Chapter 19: Smile

"By the way, heal that female knight first. It'd be boring if she died," Hilton said, turning toward the young Yabin and giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder. The young man's white magic had earned Hilton's favor. "You'll get your turn second."

But Yabin remained motionless, staring at the flickering campfire. His originally handsome, delicate face now bore a wooden, blank expression.

"Think about it—doing a church holy knight, and such a beautiful female knight at that. This is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Who in this world gets to do something like this? She's probably still a virgin." Hilton licked his lips, his voice trembling with excitement and desire. "Imagine that stuck-up bitch with her holier-than-thou attitude, looking down on us. When we're doing her later, we can ask her over and over—'How's this, huh? How does it feel now…'"

Suddenly, the young man stood up. His face remained expressionless as he walked straight away.

"Greenhorn. Just a kid," Hilton shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle. Though his appearance was far inferior to Hilika's, the sinister and lecherous look he wore under the red glow of the campfire was equally terrifying to most.

The druid, who had been silent the entire time, quietly tending to his injured hand, finally spoke. "Forget it. If you're going to kill her, just do it. Don't do these disgusting things."

"Disgusting?" Hilton seemed genuinely surprised, as though he had heard the word for the first time. "Come on, man. Out here in the wild, this is nothing. You haven't seen worse, huh?" He glanced at Hilika with a grin. "Am I right?"

Hilika said nothing, merely offering a knowing smile that was as predatory as a tiger acknowledging a wolf's bloodlust.

The druid's face remained impassive. His slightly overweight figure and honest appearance made him look like a simple shopkeeper, the kind whose family had tilled the soil for generations. Everything about him, now in human form, radiated ordinariness. Staring into the fire, he muttered in an unremarkable tone, as if reciting a ledger, "A person should still have a little conscience."

"Conscience?" Hilton's eyes widened in astonishment. Then he burst into laughter, laughing so hard he was gasping for air. The wound on his face reopened, and blood began to stream down again. Despite the pain, he couldn't stop laughing. His laughter echoed through the forest, traveling far into the night.

The masked woman, Jessica, and Hilika both turned to the druid with peculiar expressions. Jessica's was amused, while Hilika's was a mix of disgust and disdain, as if looking at a rat that had crawled out of a latrine, bloated from gorging itself.

"Holy shit. Holy shit," Hilton managed to say between fits of laughter. His wound had split further, the stitches snapping apart, leaving blood running down his face. "This is the funniest joke I've ever heard. You should've gone to the church to preach instead of wasting your talent as a druid."

The druid said nothing. He silently got up and walked in the same direction Yabin had gone.

"Pfft. Self-righteous idiot," Hilton spat in the druid's direction with contempt before turning back eagerly to the man sitting near the sack. "Forget those two fools. Go ahead, you first…"

But the man didn't move. He didn't even twitch. Instead, he cast a cold glance at Hilton, his gaze even icier than before. Slowly, he spat out two words: "Not happening."

"What do you mean, 'not happening'?!" Hilton practically jumped up, his excitement giving way to frustration. If it weren't for the man's absurd combat prowess and his terrifying performance earlier, Hilton might have lunged forward to seize the prize himself. Left with no choice, he turned to Hilika for support. "What's wrong with this guy…?"

Hilika chuckled. Though his smile was as unnerving as ever, it carried an unmistakable air of calm and rationality. Since their escape from the underground base, he had been like this—always composed. He smiled at the man and said generously, "I trust you must have your reason. Let's hear it."

"Yeah, let's hear it," Hilton added, turning back to the man. Suddenly, he seemed to realize something and exclaimed, "Don't tell me… don't tell me you've fallen for that bitch! Let me remind you—she's a holy knight. You can play with her and kill her afterward. That's all she's worth."

"If I play with her, it won't just be for fun. I'll gather a group of men to use her for a week, until she dies," the man said coldly.

"Then why not…?" Hilton stammered, wide-eyed.

"I still have a lot to ask her. If I do it now, it's no different from killing her. I wouldn't get any answers," the man replied with a chilling smile, baring a set of perfect white teeth that somehow looked more terrifying than a beast's fangs. "Don't worry. When the time comes, I'll let you join in. You can even go first. Afterward, I'll send her corpse to Celeste as a gift for that old bastard Magnus. I promise he'll be in for a big surprise. Hahaha…"

Hilton shivered involuntarily. Whatever lust or fire had been burning inside him was extinguished completely by that icy laughter. He stammered, "No need to go that far… You're joking, right?"

Silently murdering a holy knight was already the most extreme sin Hilton could imagine. If they really carried out what the man proposed, it wouldn't just be a crime—it would be outright madness. It would be akin to slapping the Pope across the face, openly declaring war against the entire Church of Light.

"I never joke," the man replied coldly, staring directly at Hilton.

If anyone else had said this, or if the man had said it before, Hilton would have thought the person either insane or joking. But having witnessed the man's combat skills, especially his eerie and unmatched blade, Hilton couldn't dismiss his words. The lingering metallic scent of blood still seemed to permeate the air. Instinctively, Hilton felt that behind this man's unremarkable face hid something unimaginable.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Hilton asked cautiously.

"That old fool Magnus... and Aescher... I've been planning to deal with those decrepit bastards for a long time," the man said. He paused, as if holding back thoughts he didn't wish to share further.

The masked woman, Jessica, suddenly spoke up. "That blade of yours… does it have dark magic and necromancy imbued into it?"

"Didn't expect someone with such sharp eyes," the man replied blandly, his gaze cutting toward her like a blade, scanning her from head to toe.

"What? Dark magic... and necromancy…" Hilton's voice trailed off, and he fell silent.

"Don't look at me like that. I might get the wrong idea," Jessica chuckled, her feline-like eyes gleaming mischievously. Her laughter was sickeningly sweet, and even her slender, toned waist swayed seductively like a snake teasing its prey, as though flirting with a lover. "It was that little holy knight who figured it out. The way she avoided letting your weapon touch her radiant armor during the fight, all while muttering about something 'evil and vile.' Anyone paying attention could piece it together."

"Sometimes, the less you know, the longer you live," the man said coolly, half-reclining as he closed his eyes.

Hilton couldn't stop studying the man. His expression was a mixture of astonishment, admiration, and a deep-seated fear bordering on reverence.

Jessica's large, expressive eyes also roamed over the man before a coy smile played across her face. She turned and leaped gracefully into the branches of a nearby tree, lying down among them.

Only Hilika gave the man a fleeting glance before turning to walk away. However, as he turned, he allowed a rare, genuine smile to surface on his face. It was a happy smile, so genuine that even his beastly, menacing features appeared less horrifying.

Of course, the smile was silent, and no one else saw it.

At the other end of the forest, Druid Anderson, straining his ears, faintly caught the voices of the group. He thought he heard the man suggest keeping the female knight alive for now. That gave him a slight sense of relief. More often than not, Anderson found animals far easier to get along with than people. This wasn't just because of his faith—it was also an instinctive feeling within him.

Ahead, he heard the sound of someone's voice. It was the young man, Yabin. Anderson moved closer and realized the voice was reciting a confession.

"Almighty Lord… We acknowledge and lament our many sins and wickedness, which we have committed through thought, word, and deed. We are deserving of Your condemnation and wrath… Please forgive us… Forgive our debts, as we forgive those who sin against us. Lead us not into temptation, evil, or darkness. Glory be to You, now and forever. Have mercy, O Lord…"

Yabin was half-kneeling on the ground, eyes closed, with one hand pressed to his forehead. His posture was that of a devout believer, reciting prayers and confessions in a soft, repetitive tone. The moonlight filtering through the forest illuminated his delicate, somewhat ethereal face, which now appeared bloodless.

Anderson was surprised but not entirely shocked. This young man clearly had ties to the Church, given his skill with white magic. Still, since he had used that magic to aid this group in fighting the holy knight, Anderson surmised he wasn't an undercover agent for the Church. Most importantly, Anderson knew that since he could hear the young man's voice, Yabin could likely sense him as well. A man with a clear conscience would show no fear in such situations.

Though Anderson generally disliked the Church due to ideological differences, the words Yabin recited stirred something strange in his heart. The phrases, the subtle emotions in the young man's voice—they all struck a chord within him.

The prayers and confessions went on for quite some time without any sign of stopping. Finally, Anderson couldn't help but ask, "So, you're religious?"

Yabin paused his prayers and confessions, stood up, and after a moment of silence replied, "Not really." Then he asked in return, "What did they do to the female knight? I don't seem to have heard anything happening."

"Don't worry, she's fine for now. That man said there's no rush, but later... who knows? It might turn out worse," Anderson sighed. Then he suddenly looked at Yabin and said, "Aren't you afraid I'll tell the others that you're a believer? Praying and confessing here at a time like this. You know, everyone here, including me, is an enemy of the Church."

Yabin sighed and said, "I told you, I'm not a believer. It's just a habit instilled in me by my grandfather over the years. And I wasn't praying or confessing intentionally... I just didn't want to hear the woman's screams, so I came here to find something to say to myself instead."

"If you're not religious, then who are you confessing to, and who are you praying to?" Anderson found the young man rather intriguing.

"To myself, I suppose," Yabin replied, his expression darkening. "That woman's current predicament is partly my fault. Honestly, I really regret it now…"

"But you had to do what you did at the time. I can see that you desperately needed those thousand gold coins, and aside from joining this group, there wasn't really a better way to get that much money," Anderson sighed again, giving a wry smile. "Honestly, I'm not that different from you."

"I remember you asked Hilika for three magical artifacts stored in Turaleone, right?"

"Yes, those are sacred relics lost by our Druid faction many years ago. Aside from me and a few companions, our group is almost extinct. I must retrieve those items before I die. What about you? Why do you need so much money?"

"Because I need to take my sister around to seek medical treatment," Yabin answered flatly. His face carried a maturity and somberness far beyond his years, with a hint of weariness.

Anderson's eyes lit up, and he said, "Perhaps I can help. In terms of healing, especially herbal remedies, we Druids are no less skilled than the Church's white magic. What's wrong with your sister?"

Yabin was silent for a moment, then replied in a low voice, "She's gone mad, from excessive shock."

Anderson sighed in disappointment. This was clearly beyond the reach of herbal medicine. After a pause, he asked again, "Then you should have sought help from the Church. If it's a cardinal-level mage using white magic, it might work. Also, there are people in the Church who study mental magic. I've heard that Alrasia's Cardinal Aescher has remarkable expertise in this field."

"If I could turn to them, would I have joined this group in the first place?" Yabin gave a bitter smile, then looked at Anderson and added, "It sounds like you're trying to convince me to leave and seek refuge with the Church."

The honest Druid was stunned for a moment, realizing just how delicate their relationship actually was—one of mutual wariness, if anything. But he wasn't skilled in scheming, so he simply laughed awkwardly. "I was just saying it offhand. Anyway, as things stand, you helped us capture that holy knight, so it's not like you can go running to the Church now."

"Yeah, I don't really have a choice…" Yabin replied with a bitter smile. Suddenly, his body and voice froze mid-sentence.

"What's wrong?" Anderson asked. In the dim moonlight, he could make out a strange change in Yabin's expression but couldn't discern it clearly.

Yabin turned around, and the moonlight fell on his face—it was a smile. A gentle and bright smile that made his already handsome face look even more approachable. He smiled warmly at Anderson and said, "It's nothing. We should go back and rest now."

That night, everyone in this place had smiled.