Chapter 1202 All Eyes Converge <TOC> Chapter 1204 Purity
Translator: SumTLMan
At this moment, within a solitary church orphanage.
A golden haired woman bearing painting tools suddenly gazes upwards, her attention caught by the azure sky in a state of dreamy daze.
It is only when her skirt is tugged by a chubby little fist that the woman comes back to her senses. With a bright smile on her face, she crouches down to address the little girl of barely five standing before her: “What’s the matter, May?”
“Sister Feng, Siegfried can’t hold on any longer,” a creamy little voice complains.
The endearing expression, coupled with the imploring look in the child’s eyes, makes the woman’s heart melt into laughter.
She scoops up May into her arms, affectionately rubbing her soft cheeks, and after a while finally sets her free.
Her gaze then shifts to another scene. Siegfried, of the same age as May, stands near a fountain, posing like a rooster standing on one leg.
Due to maintaining this stance for a prolonged period, his bun-shaped face has turned beet-red. The glimmer of unshed tears sparkles in his eyes, showcasing a hurt expression. But, he can’t cry. The old director has always said, boys should not cry, especially with May nearby.
Desiring to show off his “manly” pose before May, he can’t afford any embarrassment.
However, perhaps due to standing for too long under the fierce sun, his face is crimson, and the heat from his sweat is unbearable. Feeling dizzy, Siegfried sees black for a moment, hears a splash, and finds himself fallen into the fountain.
After a short while, Siegfried, who is diagnosed with sunstroke, is led back to the dormitory by the nuns with a disappointed face.
Siegfried is utterly disheartened. Not only has he failed to exhibit his masculinity before May, but he has also lost face, and his heart is filled with distress.
The nun thinks Siegfried is upset because he did not get a chance to paint. She gently comforts him, “It’s alright if you didn’t get the chance to paint this time. I’ve confirmed that Miss Feng, the artist, will come again next week. By then, once you’ve recovered, you can paint.”
Siegfried responds with a sullen grunt.
On the other hand, the golden-haired woman — Artist Feng — who just gave May’s cheek a peck and bid her goodbye, suddenly feels a movement in her earpiece.
“You…”
“Hold your words.” Interrupting the voice in her ear, Feng swiftly leaps onto the statue in the center of the fountain. Only then does she say, “Speak.”
A teasing voice comes from the earpiece, “My dear old friend, Mirafael, I never knew you had such a penchant for cross-dressing.”
The golden-haired woman is none other than the Magic Painter, Mirafael Von Feng. Shrugging her shoulders, she replies, “I have no choice, this church only allows pure and flawless girls. Besides, as an artist, experiencing art from a female perspective is quite interesting.”
“I must admit, I am not well-versed in your type of artistry,” a mutter emerged, shortly followed by a voice resonating within his earpiece. “Wasn’t your goal the third princess Okaleg of Heart Kingdom in the Shell World? My coordinates show that you’ve deviated. Why are you in the Kingdom of Saint Isha now?”
Feng responded, “I obtained the Mysterious Object from Tasia half a day ago. However, as I was preparing to depart, I heard rumors about the Kingdom of Saint Isha and decided to investigate.”
“Rumors?”
“I cannot articulate them clearly yet, but there’s a strange aura pervading this kingdom. I feel it might conceal some extraordinary secret.” Feng glanced down at the fountain beneath him. The mysterious aura didn’t extend into the water, which is why he chose to stand in the statue within the fountain to converse.
“Another Mysterious Object?” A gasp of surprise echoed from the earpiece, laden with envy. “Could it be that this remote world in the End Law Era could produce two Mysterious Objects?”
“I’m not sure if it’s a Mysterious Object. It requires time to investigate… After all, besides opportunities, these Mysterious Objects also bring unknown perils.” Feng reminisced about his previous endeavor to obtain ‘Clyde’s Sigh’ from Tasia, a mission that kept him engaged for a span of fifteen years, just to observe Tasia and prevent any hazardous incidents.
However, ‘Clyde’s Sigh’, a fragment of her own bones, required extensive observation. If the Mysterious Object here is an isolated entity, then it wouldn’t necessitate such a long halt.
Pausing for a moment, Feng continued, “I will inform you when I have a better grasp of the situation. Now, Renekton, why did you seek me out?”
Suddenly, a cacophony of clatterings filled the earpiece, akin to the sound of explosions and hissing leaks.
After a while, Renekton, panting, conveyed in a tone tinged with melancholy, “My old friend, I have an unfortunate piece of news to share. My experiment has failed again.”
“When was the last time your alchemy experiment succeeded, ever since you started attempting to artificially craft Mysterious Objects?” Feng teased. “And how is this related to me?”
Renekton lamented, “You, my closest friend, fail to empathize with my predicament, how disappointing… Alas, if I could obtain the black transformation spell of Odoros’s Death Faction, perhaps I could touch the realm of the mysterious.”
“Alright, alright, I get your point. Next time I return, I will try to apply for the usage rights of the Testament of Kayle and assist you in finding the black transformation spell.” Having spoken thus in an annoyed tone, Feng continued, “You sought me out; it wouldn’t just be for this matter, right?”
“Of course not.” Upon receiving Feng’s promise, Renekton’s spirits lifted immediately, and he began to discuss the main issue. “I have just received news. According to the monitoring data, a Demon God’s True Spirit fell on the Wasteland Plane of the Abyss World not too long ago.” Renekton added, “Knowing your deep-seated resentment for Demon Gods and that the Wasteland Plane is connected to the Wizarding World of the Southern Region, I thought it appropriate to inform you as soon as I received the news.”
After Renekton finished speaking, Feng’s response was not forthcoming.
“Hello? What happened?”
After a substantial pause, Feng’s voice finally arrived, “I am aware. I sensed something when the pact I had with the Testament of Kayle suddenly dissipated.”
“Your pact with the Testament of Kayle? This Demon God’s True Spirit’s fall… is it related to you?” After uttering these words, a sudden realization dawned upon Renekton. “Right, considering your antipathy towards Demon Gods, it makes sense that you would do something like this.”
Renekton was reminded of a book he had once come across on Feng’s shelf, seemingly by accident.
The volume was called —Planes Conquest Record—, a publication from the Southern Region’s wizard alliance known as Frost Moon. In the book’s title page, there was Feng’s painting——The Apocalypse, which depicted the end of the world after the Descent of the Great Demon God Rising Sun.
Feng’s animosity towards the Demon God was palpable. Renekton guessed that this perhaps related to Feng’s earlier life experiences. However, for wizards who have come as far as they have, their lives would inevitably bear the snow of hardships. Once the snow melts, only the person who lived through it truly knows the full depth of their seasons of snow.
Feng didn’t want to discuss that phase of his life, and Renekton, respecting his friend’s wishes, never asked about it.
Renekton conceded, “Alright, since it is a pact between you and the Testament of Kayle, it seems that things have been decided.”
“The shadow of the Demon God should have vanished,” Feng replied nonchalantly.
“I don’t know what purpose you had in doing this,” muttered Renekton. “Since you already know, I won’t say more. I’m prepared to continue my attempts, maybe I can succeed without resorting to the legendary black transformation spell. But I’m running low on funds to lease these Mysterious Objects. It’s a nuisance… When you return, remember to lend me the Mysterious Objects you’ve obtained for a few days of study.”
“Agreed.”
As Renekton’s voice gradually faded, Feng gazed up at the sky, seemingly able to see the Abyss World at some unknown distance in spacetime.
“Painter Feng, how did you manage to climb up there?” A venerable priest approached after some time.
Feng’s face flushed as he jumped down from the central sculpture of the fountain, “Eh, I accidentally splashed some ink on the sculpture and climbed up to wipe it off.”
“Is that so?” The old priest was skeptical, but what he found more dubious about Feng wasn’t the climbing of the sculpture, but something else.
Just two hours ago, this self-proclaimed painter named Feng arrived at the orphanage, claiming she would paint portraits for the children free of charge and that this endeavour would last for half a year.
While this seemed like a good deed, the nuns told the priest that Feng was inquiring about something peculiar.
“I was told by the nuns that you were inquiring about the Holy Election?”
…
Time rewound a little, to the Wasteland Plane in the Abyss.
Under the shadow of the sealed continent.
Greaves was sure that he would never forget this sight in his lifetime.
That towering figure with golden hair, standing silently under the towering, shimmering green tree.
The deadly quiet and dark sky, the turbulent and turning russet colored land, and the fire tornado rising from the flat ground were the backdrop to this scene.
It was deeply engraved in Greaves’ mind.
After an unknowable amount of time, while Greaves was still immersed in beautifying his internal memories, a voice suddenly came out.
“What A Mess.”
This was not the voice of the shop owner, nor did it originate from Popoca.
This particular sound was rather unique. Instead of permeating through the air, it was more like wavelengths of the mind, directly propagating into the brain. Even though Greaves had no clue about the language being used, he strangely comprehended the meaning. Yet, it was distinctly different from mental waves, for it possessed the tactile sensation of sound——
Androgynous, incredibly chilly, reminiscent of a water droplet landing on a smooth, cold porcelain surface.
Merely hearing this sound made Greaves feel as if he had been transported into a frigid snowscape.
Who was speaking? Greaves swiveled his head around, finally focusing on the figure with the golden hair.
There was no one else here, the shop owner seemed to have passed out, and Popoca was motionless on the ground. The only one who could be speaking was… it.
As a newly devoted follower, Greaves felt a surge of excitement. After all, the True Spirit of the Demon God had questioned it many times before, but it had never spoken. This was its first time speaking!
Right, what did it just say… mess? What a mess?
As Greaves pondered in confusion, he saw the figure with golden hair suddenly extend its hand. From the tree constructed by the power of the True Spirit, points of light began to pour down.
It was like a swarm of fireflies taking flight or like countless stars cascading from the heavens.
In the end, these green points of light gathered in the hand of the figure with the golden hair.