so fragile that even she feared to touch it—hope.
She stared hard into Eileen’s eyes, as if trying to pierce into her very soul to verify the truth of this promise.
What did she see?
Those golden eyes, clear as the purest morning light, without a trace of deceit, fanaticism, or the smugness of a savior.
Only a nearly sacred focus—an unwavering promise burdened with mountains, yet choosing to press onward.
That gaze was as calm as the eternal stars, yet carried a warmth capable of igniting the seas of despair.
“Yes,” Eileen nodded again, her voice low but resolute, “Give me some time. Trust me—I can save you.”
Her eyes never left the human eye of the female knight, as if making a silent soul contract.
The female knight’s hands gripping the iron bars finally loosened, weak and slow.
The clawed pincers covered in chitin also drooped.
She stared blankly at Eileen, letting out a whimper like a dying beast, her entire body as if drained of all strength, slumping heavily to the ground.
She buried her half-human, half-demonic face, streaked with tears and blood, deep between her remaining human hands and the cold shell, her shoulders convulsing violently but silently.
The howls that had surrounded them miraculously weakened significantly; a faint, trembling, and almost unbelievable silence began to spread.
That fragile sprout called “hope,” though delicate, struggled stubbornly to break through the soil soaked with despair.
*****
As Eileen retraced the cold stone steps leading back to the surface and pushed open the iron door sealing off hell itself, she felt no relief at returning to the world above.
The faint candlelight and fresh air in the sanctuary’s corridor only intensified the heavy weight of responsibility pressing on her chest.
The image of the basement was branded onto her mind—the agonized howls, the eyes filled with despair, the stench of decay, and that female knight’s final silent sobs—all weighed heavily on her heart, making each step feel like treading on a path of thorns.
“Eileen…”
Helga’s voice trembled slightly. Her face was still pale, but her eyes had transformed from initial shock and disgust into a complex light mingling strong responsibility with academic curiosity.
She hurried to catch up with Eileen, her tone unwavering and firm: “Listen, whatever you need! Just say the word! Yuno, myself, and even the entire Mage Association will be your strongest support! I will report this to the Council of Sages. No one will allow such an atrocity to continue! We must never let Delora’s madness and this desecration of life persist for even a second longer!”
Her tone was resolute, imbued with the near-obsessive determination of a scholar facing a forbidden subject.
Eileen stopped and turned to look at Helga’s blazing eyes. That suffocating weight seemed to crack open just enough for a faint glimmer of light to shine through.
She took a deep breath, forcing down the surging emotions, and nodded solemnly, her voice filled with deep gratitude and a barely perceptible weariness: “Thank you, Helga. If I need anything, I won’t hesitate.”
At that moment, Roswitha also approached.
Her face was still pale, but the anger in her eyes had settled into a cold, iron-like resolve.
In her hand, she held a thick, worn leather notebook tied with a black ribbon.
“Eileen,” Roswitha’s voice was low and clear, carrying an air of grim determination, “This was found while clearing the ruins of the Papal Hall, beside the body of a purification research team leader trapped under broken beams. This is their core experimental journal.”
She handed the notebook to Eileen. It was heavy and cold in her hands, as if bearing the weight of countless wronged souls.
Roswitha’s gaze sharpened like a drawn sword: “More importantly, from fragments of the journal and the leader’s dying murmurs, we pieced together a horrifying truth: Delora’s desecration experiments are not confined to the Holy City! Within the kingdom, and deep in the empire’s heartland, there are at least three other secret labs operating! They’re like tumors, lurking in the shadows and continuing to produce such tragedies!”
She looked at Eileen, her eyes full of entrustment: “Within the kingdom, I will mobilize the Church’s power, unite with the royal army, and stop at nothing to root them out as fast as possible! But in the empire…”
She shook her head, a trace of helplessness and deep worry flashing in her golden eyes. “The Church’s reach cannot extend that far. So, Eileen—”
Stepping forward, Roswitha gently placed her hands on Eileen’s shoulders. Her grip was light, but carried the weight of a thousand promises:
“To destroy the labs within the empire, to stop this evil from spreading, and to rescue any innocent souls that may still be alive… this mission only you can bear! I implore you, Eileen, for the sake of those souls wailing in the darkness, to prevent more tragedy… please, make sure you succeed!”
Eileen lowered her eyes to the cold, heavy experimental notebook in her hands, then looked up to meet Roswitha’s gaze—eyes heavy with the trust of countless lives.
The twisted figures and pleading eyes from the basement flashed before her again.
That crushing responsibility, mingled with pity and fury in her heart, instantly fused into an unshakable conviction.
Without hesitation, she straightened her spine, golden eyes blazing with determination:
“I promise you, Roswitha. The labs in the empire… I will personally destroy every last one! Not a single one will remain!”
The night in the Holy City bore the exhaustion of survival after calamity.
The broken moonlight spilled over the ruins, casting cold, fragmented shadows.
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