Gro watched the pensive Dorias. With his keen observation, he could naturally guess what the saint was doubting. Not to mention, Dorias shared a common trait with the inexperienced princess—they were both poor at hiding their emotions and always wore their thoughts on their faces.
Although this was a good thing for Gro, Dorias’ undisguised hostility and differential treatment toward him still gave him a headache.
After all—Dorias was Gro’s key tool for fighting the witch. He still hoped the saint could be a little more obedient.
“You’re doubting it too, aren’t you? Wondering whether this suspected Blood Axe Regnar is connected to the rumored ‘True God of Death,’ and whether it’s linked to the secretly active Mor cultists.”
Gro stepped forward, interrupting the saint’s thoughts. Dorias raised his head warily and glanced at him.
“Yes… so you called me here. What do you need my power for? If I remember correctly, your group should have a capable mage.”
“You mean Alyssa? I already had her examine these clues, but even she couldn’t accurately track the missing mercenaries’ whereabouts.”
Gro spread his hands.
“That’s strange.” Dorias stood up. “You say your men disappeared here, yet besides a few axe marks there isn’t even a footprint or bloodstain. Even that mage couldn’t trace those people. I’m afraid I’m powerless too.”
“How could that be, Mr. Dorias?” Gro deliberately dragged out his tone. “You are a saint blessed by the Dawn Goddess. I think you should be able to detect the method used to erase the traces. If my guess is correct…”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” The saint’s voice turned cold. He was somewhat annoyed by Gro’s roundabout way of speaking.
“To be honest. In my mind, the only one capable of erasing these traces so thoroughly is that witch with unknown abilities.”
“……”
Dorias did not answer, but signaled with his eyes for Gro to continue.
“If it weren’t for my camp experiencing that fire caused by the witch last week, I might not have realized this issue. You should know the full story of last week’s fire, right, Dorias?”
“I’ve read the detailed report.” The saint replied.
“How detailed?” Gro asked back. “Then do you know what happened to those Mor cultists disguised as adventurers who were first killed by Ileil? After they turned into living corpses burning with black fire, what was their final fate?”
“……I only know they became fuel for the witch’s black fire and were burned to ashes.”
Recalling the faint soul screams heard in that sea of fire, Dorias said heavily:
“I could even feel their souls suffering torment under the witch’s flames… The dawn could not save these wandering souls.”
“So even souls can be burned away by the witch’s fire?”
Gro opened his mouth in some surprise, but he did not seem satisfied with Dorias’ answer.
“But unfortunately, what I wanted to tell you is not this. Besides, I don’t understand these things either.”
“Then what is your discovery…?” Dorias was puzzled by Gro’s abstract words.
“Let me state the conclusion first—I suspect the witch’s fire can conceptually erase a person’s existence.”
Gro calmly stated his discovery.
“Why?”
Dorias asked in surprise. Gro’s terrifying inference made him break out in cold sweat.
“It’s simple. Because the belongings of those Mor cultists disappeared very strangely after they became living corpses and were burned to ashes by the witch’s fire—those valuable items were clearly not stored in the burning camp.”
“And in my mercenary group, there were also a few unlucky ones who didn’t escape. They were similarly burned to nothing by the witch’s fire.”
Gro narrowed his eyes. He put away his usual casual expression, his face becoming exceptionally grave:
“I had a pretty good relationship with the guys who were burned to death. I originally planned… after they died, to send the valuable things they left with me back to their respective hometowns.”
“Guess what? When I went to the chamber of commerce’s vault to retrieve those items, I found nothing inside. At first, I just thought the chamber’s security was poor and someone happened to steal those guys’ belongings. Only in the last two days did I realize… when too many coincidences happen together, they become an ‘inevitable’ pattern. Not only their finances disappeared; even the armor they usually wore, the weapons they lent to others, and even the letters they wrote to their hometowns all vanished without a trace.”
Looking at the silent Dorias, Gro smiled bitterly:
“It sounds absurd, right? But besides this, I can’t think of any other explanation.” He stepped on the gravel beside his shoe. “Just like Kol’s team—they disappeared, but even most of the equipment they usually used and the frequently used items in their tents are missing. This has far exceeded the scope of kidnapping or murder.”
Dorias’ brows furrowed tighter and tighter. Gro’s words were like a sharp tool, gradually prying open the cracks in his cognition.
“You mean…” The saint’s voice rarely carried a trace of hesitation. “Not only did the people burned by the witch’s fire have their bodies disappear, but even the traces of their existence were erased?”
“Pretty much. Their names are still in the chamber of commerce’s ledgers, but all physical objects related to them have disappeared.”
The saint was silent for a moment, then asked: “What about the memories related to them?”
“The memories are still there. At least I still remember what they looked like.” At this point, Gro paused. “However… the new kids in the group can no longer remember those people’s names.”
Dorias’ gaze swept over the forest floor with no signs of fighting: “If that’s the case… then how do you explain Regnar’s ‘resurrection’? Could the witch even ‘erase’ the dead and then reshape them?”
“Sorry, Sir Saint. I’m not omniscient either. Investigating these things is very difficult.”
Gro sighed, then said slowly:
“On the other hand, Dorias. Aren’t you able to sense the witch’s aura? After last week’s fire, you should have tracked her traces, right?”
“I did try. But the witch’s aura is like…” He paused, seeming to search for the right metaphor.
“Like a reflection in water. Clearly visible, yet impossible to grasp.”
“Even the Dawn Goddess’ blessing can’t find it?” Gro raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying deliberate surprise.
“Gro. I hope you understand that the Dawn Goddess’ blessing is not omnipotent.” Dorias said seriously.
“—Ah, so I called you here, and it ended up being useless work?”
Gro scratched his messy black hair and couldn’t help groaning.
“I will do my best to help you track the witch’s whereabouts, Gro.” Dorias changed the subject. “But before that, I must ask you one thing clearly.”
“Oh, what is it?” Gro deliberately opened his mouth in surprise. “No wonder you’ve been giving me dirty looks since we met. Turns out you had something on your mind.”
“Ileil Claude.” When Dorias pronounced this name, Gro’s shoulder line tightened imperceptibly.
“That child’s sword style, those eyes. Twenty years ago I saw the same golden pupils on the execution ground.”
“Sir Saint has a good memory.” The short sword “clinked” as it stabbed into the mud. Gro slowly straightened up: “What do you want to ask?”
“Is Isende Claude still alive?” Dorias went straight to the point.
The bird songs in the woods suddenly fell silent for an instant. Gro turned to face the rock wall, as if avoiding Dorias’ gaze: “Why suddenly ask this?”
“Because Ileil asked me about her father yesterday. And it seems you hid your relationship with Isende from her.” The saint took a step forward. His holy robe swept across the dewy ferns.
“She told me Isende died eight years ago—killed by an ‘old enemy.’ But I noticed that the child’s hands were trembling when she said that. It seems she hid the truth from me.”
Gro suddenly laughed. He looked at the blade of his short sword, reflecting his cold and stern image:
“Sir Saint, when did you switch careers to become a nanny, being so gossipy?”
“Answer me, Gro.” Dorias’ knuckles pressed against the sword hilt.
“What exactly happened to Isende in the end? Why is his child following you?”
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