Why did someone want to kill every member of the Mischael family?
Status? The Mischael family had no significant status, and even if the king was preparing to select a new lord for Carterburg, it wouldn’t be from the Mischael family.
Money, indeed, the Mischael family was rather wealthy, but they knew all too well that without power to match their wealth, it was akin to seeking death. Therefore, among the nobles, the Mischael family was known instead for its ’poverty.’
When Mischael first learned this secret, he couldn’t understand it, until he read about the history of this city in the library.
Only then did he realize... this was why the Mischael family suffered.
Why someone would ’kill then be quick about it.’
"Why, am I not your child?" Mischael poured himself a glass of wine and raised it to the tombstone.
Why, knowing the family could fall at any moment, would they still give birth to a sister.
Shela, my sister, my dearest sister, the loveliest sister in the world, truly is my... burden I cannot throw away nor bear to part with.
"Sweetheart, what are you looking at?" Ms. Myem, who was busy writing medical records, noticed her young patient’s subtle actions. She naturally didn’t think this little girl would have any dark thoughts—she had seen many a girl nourished by love, and they never despaired but instead felt that nothing in the world could stop the power of love.
Indeed, love is like spiritual energy; it is omnipotent, unstoppable, and invincible in the world.
Except for a 9mm rimmed Dam bullet fired from a revolver.
At this thought, Ms. Myem smiled, recalling when she was younger even the thought of picking up the pen made her feel younger.
It was indeed a beautiful and memorable life.
"I think I saw my friend." Her young patient drew back, "Madam, when is my next check-up?"
"In a month, I will tell your mother, and she’ll remind you, but my girl, I know you’re in love, yet, take care of yourself; your body is not strong, and for you, a child is not a treasure but a lethal burden." Ms. Myem glanced at the girl before her; the young Mowish princess, though already fourteen, appeared younger due to her half-blood elf lineage and her illness.
As a follower of the Goddess of Benevolent, Ms. Myem had to speak frankly; she did not want to rush out on some stormy midnight with the Benevolent Hospital’s elite response team to deal with some unmentionable issues at Mowish’s pastoral estate.
"We, we’re still young!" The young Mowish princess replied, her face flushed.
"I know, but I’ve seen too much being older than you," Ms. Myem said with a smile, finishing the last letter and then closing the medical record and handing it to Faye. "My sweet heart, take good care of yourself." To be honest, she had seen too many young men and women who said one thing but did another, always carried away by desire without thinking of the sadness of not being able to control their own wants.
The Sinspawn most loves young people, after all.
May the Lord have mercy, may misfortune never come.
"Ah, I, I understand." The girl blushed and walked out.
Setting down the pen, Ms. Myem walked over to the window to watch her young patient board the Mowish family carriage.
The spider plant on the windowsill danced in the wind, tended by the Domestic Fairy.
The door to the consulting room was knocked. Ms. Myem frowned—she was responsible for consulting young girls, and apart from well-behaved girls like the young lady of the Mowish family, there were some... difficult to describe.
Relaxing her brow, Ms. Myem sat down at her desk, and then two girls walked in.
Seeing their steps, Ms. Myem relaxed her brow—it seemed not as she had thought; they looked suspicious, but surprisingly, they were good girls.
"Do you have any issues?" Ms. Myem asked, while drawing a pen from the dark water box.
She also noticed the veils on the faces of the two girls.
"Madam, we... we seem to be allergic."
The two girls pulled down the face coverings to reveal faces dotted with red spots.
Madam Myem drew in a deep breath.
Retraction of the opening statement.
Faye paused in the corridor, unable to spot the person she suspected to be her friend, and then she had to follow her Head Maid downstairs and into the carriage. It was then that the youngest daughter of the Mowish family began to doubt her eyesight for the first time. Was it really them, or had she seen something wrong?
Ah, it shouldn’t be them when you think about it, after all, how could they possibly come together to see a doctor?
With that thought, Faye tapped on the carriage window, "Lena, take me to the Church."
"Miss, aren’t we going home?"
"I want to see Malin." Though she wanted to say that there was nothing good about going home alone, remembering that Lena was also family, Faye rephrased, "Lena, my dear sister, help me out, your youngest sibling."
"Alright, Miss, but perhaps it’s time to tell the Madam to have another child with the Master. That way, Miss, you can no longer act spoiled with me using the youngest child excuse," Lena’s voice was full of laughter.
Faye laughed as well, "Well, having a little brother or sister wouldn’t be bad."
Father and Mother, they always have children.
"By the way, Miss, you seemed to be waiting for someone just now."
"Yes, someone who seemed to be my friend, but it looks like I was mistaken."
The conversation between the Head Maid and the young Miss came to a halt as they heard thunder from afar.
Faye glanced at the sky above, where the sun was unabashedly spreading heat across the cloudless expanse, "Thunder?"
"Indeed, thunder," the Head Maid peered into the distance, "It’s ground thunder."
Malin and Logan sat aside, watching the Assistant Priest and Shelton fix the Array one mistake at a time. With each correction, Malin would glance at Logan, and the consistently third-place runner in the long-distance races would wipe his forehead with a handkerchief that had long been soaked through.
"Come to think of it, it’s a miracle this thing didn’t explode," Malin noted, discovering a problem after the Assistant Priest fixed the eleventh mistake, "Does this mean Shelton might be someone favored by the Goddess of Fortune?"
Normally, an array with eleven errors might only see one possibility: sending the one who activated it flying skyward—and how it would scatter upon falling back down was a matter for geometry to explain.
And yet, Shelton activated the Array, and it ran smoothly, neither blasting the user to the sky nor summoning a chosen champion or a Great Chaos Demon through the fissure.
"Now that you mention it, I do think it’s possible, look, the twelfth error," Logan finished speaking, wiped his forehead again, and wrung out a large amount of sweat from his handkerchief.
"Oh my goodness, I’ve never seen an Array before, and it still works," Mr. Assistant Priest exclaimed, supporting his waist as he exited the Array. Clearly only middle-aged, at that moment Malin saw him as if he were in his twilight years, counting down every second of his life in a physical form.
"I, I checked it well," Shelton said, his face flushed with embarrassment.
In a moment of inspiration, Malin made a culturally astute but coarse remark, "This line is often said by Authors who have typos in their manuscripts but can’t find them."
Logan glanced at Malin, "I remember you’re an Author too, aren’t you okay with mocking your own profession?"
"Roundabout." Malin punned fluently, leaving a perplexed Logan behind, "Mr. Assistant Priest, can the Array be activated again?"
"No problem, Shelton, you go ahead," the Assistant Priest finished, retreating a few steps back, demonstrating to everyone present the true meaning of saying one thing but meaning another.