“Thank you, little girl.”
The older man carrying a shopping bag took the apple and looked down at the young girl in front of him.
The child didn't look very old.
Her platinum blonde hair was slightly messy, and her pale blue eyes were as clear as if they had just been washed with water.
She was completely different from the noble ladies on the commercial street, yet she didn't possess the timidness typical of children from the slums.
She simply handed the apple over naturally.
Then she looked up and gave him a small smile.
“What is your name?” Looking at her, the man couldn't help but ask.
“It's Lin Ling!”
The girl's voice was clear and bright.
“My name is Lin Ling!”
The man looked at her and chuckled softly.
“Lin Ling... that's a lovely name.”
The man glanced at their surroundings.
“Where are your parents?”
“Why are you all alone on the commercial street?”
Lin Ling was stumped by the question.
She tilted her head.
“Um...”
“I don't really know.”
She tried hard to remember.
“I think I fell asleep.”
“When I opened my eyes again, I was here.”
The man laughed. “Haha, what an interesting answer.”
Even though it didn't sound like a normal response.
The man sighed and gently patted her head.
“This won't do.”
“A little girl shouldn't be wandering around the commercial street all by herself.”
Lin Ling blinked.
She looked down at her hands and fell silent for a moment.
Fine.
In this dream, she really was just a little girl.
The man looked at her, then at her empty hands.
“Looking at you, I bet you haven't eaten yet, right?”
“Here.”
As he spoke, he took a piece of toasted bread and a bottle of milk from his shopping bag and held them out to Lin Ling.
The bread was still warm.
It was toasted to a slight crisp, with a thick layer of meat slices sandwiched in the middle, the juices slightly seeping out from the edges.
Lin Ling's eyes lit up instantly.
Meat! And bread!
And it was a sandwich!
This was a true masterpiece of spiritual civilization.
But just as she reached out, she suddenly pulled her hand back.
“No, no, no!”
Lin Ling backed away repeatedly.
“I didn't really do anything!”
“I just picked up an apple!”
“This is way too valuable!”
She backed up a bit too quickly.
Her foot tripped, and she nearly tumbled backward.
“Whoa?!”
Just as she thought she was about to perform a faceplant on flat ground, a hand reached out from the side and steadily caught her by the shoulder.
“Careful now.”
A gentle voice sounded above her head.
“My lovely little lady.”
Lin Ling blinked and looked up.
The person holding her was a young soldier.
He wore the armor of a Camillaya Imperial Patrolman, a sword hung at his waist, and a mask-like smile was plastered on his face.
After helping Lin Ling stand steady, the soldier turned to the older man.
His smile turned somewhat helpless.
“Lord Somizo.”
“You've snuck out again.”
Lin Ling was startled.
Lord Somizo?
A lord?
She immediately looked back at the man who looked like an ordinary person carrying groceries.
The man coughed and looked away.
“I just came out to get some fresh air.”
The soldier sighed.
“You say that every time.”
As he spoke, he reached out and took hold of Somizo.
“Please, come back with me.”
Somizo seemed to want to say more.
But the soldier was already skillfully dragging him away.
After taking a couple of steps, Somizo suddenly turned around.
Taking advantage of the soldier's momentary lapse in attention, he shoved his shopping bag into Lin Ling's arms.
Lin Ling caught it instinctively.
“Eh?”
Somizo winked at her.
“I look forward to our next meeting.”
“My cute little miss.”
With that, he waved his hand and was half-dragged, half-escorted away by the soldier.
Lin Ling stood there, clutching the heavy shopping bag.
There was fruit inside.
There was bread.
And there was that meat sandwich and the bottle of milk from earlier.
She looked down at the bag, then up at the departing man.
“What a strange old man,” she whispered.
Then, clutching the shopping bag, she slowly walked deeper into the commercial street.
The street was crowded.
The sounds of vendors were lively.
But the further Lin Ling walked, the more lost she felt.
She looked down at her shrunken body, then at the completely unfamiliar streets around her.
“Why did my body shrink?”
“And where is this place?”
She hugged the shopping bag tighter, her voice growing soft.
“Ugh...”
“I miss everyone at the Demon King's Castle.”
...
Inside the meeting room.
The air in the meeting room was nearly frozen.
Baroque stared at the magic screen, his palm slamming heavily onto the table.
Bang!
The entire conference table shook.
“Damn it!”
“What on earth are you doing?!”
His voice was thick with suppressed rage.
“Why is Lin Ling appearing in there?!”
On the magic screen, the tiny Lin Ling was standing on the commercial street of the Camillaya Empire, clutching her shopping bag.
Baroque's expression was unsightly to the extreme.
Aliviel wasn't smiling either.
She stared unblinkingly at the screen, the magic circles on her hands spinning rapidly.
Purple runes layered upon each other like countless fine nets, attempting to find a gap to cut into the outer layer of the dream.
“I'd like to know that too,” she said, her voice very low.
“Baroque, you're not the only one who's anxious right now.”
The smile had long since vanished from Cecil's face.
His tail hung motionless behind him, his fingertips constantly plucking at the edges of the dream spell.
“This wasn't our doing, Baroque. You should realize that.”
“This dream has been rewritten.”
“Someone interfered right at the very beginning.”
Phelan stood to the side, his recording board still held in his arms.
Only this time, his pen paused for much longer than usual.
“I've already contacted the Demon King on my way here.”
His tone remained calm, but he was clearly speaking faster than normal.
“I suggest you handle the situation before the Demon King arrives.”
Niya sat in her chair, her face pale.
She gripped her skirt tightly with both hands, watching the shrunken Lin Ling on the screen as if seeing her most precious treasure fall into a danger she couldn't reach.
“It's just a dream...” she whispered.
“Right?”
“It's just a dream, right?”
No one answered.
Because they had all seen it just now.
The pain Leticia felt in that dream was by no means a simple illusion.
The smells, the pain, the fear, the humiliation.
It was all too real.
So real that even Aliviel, the caster, could no longer use the phrase “it's just a dream” to comfort Niya.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the magic screen.
Yet everyone's hands were already beginning to channel magic.
A heavy, dark red mana surged around Baroque.
Aliviel was continuously deconstructing the dream's boundaries.
Cecil was attempting to reclaim dominance over the magic.
Phelan's detection crystals floated up one by one.
Niya bit her lip, her eyes glued to Lin Ling without blinking.
But at that moment, the perspective of the magic screen suddenly shifted.
The scene returned to Leticia.
...
The familiar sounds of street vendors rang out again.
“Fresh griddle cakes!”
“Freshly baked cakes!”
“Fruit for sale, cheap fruit here!”
Leticia was kneeling on the ground.
She was back.
Everything had returned to the very beginning.
But this time, she didn't stand up immediately.
She just knelt there, her hands trembling as she touched her neck.
Her neck was still there; her skin was intact.
There were no wounds.
But she remembered.
She remembered it clearly.
The stench of the trash heap.
The force of the soldier's kick.
The backs of the people who turned away.
And that cold-to-the-bone sensation when the blade touched her throat.
Leticia's breathing gradually became erratic.
“I...”
“I'm back again?”
She suddenly let out a laugh.
It was very soft.
But it sounded worse than crying.
“Ha.”
“Haha...”
“A dream.”
“It must be a dream.”
“Right... right?”
She said the words.
But tears wouldn't stop falling from her eyes.
They splashed onto the back of her dust-covered hand.
She raised her hand to wipe them away, but she couldn't wipe them clean.
What had just happened was too real.
Too real for her to lie to herself.
If it was just a dream, why did the pain still linger in her body?
If it was just a dream, why could she still feel that momentary chill on her neck?
If it was just a dream, why did the stench of the trash heap feel like it was still stuck deep in her nose?
She opened her mouth.
But only a broken sob came out.
“Ah...”
“Ugh... hhh...”
Leticia knelt there, tears falling one after another.
She suddenly remembered the past.
Back then, she had stood on the judgment platform in front of the Holy See.
The sunlight was beautiful.
The Holy Light was brilliant.
She wore her purest holy vestments, standing above everyone else.
A man knelt below the platform.
His hands were bound by chains, his forehead pressed against the cold stone slabs.
Everyone around said he was a Filthy One.
She had only spared him a single glance back then.
No.
Perhaps that man didn't even have the right to be looked at by her.
She had simply heard the person beside her whisper:
“Your Eminence, please deliver the verdict.”
So she raised her hand.
With a calm, noble, and unwavering voice, she said:
“This person has been corrupted by filth.”
“He shall be purified.”
What had her expression been then?
Arrogant?
Indifferent?
Or was there nothing at all?
Ah, she remembered now.
She hadn't considered that person to be a human being like herself at all.
She was simply announcing a result.
Like crushing an insect that had crawled onto a white staircase.
Before that man was dragged away, he had looked up at her.
There was no fear of death in his eyes.
He was actually smiling.
He had asked her a question.
“Hey! Saintess! Besides this identity, what else do you have left?”
Leticia hadn't answered back then.
Because she felt there was no need to answer.
She was the Saintess; she had been given that title by everyone around her since birth.
By what right?
By the right that she was born blessed by God.
By the right that she had stood at the top since birth.
But now, Leticia knelt in the middle of the dream's commercial street, her hands clutching her neck tightly as tears flowed uncontrollably.
She suddenly wanted to ask too.
“By what right?”
Leticia was asking her past self.
By what right could a single sentence decide someone else's life or death?
By what right could she feel that people at the bottom were lowly?
When those soldiers were executing her, was it because she was a lowly commoner? Were commoners lowly? Were commoners wrong?
Why?
A voice suddenly flashed through her mind.
Gentle, sweet, and familiar.
Yet it wrapped around her ears like poison.
“Leticia.”
“My dear daughter.”
“You were born to be the Saintess.”
“You were born to be God's favorite.”
“No one can replace you.”
“No one can become you.”
The scene flashed.
In a white room, a noble woman leaned down, gently cupping young Leticia's face.
She smiled tenderly.
“Darling.”
“Can you do Mother a favor?”
“Deliver the verdict.”
“Declare that this person is a Filthy One, okay?”
The young Leticia looked at her.
Back then, she didn't understand much.
She only knew that her mother said she was the Saintess.
Her mother said she was loved by God.
Her mother said whatever she did was right.
So she nodded.
“Of course.”
“Mother.”
The Leticia of that time stood on the platform, only one thought in her mind.
“I was born to be the Saintess.”
“God's favorite.”
“This identity is innate.”
But what about now?
She slowly raised her head.
A shop window reflected her image.
Wearing tattered clothes.
Hair in disarray.
Eyes hollow.
Tears staining her face.
She couldn't even summon the Holy Light.
Leticia looked at herself in the glass, her lips trembling.
“Besides being the Saintess...”
“What am I?”
She remembered the words her mother said most often.
It wasn't “you did well.”
It wasn't “what do you want?”
It was—
“This person is useless now.”
“Dispose of them.”
What about her?
What about this version of her, dressed in rags, unable to use Holy Light, her very appearance altered?
Was she useless now?
If she didn't have the identity of the Saintess.
If she couldn't stand at the top.
What did she have left?
Leticia knelt on the ground.
The sounds of vendors around her were still lively.
But those sounds seemed to come from very, very far away.
She looked at the wretched, unfamiliar version of herself in the window, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
“I...”
“What am I?”
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