After my rebirth, Miss Saint turned evil

Looking at her like this, Ames suddenly had the doubt in her mind whether to tell the truth.

But in the end, the mouth moved.

Faced with herself like this, Ames couldn't help but feel helpless.

Worrying, frowning, etc., is really not like myself.

What exactly is this feeling?

Justice and goodwill, just act based on these two points.

This is the truth, and it should also be correct for the goddess.

Until now, I have been living in that white light.

Those white lights are what is right, and anything that deviates from it is evil.

So, where and what is the trigger for the turbidity?

Without even thinking, the image of the adventurer appeared in Ames's eyes.

What is he, good or evil? Friend or foe?

Aimees couldn't figure it out.

She had never encountered such an incomprehensible existence before.

I'm also not interested.

But why would I act out of personal interest?

One's own actions are even tantamount to concern.

This made her feel incredible.

"Your companion is an adventurer named Murphy. For some reason, there's a strange feeling about him."

All of a sudden, Filia's big silver eyes opened even wider.

Ames stepped lightly.

"Honestly, I'm not quite sure about him. He's a ruthless person, but he helped Frodo, even risking his own guilt to save the residents of the slums. It's hard to tell whether he's righteous or evil."

"What kind of person do you think he is?"

Hearing this, Filia shrank her shoulders slightly.

She waved her fingers in the air as if she was thinking about something.

"A foolhardy man, an adventurer, and a fool. That won't change, but if you're interested, you can go see it for yourself."

A beautiful smile appeared on Filia's face, and she slowly opened her lips.

The golden eyes blinked.

——Wouldn’t it be too boring if everything went according to that guy’s ideas?

Chapter 57 The Torrent of History

If this isn't shameful, then nothing is.

At this moment, I just feel ashamed.

In the darkness, raised hands were illuminated by flames, and the slum dwellers shouted.

That's impossible. Those are the people who agree with what I say.

Men, women, young and old.

Oh my god! I'm lying to them.

I am like a demon whispering in their ears, pushing them into the abyss.

How shameless! If I could, I really want to strangle myself to death.

He used them to vent his hatred and used this method to involve them when they knew nothing.

As a human being, is there anything worse than this?

"Brother Murphy, I've already made up my mind. What should I do?"

Hawke opened his mouth, and a long-lost straightforward light appeared in his eyes.

The trembling in his hands that had appeared before was gone now.

His tone and the strength of his muscles showed that his spirits were high.

But even if it's all a scam, even if I'm a fraudster, I can't stop.

How could you possibly shake off someone who's extending their hand?

Gently stroking his chin, Murphy raised his head, looked at the huge body illuminated by the firelight, and spoke.

Not just to Hawke, but to all the listeners around him.

"For now, you'd better just sleep in your empty room. It takes a lot of effort to marry a good woman. Today is just a chance to send her a love poem."

As he spoke, Murphy raised his head and looked up at the night sky.

A flash of white, mixed in with the stars.

As if being led by the nose by him, the residents of the slum blinked and stared at the white line.

At the same time, there was a roaring sound coming from the wind.

And, a huge noise.

That was probably the signal for the skirmish between the Saint and the Herald Cultists, targeting the main gate.

Having said that, today's attack was probably just a warning.

From this moment on, the citizens of Crossmaria were no longer just spectators on the sidelines, but became parties involved.

Can I really do nothing?

Murphy was hurt by the gazes of Hawke and the others who said this.

"It's okay, we'll start again tomorrow. This city is already doomed. Listen, Hawke, you're the vanguard. Even if someone from the city comes asking for help, you absolutely cannot agree. Just beat them up and be done with it."

In the light of the fire, Murphy raised her cheek and told the other person word by word.

Now that she knows the Herald Cult's intentions, Crossmaria will not easily send the Guards over no matter what attitude the slums take now.

They also knew that if they were attacked after sending out the guards, the worst would happen.

So, what happens next?

Living in the cities, they lost the labor force needed to keep the trading cities running.

The trade routes they cherished all their lives were also blocked by the Heraldry Cultists.

The Heraldry cultists who entered the city would probably spread rumors everywhere to incite the people's emotions.

All of this is designed to make the entire city dysfunctional.

Even when requesting aid from the surrounding city-states, messengers must be sent under the vigilance of the Heraldry Cultists.

It would take at least three weeks for troops from other cities to come to the rescue.

If everything goes well, that's fine.

After all, if Crossmaria's guards become weak, the Heralds won't be easily suppressed even with Ames Castina.

Of course, this is just wishful thinking.

"It's simple. This wall is no longer their guardian, but a fence to prevent them from escaping. The wall is a cauldron. From now on, all we have to do is wait until the contents are cooked."

Murphy said this in a deliberately assertive tone.

Even in the midst of frenzy, my heart was still filled with anxiety.

The longer the time, the more it will sprout.

Whether you can control the situation is the key to victory or defeat.

A somewhat bleak picture emerged before my eyes regarding the long-term strategy for the future.

Then, Hawke, who was bent over, quickly stood up.

That huge body looked even bigger than ever before.

By now, Hawke often hunched over with insecurity.

But now, he stood straight.

"If I follow Brother Murphy's instructions, I'll tell everyone the same thing. But, if I do that, I can't calm down right now."

Very rare.

It was a rare, tough tone for Hawke.

Murphy couldn't help but open her eyes wide.

But what should I do? Should I join the battle at the gate?

That's not good.

Hawke has a symbolic physique and is a rare talent in the slums.

If he lost his life on the battlefield, it would definitely destroy the morale of the slum residents.

Murphy reached out, trying to stop him.

But, it was blocked.

A small, fragile hand.

That was the hand of Hawke's sister Adeline. At some point, she came to Murphy's side.

Adeline gave him a slight nod, her eyes fixed on her brother's back.

The loudspeaker that I always carried with me was gone.

-------------------------------------

Unforgivable.

This was the only emotion concentrated in Hawke's heart at this moment.

The people in the city, the guards, those who despised their existence.

Most of all, Hawke couldn't forgive himself.

I can't forgive myself for being so scared that I couldn't even protect my sister.

Just one injury broke one's nature.

My heart was trampled by that white wall.

I always thought that I could never reach it no matter what.

Ah, this is outrageous.

Hawke, that massive figure, looked up, staring at the wall.

Until now, the wall has kept slum dwellers looking down, forcing them to give up the thought of looking up.

It is the symbol that has been trampling on Hawke and others.

Of course, I have to obey Murphy's words.

Although Hawke didn't understand, he was certain the city would fall.

Then believe him.

Hawke's eyes grew more determined, and he stretched out his arms toward the giant tree in the center of the square.

But even so, in front of that city, the emotions that are now gushing out need to be vented.

Driven by emotion, Hawke exerted all his strength on the arms wrapped around the giant tree.

The next moment, it was not Hawk's arm that screamed, but the trunk of the giant tree.

The giant tree was covered in wrinkles and cracks, and it let out a roar like an animal.

What happened?

The giant tree was not soft enough to scream at the power of a man.