Chapter 24: The Fierceness of the People and the Decision of Justice.
The poison spread, and the Confessor, black blood trickling from his mouth, collapsed with a stagger, finished off by Ifrora’s casual strike.
In her “second phase,” her speed was terrifying.
No matter how the Confessors dodged or stalled, they couldn’t escape being hunted down one by one.
At best, they delayed the inevitable, avoiding a total wipeout for just a moment longer.
Flo frowned at the scattered Confessor corpses.
Was he that bad?
Turning a healing spell into deadly poison?
Oddly, while it wasn’t rare for beginners to fail at magic, Flo always “succeeded” at casting—except the effects were completely random…
After a few more tries, he finally grasped the healing spell’s knack.
The effect was weak but enough to get him back on his feet.
The Confessors used as test subjects?
They were already a grim pile, their fates horrifying.
While Ifrora kept the remaining enemies busy, Flo used his marking skill on the humanoid monsters, inching closer to the sealed ruins.
The closer he got, the clearer the deafening cries became.
His face darkened, his steps quickening, his grip on his twin blades tightening.
As the Confessors’ screams faded behind him, Flo stood before the ruins.
The shattered house was pitch-black, but under the silver moonlight, Flo could make out small figures huddled together.
The youngest had fallen asleep in the noisy chaos, oblivious to the world.
The slightly older ones, the source of the cries, understood their dire situation—they were prisoners whose lives hung by a thread.
The eldest children comforted their younger siblings, unshaken by the chaos, though their eyes betrayed silent unease.
Even if Flo couldn’t see it clearly, the heavy atmosphere told him enough.
Yet, for some reason, Flo’s hands never loosened their grip on his blades, his gaze icy, as if bracing for a formidable foe, always ready for battle.
The tap-tap of footsteps echoed in the noisy night, heightening the children’s fear.
“It’s so loud outside. What’s that fire? Is someone coming to save us?” a little girl asked cautiously, her eyes gleaming with innocence.
“Don’t dream! It’s probably them making their move!” a boy snapped angrily.
They fell silent, but his words made a nearby younger child cry harder.
Flo ignored the commotion, gripping his blades and moving deeper.
His gaze locked onto a trembling figure.
Through the moonlight, he could barely make out a frail little girl.
A blade rested against her neck, glinting with starlight under the silver glow.
Following the blade upward, you’d be shocked to find its wielder was Flo.
“Got some special fetish? Pretending to be a kid is one thing, but a little girl?” Flo said coldly.
His starry eyes brimmed with killing intent.
The girl’s hollow gaze met his, dully asking, “W-What are you doing?”
Then, as if realizing something, she screamed, “Help! Don’t kill me!”
“Move again, and I’ll slit your throat, you vile, perverted black-cloak.”
From observing the black-cloaks’ methods and his mother’s notes, Flo had a hunch about their identity, though he wasn’t certain.
The Crimson Abyss—an organization his Saintess mother had marked as a priority.
Its actions carried enough weight to topple nations, notorious across the entire Friedrich Continent, practically a universal enemy.
Even his mother’s disappearance was likely tied to them.
At the thought, Flo’s blade pressed closer to the girl’s neck, blood seeping from the thin cut, staining her tattered shoulder.
Hearing the commotion, the other children rushed over.
In the darkness, they saw Flo holding a knife to the girl’s neck and immediately tried to intervene.
“Hey! Don’t hurt Elsa!” a boy shouted angrily at Flo.
But when Flo’s gaze turned to him, he bolted in fear, hiding behind the others, trembling.
Flo felt wronged—he hadn’t meant to scare the kid.
He’d only glanced over instinctively when the boy spoke up.
The boy had been so brave, the only one daring to call out while others just watched, using the crowd to mask their fear.
Flo sighed deeply.
“Kids, I’m here to save you. Don’t be scared.”
The children stared warily, eyes full of distrust—who’d believe a knife-wielding stranger?
Flo didn’t expect them to.
The priority was dealing with this girl, or the kids would be doomed.
Having exposed her as a Confessor, she wouldn’t stay quiet.
He hadn’t expected her to draw all the children here.
Even the frail old woman was being helped toward them.
The girl, Elsa, had a loud voice, amplified by magic—Flo couldn’t stop her.
Since entering, Flo had kept his Elven Sight active, a scouting ability from Daphne that let him track unique auras to find weaknesses.
Now, he clearly sensed the sinister aura of a Confessor.
A stalemate emerged.
Kill this cunning Confessor, and he’d become a target.
Spare her, and the hostages were in peril.
Flo glanced bitterly at the approaching old woman, then decisively swung his blade at Elsa.
She collapsed, motionless.
In the darkness, no one saw the lingering smile on her lips.
Why didn’t she resist?
Because her goal was already achieved.
The old woman finally shuffled closer, tremblingly pointing at Flo, lips quivering:
“You… you, you!”
Trouble had finally caught up.