Gro’s fingers lightly tapped the sword hilt. The dull clash of metal against leather echoed. He stared into Dorias’ sharp gray-blue eyes, the smile at the corner of his mouth slowly fading.
What should he do?
Fabricate a lie to hide the truth of the past?
Gro knew this saint was not someone who could be easily fooled by lies. Although Dorias wore his emotions on his face, he was far too perceptive. The reason Dorias was questioning him now was likely because he had already sensed the contradictions in Ileil’s words and behavior.
“Dorias.” Gro sighed, his tone dropping. “Are you sure you want to press these private matters right now? We have more important things to handle.”
“This is not a private matter. Ileil is currently traveling with Her Highness. Her background and her relationship with you concern the entire situation.” Dorias’ voice turned cold. He had no intention of compromising with Gro.
“Ileil is your ‘adopted daughter,’ yet her father was your comrade-in-arms. Why does she know nothing about your relationship with Isende? And why does she harbor such intense hostility toward you?”
Dorias had long sensed the complete disharmony between Gro and Ileil—nothing like that of a father and daughter—but he had never brought up the topic.
Gro remained silent for a moment, then slowly raised his head. His gaze was calm to the point of indifference.
“Are you certain you want to know the answer?”
“Of course.” Dorias replied without hesitation.
“Very well.” Gro took a deep breath, looked straight into the saint’s eyes, and spoke word by word:
“I killed Isende.”
Dorias’ pupils contracted sharply. His fingers clenched the greatsword’s hilt so tightly it was a miracle he did not draw it on the spot.
“What did you say?” His voice was low and dangerous, like thunder rumbling before a storm.
“I said it clearly.” Gro’s tone was terrifyingly calm. “Eight years ago, I personally killed Isende Claude.”
Dorias’ breathing grew heavy. Anger and disbelief surged in his gray-blue eyes.
“You… betrayed Blade Ghost?”
“Betrayal?” Gro gave a cold laugh. “No, Dorias. This was not betrayal. It was fate.”
“Fate?! Stop with the pretty words—” Dorias’ voice suddenly rose. He stepped forward sharply. The unsheathed greatsword raised a gust of wind that scattered the fallen leaves on the ground.
“You call killing your own comrade-in-arms ‘fate’?!”
Dorias’ sword tip was almost at Gro’s throat. Gro did not dodge, nor did he even glance at the blade.
“Yes… there was no other choice.”
But he simply gazed calmly at Dorias. His eyes held neither fear nor regret.
“Gro de Morant.” Dorias pronounced Gro’s full name word by word, his voice thick with suppressed rage.
“Not executing you on the spot twenty years ago was my sin.”
“I’ll emphasize it once more—this was not betrayal.” Gro spoke slowly. “The fact that Isende was killed by me cannot be changed, but his only possible fate was to be killed.”
Dorias’ hand trembled slightly. He stared fixedly at Gro’s face, searching for any trace of a lie.
But Gro’s expression did not waver in the slightest. Those deep blue eyes held only heavy honesty and a trace of imperceptible sorrow.
“Tell me, why did you do it?” Dorias asked through gritted teeth. “Why did you kill him? Why is Ileil following you?”
Gro was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “You do not need to know these things.”
“You do not need to know?!” Dorias’ voice was almost squeezed out between his teeth. “You deceived Ileil, used her as a tool for your ambitions, and yet you tell me ‘you do not need to know’?! ”
Gro’s eyes flickered slightly, but soon returned to calm.
“Sir Saint, have you misunderstood something? Ileil Claude. From the day she first held a sword, she knew exactly who her father’s killer was.”
Dorias’ expression froze after hearing Gro’s unexpected words.
“That’s impossible… how could she…”
“How could she what?” Gro interrupted rudely. “Are you trying to say—how could Ileil willingly follow her father’s killer? How could she obey her father’s killer in everything?”
Gro smiled, his smile twisting into something almost ferocious. “Dorias, you underestimate that child too much. Every single day she calculates how to slit my throat when I am most relaxed. She stays by my side only because she has not yet found the opportunity to kill me.”
His tone carried a certain cruel honesty. “And I keep her because she is still useful to me.”
The saint’s sword tip trembled slightly. Complex emotions flashed in his gray-blue eyes.
“You really are a madman.” Dorias murmured in a low voice. “You let her live in hatred, yet you still expect her to be used by you?”
Gro chose silence. He simply met the saint’s gaze without any ripples, as if unwilling to continue discussing the topic.
“You do not care at all what she will become.” Dorias’ voice was deep and icy. “You are simply treating her as a knife.”
“A knife?” Gro shook his head slightly. “No, Dorias. A knife has no will, but Ileil does. She resolutely chose the path of revenge, and I respect her choice.”
Dorias stared into Gro’s deep blue eyes, trying to find a single flaw in his expression. But Gro’s gaze was bottomless, like a deep lake—calm to the point of suffocation.
“One day, Gro.” Dorias finally sheathed his sword. His voice carried suppressed anger. “You will pay for what you have done.”
“I have said everything that needed to be said. Let us talk about serious matters now. The witch, the missing mercenaries, Regnar’s resurrection… these are what we should be discussing.”
The man’s voice was hoarse. He hooked a self-mocking smile and spoke unhurriedly:
“As for the price—sorry. People like me have never fantasized about going to heaven.”
……
On the other side, shifting perspective back to Ileil.
The red-roofed wooden house stood at the end of a desolate path in the western suburbs of Renn Town. The wooden boards on the walls had rotted and turned black; spiderwebs covered the eaves. When Ileil pushed open the creaking wooden door, a musty smell mixed with dust rushed toward her.
Kol’s house was far more dilapidated than imagined.
“How long has this place been uninhabited?” Alyssa frowned, fanning the air in front of her with her hand.
“At least two months.” Prinshitt said in a low voice, her gaze sweeping over the dust-covered floor. “Look at these footprints—only one person’s traces, and they haven’t been updated in a long time.”
Ileil did not join their conversation. She walked straight to the only wooden table inside the house. On the table lay several scattered yellowed parchment sheets. The ink had faded, but the content was still faintly legible—
Diary: Dawn Era K416
Today I saw that “light” again in the barn. It told me death is not the end, but a kind of “return”…
Ileil’s fingertips gently stroked the paper. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly.
“What is he recording?” Prinshitt walked to her side and looked down at the scribbled text.
“A madman’s ravings.” Alyssa scoffed. “Look at the handwriting—his mental state is obviously not normal.”
Ileil ignored her comment and continued searching. The drawer beneath the table was stuffed with similar notes. Every page recorded Kol’s obsession with that “light.”
It said that as long as enough “sacrifices” are offered, the deceased can return…
Lilian… I will soon see you again…
Lilian.
The name appeared again. Ileil’s fingertips paused slightly.