Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

When Hadring's powerful ships, carrying their wildness and greed, crossed the strait and over the foothills with arrogance, they arrived at this capital city where broom flowers bloom.

Diplomatic officials clashed fiercely at the negotiating table. The rebuttals escalated into physical altercations due to inevitable contradictions. The paper and pen lost their original purpose, and the unequal contracts remained on the ink, replaced by sharper words and more blatant demands.

Before the war, which was inevitable, had even begun, a decision was made at the negotiating table that the war would never end.

The emperor of Hadings needed a fertile land to bear his thousand-year-old fame, to transform it into the glory and ritual of ascending to demigodhood, while the people of the Plantagenet, though they had experienced partisan strife and internal strife in the royal court, still held onto the honor and shame of their nation and their own faith.

To submit? Absolutely not.

Everyone was acutely aware of this: the failure of diplomatic rhetoric, the tense standoff on the border, and witnessing the roar of artillery alongside Watson. Ansuna was certainly not naive enough to think that war was far removed from them.

Even as a member of the Enlightenment Society, when faced with the greater good and the survival of her nation, she would still choose to step onto the front lines. Honor is often linked to life and death. Since she, with her mediocre talent, could not go far on the path of the extraordinary, she could only use her life to make up for this disparity.

"Nymph, thank you."

As she expressed her gratitude, the girl's gaze fell upon the petite figure and the pure, innocent face. This naive innocence, so precious yet so fragile in the face of past wars, was truly remarkable.

“No need. Sharing one’s own insights from the book is, in Nymph’s view, the most ordinary thing to do.”

Listening closely to her whispers and gazing at the girl, she couldn't help but recall her own past loneliness and abandonment. A faint trace of weariness and tenderness, unnoticed even by herself, flickered across her usually self-serving eyes.

"Are you afraid? Once war breaks out, there will be many... girls like you who will never see the sun rise again."

The history book, which was left blank in the middle, will soon be filled with blood and fire—Hattings' long-planned landing point, the weak points of the Plantagenets' hasty response, the fierce battles that may break out in several strategic locations in the future, and countless images are reflected in my mind.

Having experienced all of this, Ansu Na knew the despair of being unable to control one's own destiny. That's why she was determined to climb up the social ladder, just to take control of her own fate.

"What good is being afraid? If we don't even try, we won't even have the chance to choose. I think that's what you think too, right?"

With those words, the anxiety in the black-haired girl's heart dissipated for some reason.

"Maybe so."

Her heart softened, and without saying a word, she simply reached out and ruffled the soft hair of the nymph, making the girl tremble like a cat.

As Ansuna's fingers gently caressed the girl's head with unprecedented tenderness, Charlotte's fingertips also lightly and coolly brushed against the cold goddess statue's cheek.

Today's morning paper has already been delivered to her. Although the internal interrogation and inquiry in the arbitration tribunal were meticulous and rigorous, in the face of her almost boundless spiritual ocean, any hypnosis or inducement would only be a superficial disguise, like a mayfly trying to shake a tree, unable to reach the depths of her thoughts.

So, after a night of being alone together, she was no longer imprisoned in a small room, tormented by the repetitive questioning.

Forgive her. Just pretending to be ignorant and easily misled is uncomfortable enough, let alone the interrogators.

Although the subsequent arbitration order has not yet been issued, Charlotte can use this interim period to take a good look at what kind of future the country will take under her active or indirect influence.

The yellowish-brown newspaper was laid flat, and a line of eye-catching words immediately came into view.

—The Duchy of Plantagenet has brazenly provoked us! The Hadings merchant ship 'White Dove' was sunk by unprovoked shelling off the coast of White Stork Harbor! Several innocent civilians have perished, and the dawn of peace may be extinguished!

Below the text is a blurry, developed photograph: the churning sea is littered with twisted planks, oil slicks, and several bloated corpses half-covered by white sheets, with the iconic port lighthouse of the Plantagenet Principality in the background.

The photograph's composition is extremely impactful, forcibly linking the tragic plight of the innocent victims with the Plantagenet landmark. The accompanying text is even more inflammatory, condemning the Plantagenet patrol vessels for their unannounced and deliberate massacre, packaging a meticulously planned frame-up as an undeniable 'fact'.

frame.

So crude, yet so effective. Hastings certainly needed a fig leaf, a shred of cloth to cover the empire's greedy fangs, to incite popular fervor, and to initially plunge public opinion into chaos. The White Dove, and the dead civilians, were the first sacrifice offered to the war.

The newspaper's inside pages detailed how the White Dove was "sailing normally on the high seas when it was suddenly attacked without warning by Plantagenet naval vessels," how it "unfortunately sank after a heroic resistance," and how it "resulted in the deaths of dozens of innocent crew members, including women and children." The article was filled with a poignant accusation and a strong condemnation of Plantagenet's barbaric actions, while cleverly avoiding key details.

For example, why did the White Dove appear in that sensitive sea area? For example, why wasn't it described from a different perspective?

The second page of the newspaper featured Emperor Hastings's somber speech to Parliament.

The emperor in the photograph has a sorrowful yet furious expression, his raised fist exuding power, accompanied by inflammatory text: "...Such barbaric acts are a blatant trampling on the civilized world! The dignity of the Hastings Empire cannot be desecrated! The blood of my people must be repaid with blood! The Plantagenets must pay the price for their heinous crimes!"

Declare war.

A declaration of war built on lies.

Charlotte's gaze swept over the words, and through Melisandre's tone, she already knew that the ruler of this land, Emperor Rosetta, was also an extraordinary being, an extraordinary being about to reach the pinnacle.

Wise, great, decisive in killing, and supreme in power—beneath these countless rhetoric lie the added honors. To become a great king, conquering the world is the final ritual of ascension, and a justified, large-scale war is undoubtedly the most efficient altar.

She could even imagine how, at this moment, the uninformed people on the streets of Florence were enraged by this news, demanding that the Empire severely punish the 'murderer'. And on the other hand, the Duchy of Plantagenet must be filled with humiliation and indignation, unable to defend themselves.

Charlotte's perspective of living on opposite sides of the strait allows her to see different faces and conflicting emotions.

Looking downwards, news of the fall of White Stork Harbor is tucked away in smaller sections, deliberately downplayed by the clamor of "merchant ships sinking." In the blurry photographs, Hastings' flagship, that steel behemoth, spews forth cannon fire like a mythical Titan, turning the coastline of Plantagenet into a sea of ​​fire. Further away, landing craft swarm towards the beach like a bloodthirsty ant colony.

The picture freezes.

In the library, the nymph's smile was like a bluebell glistening with morning dew, pure and flawless, seemingly able to dispel all the gloom in the world. In the corridor, Charlotte gazed at her compassionate 'self' reflected in the glass, her deep emerald eyes reflecting the distant land about to be ignited by blood and fire.

Chapter 221 Don't Ask When You'll Return

Under the hazy sky, even with the high walls of the meditation corridor standing tall, murky noises still seep through the bricks and tiles, bringing a cacophony of sounds.

The shadow of war hung heavy as lead, pressing down on the city and on the brows of every passerby. Recruitment notices covered the mottled walls, steam trucks carrying supplies roared over the cobblestone roads, and the air was thick with the smells of coal smoke, sweat, and a tense sense of panic.

Zelena wrapped her trench coat tighter and looked through the window sill at a pale corner of the outside world.

The Cardinals ended their investigation but did not provide any clear arrangements. She, along with Pedeline and Charlotte, were like temporarily forgotten pawns, stranded in this vast and cold city.

Is this laissez-faire?

No, as a Sequence Six Extraordinary, even with faults, one will never be discarded and reduced to a useless ornament. The extracts auctioned at the Extraordinary Gathering are at least weighed in gold pounds.

My thoughts faltered, the newsboy's shouts faded from my ears, bringing the latest and worst news.

Overnight, war ignited the afterglow of the sunset, and the political situation changed dramatically. Her homeland, where she still lived, was about to betray its promises and disregard the innocent, to conquer a country that had just emerged from war, and to kill countless innocent and ordinary lives, just as it had done decades ago.

Is the argument that the cause is justified and that the victim is at fault?

Hastings' national strength and military power are superior to Plantagenet's; it only requires the crown prince's approval to start a war. It is obvious to everyone that the fabrication and deception of that sudden event was the work of an ambitious emperor who wanted to satisfy his unbridled aggression.

Even though the Tingen branch was temporarily closed and reorganized, the ancient texts she had consulted in the past still allowed Zelena to learn several secrets early on—

Rosetta the Great was an extraordinary figure who ascended to the throne, a path that involved war and royal power, and whose ascension ceremony was closely related to it, requiring an immense amount of blood and despair to cultivate.

Humiliation and helplessness clung to her heart like cold vines. The order she had once protected, the country she had once served, now seemed far too pale and fragile in the face of lies and accusations written in black and white.

"cough......"

A low cough came from behind her. Pedeline, clutching her harp, which was mostly repaired but could no longer play a tune, curled up in a corner of the bed.

The days of scrutiny, the oppressive environment, and the shadow of war made the already severely wounded Conch Girl even more haggard, like a fragile doll.

"Ms. Z... is it possible for us to go back to Tingen?"

It was a tone full of bewilderment.

Zelena's heart tightened, and she was about to speak to comfort her when she heard light footsteps approaching. It paused for a moment in front of the closed door, seemingly hesitant, before the handle was gently turned.

My gaze shifted, and unexpectedly, standing outside the door was not the priest who had delivered the transfer order, but—

Bella.

She was still wearing her meticulously starched medical gown, with only a dark woolen overcoat over it, looking travel-worn. Her face was even thinner than when they met again on the platform, and her brows showed an inescapable weariness.

The air stagnated here.

Zelena moved her lips, but her throat was too dry to make a sound.

Is it a hallucination? Is it dizziness from overthinking? Why is Bella here? At this moment?

There was no reply. Bella's gaze fell on Zelena's haggard face, on her frail figure barely concealed beneath her trench coat, and on the unhealed wounds on her shoulders and neck. In her eyes were worry, bitterness, helplessness, and... guilt.

“Zelena.” The brown-haired beauty broke the suffocating silence with her first words, taking a small step forward before stopping, and then awkwardly stating, “I heard you were here.”

“Dr. Bella…” Zelena choked for a long time before finally managing to stammer out the words.

The use of titles proclaims the end of the past and establishes a boundary between each other.

“Yes, after that incident, I was invited to join the Steam Church.” Seemingly unconcerned about her friend’s departure, she meticulously explained the reasons. “That’s why I was able to step into the other world you once whispered to me, and why I can meet you here as a member of the exploration team.”

"Only when you truly become extraordinary and step into this unknown world will I truly know how dangerous things you faced, how uncertain the separation was."

After a long pause, the doctor finally let out a sigh of relief, his voice tinged with apology.

"I apologize for downplaying those pains in the past. I am not here to reminisce, but to say goodbye once again."

"I'm leaving, Zelena."

As if suppressing her surging emotions, she turned her waist to the side, away from the two, not letting her expression show, leaving only her thin figure.

"The Florence Medical Association is urgently recruiting experienced doctors and nurses to form a field medical team." In just a moment, the voice returned to its usual calm, but beneath the tone, there was still a deliberately suppressed undercurrent. "The destination is the front line."

"But......"

Unable to suppress her anxiety and helplessness any longer, Zelena didn't even notice that her voice was trembling violently.

"Of course I know Hastings is lying, and I know the sinking of the White Dove was a despicable frame-up. But I can also see those patriotic soldiers dying for a meaningless war, and those Plantagenet civilians falling into the blood and becoming displaced because of the roaring cannon fire."

"They need doctors."

She paused, her gaze fixed on her friend's pained and conflicted eyes, each word spoken with crystal clarity:

"And I am a doctor."

"Where the war machine rolls, there is no distinction between friend and foe; there are only lives in dire need of saving. The doctor's duty is both outside and inside the battlefield."

These words, like heavy hammer blows, pierced Zelena's heart. There was no debate about right or wrong, no distinction between past and present truth or falsehood, only the most basic sense of identity and professional belief.

Faced with the madness of war and the lies of politics, the very identity of a doctor becomes the sole compass for choosing a side.

"Dr. Bella..."

Pedeline's soft call carried worry; she was always like that, unable to hide her thoughts, yet she was more straightforward and decisive than the ladies who always hesitated and concealed their feelings.

“Pedeline, your injuries haven’t fully healed yet, so take good care of yourself. Zelena should too.”

"You all need to take good care of yourselves."

Leaving her friend aside for later, Bella didn't give him a chance to speak further. She simply tilted her gaze slightly towards that familiar bluish-black hue and pursed her lips.

"And I will save... even more people."

"It was so before, and it will be so in the future."

After speaking, she didn't look at anyone else, only glancing at the blonde girl sitting alone by the window before leaving. Then she picked up her medical kit, turned around, and left.

The door slowly closed behind her, leaving behind a lonely and frail shadow.

Only then did Zelena subconsciously reach out, wanting to grasp her departing friend and their fading breath.

However, how could she grasp at fleeting memories and suppress the inner questioning?

The lingering astringent scent of herbs on my fingertips filled the void in my heart with immense grief.

When exactly did she begin to doubt the figure that had always been by her side? Bella had indeed changed, but she had never lost that tenderness and kindness she showed to others and herself.

She had been waiting for him all along, waiting for her roommate, her classmate with whom she shared an umbrella, until the very end when he finally left.

She was heartbroken by that alienation, yet she longed for her to ask her to stay and see her off, even if it was just a simple, ordinary word—

"Take care of yourself."

She murmured out two short, breathless words, then stood frozen in place, her fingertips icy cold, as if all her strength had been drained away.

Why couldn't I say it? Why couldn't I have spoken up sooner? Why couldn't I have trusted her more?

Why can't we deceive ourselves?

When she closed her eyes and opened them again, all that remained in the beauty's eyes was deep regret and bitterness.

The death of a former colleague, Melvis's disappearance, the investigation and speculation within the sanctuary, the uncertain return of a friend...

She slowly turned around, her gaze falling on the newspaper in Charlotte's hand, the glaring headlines and fake photos burning into her eyes like a branding iron.

White Stork Harbor.

Bella went to White Stork Harbor.

The person she cared about most and couldn't bear to part with was heading towards the center of that vortex of blood and fire, never to return.

Chapter 222 Deliberate and Unintentional

[Bella, you petitioned me, overcoming numerous inconveniences, just for this day's farewell to your friends?]

The piston buckle on his chest trembled slightly, a questioning thought rising in his mind, a desire for a detailed explanation.

The goddess of the Steam Church, ever since she learned of each other's special connection, has stayed by the healer's side, witnessing the world from the former's perspective.

Therefore, when Isabella, knowing the difference in their status, still walked through the Hall of Contemplation just to inform Zelena of their impending separation, Adeline could not suppress the confusion in her heart.

She tried to emulate human thinking and learn the concrete form of emotions, but realized that her words would only increase her sadness and were meaningless.

“No, Ms. Adeline, it is more like a farewell than a goodbye, because I had no intention of getting a reply.”