Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

"If she could deceive herself and try to hold on to me, then she wouldn't be the Zelena I know."

"That is precisely why the silent sweetness is so delightful and leaves a lasting impression."

Leaving the shaded corridor and seeing the sunlight again, Isabella let out a soft sigh, then gripped her suitcase tightly and walked away into the distance, watched by many priests.

The familiar female voice remained unchanged, and the deity was not deterred from his thoughts by the beautiful woman's words.

[Your reply cannot be called an explanation. Knowing that there was little chance of return, yet still determined to reach your friend, can I assume you did this intentionally?]

"Of course, because—"

"I want her to remember me, so that even if I die far from home, there will still be someone who cares about me, someone who will grieve for me, someone who will never forget me."

[significance?]

"As a human being, what are all these meanings? If my heart desires something, I will do my best to achieve it."

Recruitment advertisements covered the walls, and young men and women kept approaching the corner, their faces bearing the typical expression of tension and excitement characteristic of the early stages of war. They longed to make a name for themselves and hoped that the emperor's promised compensation would benefit their families and take care of their loved ones.

[But if you wish, I can help you cancel your conscription order to serve as a field medic alongside the troops.]

“Ms. Adeline, please don’t do that. It will damage our cooperation and render our previous actions futile. Regardless of my personal motives, I am willing to help those who are suffering in the war. It is my duty and responsibility.”

[Without a doubt, you are a contradictory human being. Or perhaps, complex emotions and frequent entanglements are the true face of the human heart?]

With fingertips reaching for the cool doorknob, the doctor gently applied force, sending the fragrance of herbs and trees, along with the everyday hustle and bustle of life, into his own little room.

Unbuttoning her coat and taking off her boots, she didn't respond to the inhuman confusion in her heart. Instead, she carefully folded the still-warm clothes and put them into the suitcase in the corner, which was already mostly full, along with bandages, medicines, and simple surgical instruments.

“Overly familiar with someone and ignoring social distancing can make the listener feel uncomfortable. I hope you will keep this in mind, madam.”

It's a shift in the topic, and also a subtle reminder.

The trembling mechanical voice faltered slightly, and when Adeline responded again, it was less interrogative and more of a simulated caution.

[...I feel uncomfortable. I've documented this. Human emotional interactions have an invisible threshold. Crossing it will trigger negative feedback. This is logically similar to the 'safe operating distance' of mechanical structures, but the parameters are more ambiguous and dynamic.]

"Yes, Adeline, human willingness is often based on the knowledge that it will bring discomfort or even pain. I call it a predetermined emotional investment. Short-term negative feedback often yields deeper and more lasting returns."

Upon reaching the medicine cabinet, Isabella inventoried the medications she needed to bring, carefully placing these fragile items into specially designed shockproof compartments.

[Regarding the question of reward, I believe there are still contradictions in your logic. A personal farewell implies 'discomfort,' which contradicts your warning. Your willingness to go to the front lines also contradicts your so-called self-interest, creating a conflict in motivation. If the goal is to reassure that woman and ease her worries, this is not the optimal solution.]

[In human terms, I sense you seem to be enjoying it?]

[Furthermore, as the church's medical advisor, you recently nominated several key figures from the Tingen branch: Lawrence Camelot, Daly Shuya, Winnie Shana... Although the number is small, based on past experiences, you have no connection with them and have never even met them. Even if you are promoted, without further explanation from others, these members may not be inclined to investigate further and thus fail to express their gratitude to you.]

[I am also considering the necessity of this transfer order, and the relevant circumstances of all the personnel involved.]

Listening intently to the goddess's whispers, Isabella pondered for a moment and then recalled the origin of this little incident.

Yes, this was just a whim of his own, using a plausible reason to move Winnie, this little sparrow, to a higher branch, so that the girl could further unleash her talents, and even grow to the point where she could see through the truth and rise against the tide.

Being interrogated, questioned, and entangled in love and hate, unable to let go and reluctant to part, in the end, one discovers that all those who helped them bear the shadow of that detective lady—a truly delightful scene.

With that thought, she gently licked the corner of her lips, a faint smile of excitement curving her lips.

“For any organization, emerging forces from below are fundamental and the roots of development. Even if I don’t know much about them, I will always remember the people who are frequently nominated in the reports. Besides, people who have left home will always have a sentiment and a sense of importance towards the homeland they have lived in for decades.”

“Therefore, Ms. Adeline, you are not human, and I am not good.”

Putting aside his emotions, the doctor closed the suitcase lid, making the zipper fit tightly, as if drawing a brief pause to this conversation.

“You study emotions, analyze logic, and try to build models, but you still can’t truly empathize. Just like you can’t understand why, knowing that the front line is a meat grinder, so many young souls are stirred up by a patriotic song that is out of tune, and are willing to rush to their deaths.”

She lifted her heavy suitcase and walked steadily toward the door. Her fingertips gripped the brass doorknob once more, the familiar touch returning.

“This is incomprehensible,” she said softly, almost as a sigh, as she took one last look at the clinic, which was filled with the atmosphere of a healer and would soon be left vacant for a long time.

"The most secure 'distance' is precisely the premise for trust between us."

The door closed, and the clanging of the latch locking the lock shut out the fragrance inside, and also temporarily shut out the inhuman, tireless search in my heart.

Yes, on the eve of her departure, besides her former love, Zelena, she also wanted to visit the birds that had temporarily left the branches, the direction she was heading in today.

Chapter 223 Departure

Having already parted ways with her former lover, the silent pain is like a carefully crafted absinthe, with a lingering aftertaste, enough for her to savor in a foreign land filled with the smoke of war.

But the pre-departure ceremony was not yet over.

Without stopping, the healer moved through the interplay of light and shadow. Her first stop was Sufby—or rather, Miss Luna's temporary residence.

A small apartment located in a bustling city, yet meticulously maintained, exudes a stubborn dignity, much like its owner.

The door opened shortly after the knocking.

The red-haired girl seemed to be preparing to go out. Her sharply tailored dark dress made her skin appear even whiter, but a lingering melancholy hung between her brows. Upon seeing Bella outside the door, a clear look of surprise flashed across her eyes.

"Dr. Bella? What's wrong...?"

His voice trailed off abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized something.

“A temporary, necessary farewell.” The doctor’s gaze swept over her face, which seemed to have thinned a bit, his voice gentle but brooking no small talk. “It seems the transfer order has already been issued?”

The little peacock pursed her lips and stepped aside to make way: "Come in and talk, doctor."

The room was simply furnished. A half-open suitcase sat in the center of the living room, with a few neatly folded clothes beside it, indicating that the owner was about to leave. A faint scent of gun oil and leather conditioner wafted through the air, rather than the sweet fragrance one would expect from a young girl's boudoir.

"Departing tomorrow morning, as an independent reconnaissance company under the Third Mixed Corps." Sufby's tone was calm, as if stating official business unrelated to herself, only her tightly clenched knuckles betrayed the turmoil within her. "They need key personnel familiar with the coastal and border terrain, as well as... manpower to handle 'unconventional' situations."

The fact that he was an extraordinary being became the reason for being thrown into danger.

Bella watched her silently, watching this little peacock forced to fold her magnificent plumage and try to carve a bloody path through the thorns. How much of her choice was out of helplessness, how much was the resilience and thirst for revenge ingrained in the Dill family, and how much was to become the Mossy Noble that Watson hoped for? The healer knew perfectly well.

“The battlefield isn’t like the street fighting in Tingen, Luna.” Her voice lowered slightly. “Death there is brutal and immense, offering little opportunity for elegance or skill. It devours life like a millstone crushing grains of wheat.”

“But I have no choice.” Sophie raised her eyes, her emerald eyes filled with an almost obsessive determination. “Not only for myself, but also for those people and things that are irreversible, I must go. Doctor, you said that when you stand at a crossroads, you always have to choose a direction to go. Staying still is the greatest danger.”

She didn't use a question; it was more like a self-declaration.

"You're back alive, Luna." The medic handed her an emergency medical kit, saying only softly, "Glory is important, but life is its only vessel. On the battlefield, self-preservation always takes precedence over—"

"The pride of the nobility."

It was a very straightforward suggestion.

The little peacock raised an eyebrow slightly, as if sensing something amiss, but at this moment, all she had left was a surge of solitary courage. She took a deep breath, then straightened her back. "I understand. Please take good care of yourself. During my time in Florence, you were one of the few people who made me feel less alone. This war..."

She paused, her voice trailing off, before finally speaking, "We need to see its ending with our own eyes, no matter what form it takes to return."

The farewell was brief and restrained. There was no embrace, no excessive emotional expression, like two sergeants about to embark on different battlefronts, understanding each other without words. The door closed behind Isabella, separating the peacock inside from the blood-soaked battlefield.

The next stop is a small house that Melina recently found after receiving her salary, a place often filled with ink, paper, and a faint sense of anxiety.

Compared to the desolation of Sofby's place, the little parrot's dwelling seemed to have just been swept by a storm of ideas. Papers were scattered everywhere, books were strewn about, and quill pens sat askew in dried-up inkwells. The girl herself was curled up on the old sofa by the window, hugging her knees, staring blankly at the gray sky outside.

Hearing the knock on the door, she got up, dragging her cotton shoes as she walked closer.

"Dr. Bella!" Upon seeing the person and noticing the suitcase she was carrying, Melina's eyes lit up, and she immediately asked, "Are you leaving? Going to the front lines?"

"Yes, the wartime medical team will assemble tomorrow morning." The doctor nodded slightly, entered the room, and carefully avoided the piles of books and crumpled papers on the floor.

Upon hearing this, the little parrot became unusually agitated, pacing back and forth in the cramped space, unable to calm down. "It's too fast, all of this is too fast. The war hadn't even started yesterday, and this morning, the front page of the news is full of inflammatory words."

"Damn it, how could I use words to whitewash the brutal conquests and become a mouthpiece for lies? Yet those high-ranking officials who hold positions without doing their jobs only think about flattery and propaganda."

The forceful conscription and grand-sounding orders, amidst this fervent wave, meant that any dissenting voices were labeled as cowardice or disloyalty to the country.

Bella listened quietly until the girl's excitement subsided slightly and she finally spoke.

"Calm down, young lady. Your ideals were once expressed in this life, and now, I am willing to be a listener again to hear your grievances and indignation."

“I…” Biting her lower lip, Melina hesitated for a long time before finally speaking with a desperate gamble, “I want to go with you, Doctor! I want to go to the front lines, but not in that capacity. I want to see the real battlefield with my own eyes, to record what really happened, the pain, the sacrifices, the individual voices that are obscured by grand narratives. My pen shouldn’t only write lies and hymns!”

"If it is destined to be stained with something, I would rather it be stained with the blood of truth than the powder of lies."

“I can be a war correspondent, I can help take care of the wounded, I can do anything. Even if it’s presumptuous and impulsive, I don’t want to stay in ignorance forever, watching evil grow and being powerless to do anything about it.”

What naive words, what distant idealism! But the little parrot has always been this kind of person. When words flow freely, his eyes, which always sparkle with poetry, are now filled with tears, overwhelmed by a painful clarity and resolute determination.

Isabella watched her silently. Outside the window, Florence's kerosene lamps lit up one by one, illuminating the small, chaotic yet determined space. In the distance, the clamor of a gathering crowd seemed to drift in, whether cheering for war or stirring with fear, it was unclear.

silence.

After a long silence, just as Melina was about to collapse under the weight of this silence, Isabella let out a barely audible sigh.

She raised her hand and gently brushed away the tear stains on the girl's cheek with her fingertips, with a tenderness that bordered on pity.

Even if it costs you your life, even if everything you write might still not change anything?

“Even so,” Melina said without backing down, gripping her pen tightly, “at least I tried, as she once said.”

Charlotte's fingertips paused slightly before slowly withdrawing, knowing perfectly well who that title referred to.

"Go pack your things, only take the most essentials." The voice regained its usual calm, and it was simply an order, "Take your paper and pen, but don't expect them to stay clean on the battlefield. You won't be going as a reporter, but as my medical assistant. It will be tough, and you must follow my instructions completely."

"You...you agreed? Really? Thank you! Dr. Bella, thank you!"

Speechless and incoherent, the little parrot frantically began rummaging through the clothes, its movements clumsy with excitement.

Without saying another word, Bella simply turned and went downstairs, the sound of her heels tapping on the wooden stairs echoing clearly and coldly in the small space.

The rain began to fall again, the cold raindrops pattering on the cobblestone streets of Florence. Before departing, the healer gently stroked the slightly vibrating piston buckle on his chest, whispering to his inhuman companion in his heart:

“Look, Ms. Adeline, this is humanity. Knowing it’s like moths to a flame, they still give their all and their lives for a glimmer of light.”

"And all we need to do is flap our wings gently."

Chapter 224 Sacrifice

The flowers, swept away by the sea breeze, withered and decayed. In the grand banquet hall of the old capital, far from the gunfire, a war completely different from the brutal battles on the front lines was unfolding.

The crystal chandelier illuminated the hall as bright as day, and the air was filled with the aroma of expensive cigars and aged spirits.

Officers in crisp military dress uniforms, adorned with sashes and medals, gathered in twos and threes, conversing in hushed tones, their faces solemn. Waiters carried silver platters among them, and the clinking of cups created a pleasant, crisp sound, as if it were a grand celebration.

However, beneath this glittering melody, discordant notes are sharply emerging.

"Make peace! We must make peace!" The old man, with graying temples but dressed smartly, slammed his withered hand on the table, expressing his utmost submission.

"Gentlemen, let's face reality! Hastings' ironclad ships span the ocean like moving mountains! Our coastline is nothing but a facade before them. The fall of White Stork Harbor has proven that direct confrontation only increases casualties and sends our brave young men to feed the Empire's cannons."

“General Fax, watch your words,” another, younger official whispered, his eyes darting around, avoiding eye contact with anyone. “Making peace is no easy task. There’s public sentiment, the current prime minister…”

"The people? When the artillery fire falls on their heads, they'll only resent the fools who advocated resistance today!"

"As for the prime minister? What right does that lowly commoner who was put on the throne have to ride on our heads and pontificate about the country!"

Fax suddenly swung his arm, nearly knocking over the food the waiter was bringing. "What's the point of continuing to resist? For that dignity that has already been shattered? To turn more cities into ashes? To displace more Plantagenet citizens?"

"What do we have? A few old cruisers? Some conscripted farmers who can't even hold a gun properly? How can we stand against Hastings' invincible fleet! The internal strife a few months ago has already severely weakened the duchy. We should be recuperating and avoiding battle to preserve our ships, so as not to get bogged down in war again."

After a passionate speech, the veteran's voice gradually softened, becoming gentle and comforting, with a tone of grief and empathy.

"This is inevitable, and we should end this pointless, bloody war. The chances of victory are slim, and we must consider peace talks to preserve our remaining strength. Before there is any room for maneuver, we should consider... a solution that may be humiliating for us, but can preserve the last foundation of this country."

He looked around, and the officers, who were either equally old or young but looked timid, avoided his gaze or nodded to themselves.

“Even if those treaties on paper are extremely harsh, even if they cede some maritime power and open ports for trade, it is still better than the country being destroyed, the family being wiped out, and the entire fleet being destroyed. At least this way, the dignity of the principality can be maintained, your families can be protected, and Pingkang can be preserved for the next few decades.”

“General Fax is right,” someone immediately echoed. “Our steel, coal, and supplies are all exhausted, while Hastings’ war machine seems endless. A negotiated surrender, though humble, would allow us to preserve our strength and wait for the future…”

The words of yielding were interrupted by the sound of the door being pushed open, and a slightly raised, cold voice suddenly rang out as she said:

"Decent?"

The doubts, though not loud, were like a sharp blade slicing through the curtain.

"The dignity gained by begging on your knees from the executioner, General Fax, is called disgrace."

Everyone looked back in shock.

At the entrance, a slender figure stood against the corridor lights. She was not wearing an elaborate court dress, but a well-tailored suit and riding breeches. Her straight shoulders made her already short figure appear quite upright.

She slowly stepped into the hall, her gray hair fluttering in the breeze, revealing her sharply defined jawline. Her boots clicked crisply on the marble floor, a sound that conveyed a sense of solitude.

"It seems I was wrong about how to gracefully bury a nation?"

A cold gaze swept across several faces, and the girl named Watson pulled out a chair and sat diagonally opposite the group.

"Hearing your profound opinions is truly disheartening. Before Hastings's cannonballs even landed on the walls of the old capital, your spines had already been shattered by the roar you imagined."

Such words tore away the pretense, revealing an almost blatant satire, yet for a time, no one dared to speak out in rebuttal or express indignation at the injustice.

The reason is quite simple: even though she rarely appears at aristocratic banquets, anyone who delves deeper can learn that this young woman has a close relationship with Melissant, and there are even rumors that she wields extraordinary influence in certain matters.

After the principality rectified its internal strife, quelled internal troubles, and repelled external rebellions, real power in this land no longer rested on the king's crown, but was bound by the constitution and regulated by civil rights. With the unification of state and religion, the bestowal of favors, and the overt and covert support, the benevolent Enlightenment Society quickly established a new faith in the post-war ruins, becoming the heart and soul of the people.