I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 232 Atonement (Part 1)

Looking at the so-called witch, Aranka let out a helpless and shocked sigh.

He recognized the woman; she was somewhat famous in Walteradnoy's high society, known as the "female magician" because of her beautiful magic tricks. She could hide many small objects on her person and then conjure them unexpectedly in her hands.

What's most amazing about her is her card-manipulation magic trick, which is incredibly skillful. However, the reason for this is simply a matter of technique, and there is no magic or witchcraft involved.

Now that she has been captured, and seeing the woman lying motionless and covered in blood, Aranka knows that she has been tortured to death. He also knows that the jihad he initiated has completely spiraled out of control.

Alan's sigh echoed in the dim church. He knelt down and gently ran his fingers over the woman's terrified eyes.

This woman, who once made playing cards flutter like butterflies in aristocratic salons, now lay limp on a stretcher like a rag doll, her ten fingers broken one by one, clearly the executioners trying to find the hiding place of those "magic props".

At this moment, the high priest of the Earth Mother noticed the body of the acrobat, which was unusually thin.

In Aranka's memory, this woman should be voluptuous, with a prominent bust and buttocks, a beauty as lovely as a peach.

But now she was like a dried-up fruit, her body shriveled up to almost nothing but bones. Her skin clung to her bones, her ribs clearly visible... Alanka, who had once stayed at the Boras Fortress, knew very well that this was the result of prolonged hunger.

Arkan raised his head, and the three believers' crazed eyes were still staring at him expectantly. They were all equally thin, with an unnatural flush on their faces that were almost devoid of flesh.

Arlanca suddenly realized that these three people had also been starving for a long time. This was a tragedy of the poor oppressing the poor, and he had created this tragedy himself.

These three people, who are probably ordinary people in their daily lives, saw the woman's amazing performance in public and subconsciously assumed that she was a witch.

In times of peace, such misunderstandings are insignificant, but in times of war, especially after the High Priest of Arak launched a holy war, tragedy became a foreseeable event.

This was entirely his own fault, and he couldn't blame the three believers.

"High Priest, we..."

“You have done nothing wrong.”

Alanka gave a complicated smile, nodded vigorously to the three people who were filled with anticipation, and then turned to give orders to the attendants behind him.

"Go and get them a bag of food... After you get the food, go home. The holy war has ended."

"what?"

After speaking, Aranka stopped looking at the three people who looked astonished and turned to walk away. The priestess wanted to follow, but he raised his hand to stop her.

“You stay here; the next stop, Waterladnoy, will be very dangerous.”

After saying that, Aranka left the Church of Mother Earth alone... He couldn't bear to watch the three believers inside, or the poor woman who had been tortured to death by them.

Araka's emergence was not an escape; he was prepared to confront his mistakes and correct them... He wanted to stop the jihad that began tonight in Wotradnoi alone and call on the jihadist army to stop the killing of innocent people.

Arlanca's white robe fluttered in the night wind and drizzle as he walked barefoot across streets strewn with broken glass, each step feeling like walking on burning coals.

The terrified faces peering out of the windows, the kicked-open shop doors, and the children huddled in the corner shivering—all burned at his retinas. The night wind, carrying raindrops, lashed at Alanca's face, but could not ease the heaviness in his heart. He looked up at the sky obscured by dark clouds, as if searching for some guidance, yet knowing full well that at this moment he could only rely on himself.

As Arkansas turned past the fountain square, he stumbled upon a mob of thugs who were dragging a respectable old woman from her home, pinning her against the edge of a dried-up pool, and cutting off the silver ornaments from her earlobes with a dagger.

Blood droplets fell onto the face of the Earth Mother statue at the bottom of the pool, like a belated string of bloody tears.

"In the name of Mother Earth..."

Arlanka's voice made the rioters turn around in unison.

"Put down your weapons."

The thugs glanced at Aranka and his clothes, then turned away and continued doing what they were doing, completely ignoring him.

They didn't know Araka, but they recognized his priestly robes, so they didn't insult him or lay a hand on him... This was the mob's only and final act of respect for the Earth Mother.

"Stubborn!"

A flash of anger crossed Aranka's eyes. Then he rolled up his sleeves, picked up the priest's scepter, and walked toward the three of them... He was the high priest, a being who could communicate with the gods, not like those priests and priestesses who were powerless.

Hearing footsteps behind him, one of the thugs, who was trying to slit the old woman's neck with a dagger, instinctively turned around, only to see the metal staff head engraved with floral patterns magnifying, and then, with a "bang," he was plunged into eternal darkness.

The sound of Aranka smashing the head of one of the thugs with his scepter made the other two turn around and were immediately shocked.

One of them grabbed a dagger and lunged at Araka, viciously stabbing the latter in the chest... Just two hours ago, he might have been a kind-hearted, almost cowardly, honest man, but hunger and unrestrained killing had turned them into bloodthirsty beasts.

The high and mighty Earth Mother priestess, whom they once dared not look directly at, has long since lost that inviolable sacred majesty in the eyes of the thugs.

Arlanca ignored the weapon aimed at his chest. He raised his scepter again, and as the dagger sank into his robe, the scepter fell, striking the thug's forehead.

The thug died with a look of astonishment on his face, because the feel of the dagger was wrong. It wasn't the feeling of leather piercing flesh, but rather the feeling of striking a solid rock, with a dull thud coming from under his robe.

Araka's scepter had shattered the opponent's skull, and warm blood trickled down the vine-like patterns on the scepter.

Seeing this, the third thug realized he had run into a tough opponent. He cried out in alarm, then quickly abandoned the old lady and ran away.

Arlanca did not pursue the thugs. He coldly watched them leave, then stepped forward to the old woman, knelt down, and gently helped her up.

The old woman's face was covered in blood and terror, but when she saw Araka's priest's robe, a flash of hatred appeared in her eyes.

After the old woman stood up, the first thing she did was to forcefully shake off the hands that were supporting her, then turn around and walk unsteadily towards her home.

Unlike ordinary, ignorant civilians, the dignified old woman knew why this was happening tonight. She was even more aware of Araka's identity and who had instigated this so-called holy war.

Thank you, Aranka?
No, she despised the latter!
As the old woman walked away, a trace of sadness flashed in Aranka's eyes.

(End of this chapter)