Chapter 23
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 23
Serious? He looked like a common thug. What part of him could possibly be described as “serious”? Jelly sauntered over with a distinct swagger and came to a stop behind Evangeline. The moment he spotted Daisy, who had been speaking with Evangeline, his eyes widened.
“Oh? You’re…?”
Daisy’s face went even paler, as if she recognized Jelly, too.
“I—I should be going now.”
She backed away anxiously before turning and breaking into a run. Bewildered by her sudden flight, Raphaella called out.
“Sister! You should come with us!”
“It’s fine! The carriage stand is right there!”
The line of waiting carriages was indeed just a stone’s throw away. Raphaella didn’t press the issue, figuring she wouldn’t learn anything more in that short distance.
“She’s gone.”
Raphaella deliberately slowed, putting more distance between her own group and Evangeline’s. It gave the two of them space to talk, but all of Raphaella’s senses were focused on the conversation behind her.
“Who? Oh, her? Hmm… Let’s just say we’re acquaintances who exchanged a bit of help.”
“No. I’m telling you, I helped her. I got her out of there and we escaped together.”
“I cleaned up the aftermath perfectly, too.”
Evangeline’s replies were too quiet to make out. It was a fragmented dialogue, but Raphaella had overheard enough to find a clue.
The answer to the question she had just asked Uriel had come from this man instead.
He had played a part in Daisy’s escape from the monastery. And he was now masquerading as Evangeline’s escort.
Evangeline hadn’t known of Daisy’s existence. Daisy, on the other hand, knew about Evangeline and the spell circles—it was how she’d realized Priest Berga was practicing sorcery. Yet the man who helped Daisy escape was now the escort of Evangeline Rohanson, who supposedly didn't even know the woman.
Was this just a case of the man’s unilateral goodwill? Then why was he at the monastery in the first place? Why at that specific time? How did an outsider even get in?
Raphaella’s mind raced, processing the information and trying to derive the most logical conclusion.
Just as her thoughts were becoming an impossible tangle, a great commotion erupted from behind her. Having strained her hearing to eavesdrop, Raphaella was the first to notice the disturbance.
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
“Sir Knight! Someone, come quickly!”
“No!”
They were screams that had no place in the serene and sacred Grand Temple. Uriel was the first to react, dashing forward without hesitation. Raphaella started to follow but stopped, glancing back at Evangeline and Jelly. What was she supposed to do with them? She couldn’t just leave them behind.
“Let’s go. Quickly,” Evangeline said, as if sensing her dilemma.
Raphaella nodded and ran past them. A fire? A fire, of all things? A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her.
She ran frantically toward the noise, only to realize belatedly that the destination was a very familiar place.
People were screaming in agony. No one was physically injured, yet sharp shrieks, like the edge of a blade, tore through the air. The wailing crowd was all staring at a single spot. Raphaella’s gaze followed theirs.
It was an inferno. The thing that was burning was Jim Nopedi’s masterpiece, the portrait of Donau Blue. The painting, which had depicted the aftermath of a fire, had been ignited once more.
While it was a relief that no one was hurt, the sight of people wailing as if the painting’s fate was their own was bone-chilling. Uriel, who had arrived first, seemed to feel the same. He was staring at the crowd with a hollow expression.
Then, the people huddled together in pain spotted Raphaella. They approached her—some crawling on their knees, others dragging themselves across the floor or staggering on trembling legs.
“Sir Knight, please put out the fire.”
“Sir Knight, the painting… the fire, the fire…”
Each pleaded in their own way, but their message was singular and clear. Put out the fire on the painting. It was the only thing they desired.
Is that necessary?
Did the fire really need to be extinguished? Wouldn't these people return to normal once the painting was reduced to ash?
The thought gave Raphaella pause. Uriel seemed to be hesitating for the same reason. While the two of them wavered, the sound of footsteps approached from behind.
Has Evangeline Rohanson arrived? The thought had barely crossed Raphaella’s mind when a flash of long blond hair filled her vision.
“Michel?”
“Damn it, why is he here? I locked him in his room!”
Raphaella tried to grab Michel in a panic, but the people clinging to her feet, begging for her to save the painting, got in the way.
Seeing the knightly uniform Michel wore, they directed the same plea to him.
“Sir Knight, please save the painting!”
Raphaella knew instinctively that he would grant their request. Michel tore the burning painting from the wall with his bare hands. He tried to smother the blazing flames with his palms, but instead of going out, the fire seemed to brand his very flesh. The madman! Can’t he feel the heat?
Raphaella kicked away the people clinging to her, shoving them aside. She didn’t want to strike civilians, but she couldn’t let Michel’s madness continue.
“Michel! Get a grip! Let go of that!”
The painting continued to burn. Less than half of it remained. Michel’s skin was scorched red, and embers began to catch on his clothes. At this rate, he was going to burn to death with it. Raphaella dragged herself forward, still burdened by the people hanging onto her.
“What is going on here?”
A startlingly crisp voice drifted from behind them. It felt like a corpse had whispered directly in her ear. The oppressive heat vanished, replaced by a sudden chill, as if something immense was staring intently at her back.
Evangeline Rohanson walked leisurely through the hellish scene. The people who had been clinging to Raphaella now stared at Evangeline, entranced. Their groans and screams ceased as if by magic.
With everyone frozen in place, their gazes fixed on Evangeline as if their souls had been captured, she reached Michel’s side without any hindrance.
Michel looked up at her, still clutching the painting. In that moment, Raphaella witnessed the birth of another fanatic.
He saw a figure of pure white, the only color on her being the crimson of her eyes, which burned as brightly as the fire on the painting. What did Michel see in those eyes as he met her gaze? Desire, shock, awe, ecstasy—no adjective could ever be enough to summarize the storm of emotions on his face.
Evangeline flicked a finger. Jelly, reading her intent perfectly, presented several vials of holy water. She uncorked one and poured it over Michel.
One bottle, then two, she continued until the flames died down.
The fire that had threatened to consume Michel was extinguished just like that. In the ensuing silence, the only sound was the dripping of water. Michel looked like a drowned rat, droplets gathering at the tips of his limp hair before falling to the ground.
He blinked blankly, soaked in holy water, before his strength gave out and he collapsed.
“Sir Michel!”
Uriel rushed over and caught him as he fell. For someone who had just fainted, he looked exceptionally peaceful with his eyes closed.
Evangeline snatched the fragment of the painting Michel had been clutching until the very end. It was so badly burnt that only the spell circle remained.
She tossed the damp scrap to Jelly.
“Whoops.”
Watching Jelly catch it so skillfully made the entire situation feel utterly surreal.
The other people were still in a daze. If they had just cried or gotten angry like before, it wouldn’t have felt this unreal.
“Since I poured holy water on him, there shouldn’t be a need for separate treatment,” Evangeline said casually, standing alone and composed.
*
Wow… Are the morals and ethics of these RoFan people for real? I’m so exhausted I feel like all the life has been sucked out of me.
Uriel suddenly bolted, and Raphaella gave me such an intense look that I just told her to go ahead. She immediately took off at full speed.
They ran so fast I couldn’t even hope to keep up, so I just walked in the direction Jelly pointed. I guess being part dog means werewolves have a pretty good sense of smell.
I walked as fast as my pitiful stamina would allow, only to find the most absurd situation unfolding.
I mean, there’s a person on fire, and instead of doing anything, everyone is just standing there staring? I felt like I was watching a crowd of bystanders who’d rather pull out their phones to film a disaster for social media than actually call for help. Hey, you guys don’t even have phones!
When Donau’s house was on fire, everyone just gathered to watch, and now they’re just watching a person burn? You people have no sense of common decency!
“What is going on here?”
Seriously, what is going on? What kind of situation is this! There’s a fire! And it spread to a person! This is bad. Where’s the fire extinguisher! Oh, right, they wouldn’t have those here.
Then water—where’s the water? The only water I remember seeing was the fountain in the garden. Isn’t there any water inside? While I was looking around, I spotted Jelly holding water bottles. I felt like shouting, “Eureka!”
I hurriedly gestured and snatched the vials of holy water from him. I popped the cap and poured. I wanted it to gush out, but the opening was so narrow it just trickled down. What is this, a babbling brook?! I gestured again in annoyance, and Jelly, being quick on the uptake, started handing me uncapped vials one after another.
After about six bottles, the fire finally went out. Fortunately, since this isn't ordinary water, its extinguishing effect must be excellent.
Phew… I almost died of stress. The person who had been engulfed in flames just a moment ago was now staring at me, soaking wet. Or rather… drenched? He looks like a total drowned rat. Maybe it’s because he’s wet, but he looks kind of pitiful. I—I’m sorry! But isn’t getting doused with water better than burning to death?
“Sir Michel!”
Apparently not. Uriel barely caught him as he fainted and collapsed. Raphaella was looking at me like I was some kind of criminal. Hey, I put out the fire, so why are you glaring at me like that! Even Jelly was looking at me with a wounded expression, so I quietly averted my gaze.
This is so unfair. I didn’t do anything wrong, but being treated like a villain makes me want to be even more brazen about taking credit. Did you think I just poured regular water on him? This is holy water!
“Since I poured holy water on him, there shouldn’t be a need for separate treatment.”