Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

This was just a nice-sounding remark. Any member of the arbitration tribunal could borrow the library's inventory for free. Charlotte took advantage of her position to come and browse through the relevant books in order to acquire more knowledge so that Nymph could fulfill her responsibilities in the subsequent battles.

Silva's eyes remained calm, but her slightly straightened posture revealed a subtle hint of approval. She disliked pointless chatter and appreciated sharp insight that went straight to the point.

“Quite a coincidence.” The clear voice remained unchanged. “The Cardinal Order has just issued a transfer order that is related to your strong ‘satisfaction with knowledge’.”

She paused briefly, seemingly assessing Charlotte's reaction, before continuing.

"The headquarters investigation team has reached a preliminary conclusion regarding your assessment. In several incidents, you, as the victim, demonstrated excellent adaptability, and some of these qualities have earned the Archbishop's recognition and attention."

"Given the escalation of the current war situation, the activities of high-ranking extraordinary individuals on the military intelligence side are becoming increasingly frequent, including those involving related channels and even higher-level entities. Therefore, the Cardinal Order has decided to establish a special team to assist the existing 'white glove' organization, responsible for surveillance, intelligence gathering, and targeted countermeasures."

Perhaps noticing the girl's furrowed brow, Silva offered an explanation for her position in the preface.

"Although we live on the land of Hastings, we do not pledge allegiance to the imperial power, nor do we favor any individual's will or pander to the interests of the powerful. Perhaps Rothari is indeed an excellent ruler, but his unjust and unfair actions are crystal clear to our eyes and cannot be confused."

“Zelena’s injuries are not yet healed, and her spirit is unstable; she needs to rest and be observed. Pederina is still young and emotionally fragile; the wound on her right arm will not heal in a short time and will require more time to recover. Among the survivors of the Tingen branch, only you, Charlotte, have maintained stable emotions, clear thinking, and even—”

She paused almost imperceptibly, then said, "I've made some progress."

Charlotte lowered her eyes slightly, her posture respectful, unassuming, and without asking any questions, simply waiting quietly for what was to come.

"Examples have shown that your qualities and intuition may play a role in key operations and produce unexpected results. It is for this reason that the cult has decided to appoint you to join this special team to assist in subsequent operations."

The implication is that this is neither an easy, sinecure nor a sign of complete trust. It means further involvement in internal affairs, placing her within more complex power structures and more dangerous areas of knowledge. Surveillance and control remain, only in a more covert form, requiring her to 'voluntarily contribute' her intelligence.

"Of course, you have the right to refuse. After all, you have only been a few months since you joined the arbitration tribunal after my introduction, and you have mainly worked in clerical positions before. Change takes time, and I can also speak on your behalf to your superiors."

Her gaze softened, and unusually, Silva refrained from uttering any more indifferent words. The choice left for her in the latter part clearly did not lie with the arbitration tribunal's decision, but rather with the humanity that the beautiful woman before her concealed beneath her cold words.

She didn't make a fuss, but Charlotte knew that if she brought it up, Silva would definitely fight for her.

"Similarly, once accepted, you must absolutely obey orders and keep secrets. All your discoveries and conclusions will be subject to headquarters and will directly affect the cult's subsequent decisions."

"I thought..."

"Do you think the Order would order its colleagues, who share the same faith and have made great contributions, to do so simply because of a single inevitable event? This is not even a dereliction of duty. If there is any fault, it should be attributed to the Cardinal Order itself. That letter of authorization was indeed due to the negligence of the former."

Her soft nasal tone was tinged with dissatisfaction. Silva seemed oblivious to the presence of people on the other side of the wall, or perhaps she was simply too self-disciplined, acting only in accordance with the law and advocating for equality.

"Then tell me your choice, Charlotte."

The voices faded, but the whistles of the ships continued to sound, carrying the pulse of the war machine.

After a long while, a calm voice finally broke through.

“As the order commands, madam.”

Silva gazed at her for a moment, then finally nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Very good. The relevant files and authorization will be delivered to your room later.” Silver hair brushed against the shoulder armor, revealing a cold, hard luster. “Before that, you need to come with me to the secret vault to retrieve the sealed artifact. As a Sequence Eight ‘Balancer,’ your ability in direct combat is still lacking. Considering future matters, using extraordinary items is the most effective solution.”

She turned and strode briskly toward the deeper parts of the library, which was not the usual book collection area, but a secret passage leading to the interior of the arbitration tribunal.

Silently accompanied them, and along the way, many people waited by their side. When they saw Silva, they all nodded to her and glanced at Charlotte as if they were looking at her.

The branch in Tönnies is not much different from the one in Tönnies. Even the headquarters of the cult differs only in the size of the interior space and the amount of items stored.

"Stay close to me, don't touch anything unnecessarily, and don't stare at any particular seal for too long. Your selection area is only the shallow layer."

Nodding as instructed, Charlotte's emerald eyes swept over the platforms of light she had seen along the way as Silva stopped. She could see a broken spear, still dripping with black liquid; shadows in a crystal box, constantly shifting in shape; a ring seemingly made of human eyes, its eyelashes still trembling; even a book bound with skin, its cover depicting mouths opening and closing silently...

But in the end, her gaze lingered on a simple, old black umbrella, simply because it was so familiar, so familiar that even after several years, it could not be forgotten, just like the surprise of seeing a goddess for the first time.

It was indeed deliberate enough, and unique enough.

Chapter 227 The Obituary

The rain in Florence always carries a bitter smell of industrial smog, pattering against the newly erected white stone tombstones in the cemetery, and making the figure standing on the edge appear even more desolate and lonely.

Ms. Mozambique.

She always appeared on the first rainy day after the casualty list was delivered, as if she herself were an embodiment of grief and rain.

She wore a perfectly tailored, unadorned, pure black dress that accentuated the paleness of her skin, as if it had never seen sunlight. The hem of her dress was stained with mud, but she seemed oblivious, just as she was to the occasional glances cast her way, a mixture of gratitude and fear. The black silk umbrella in her hand was tilted slightly, more to shield the rough pine coffin before her from the wind and rain than for herself.

She was the 'obituary'.

It was neither an official title nor a clearly defined position within the church; rather, it was a spontaneously formed yet tacitly accepted entity. She saw off those who died on the battlefield, those who, for various reasons, were unable to return home, or those who had no relatives or friends.

Few know where she comes from or why she is so persistent. All that is known is that whenever a new, unclaimed death notice arrives, she always appears on time, with an almost cruel calm, to preside over an extremely simple yet incredibly solemn farewell.

At this moment, she was standing in front of a new grave. Lying in the coffin was an ordinary soldier who had died in the war. His name was unknown, his number was blurred, and only an identification plaque with an insignia remained.

The patter of rain became the only background music.

Ms. Mossang lowered her head slightly, neither opening any scriptures nor uttering any mournful cries.

She stood quietly for a long time before raising a hand and gently pressing it on the damp coffin lid, as if stroking the forehead of a sleeping person.

Then, he spoke.

The voice was clear and not loud, yet it strangely pierced through the noisy rain and reached the ears of the few clerks and retired veterans who were forced to stay and participate in the funeral. It was so clear that it made their hearts clench.

"He once breathed, and he once felt the sunlight and the pain."

“He had a name, not just a number.”

"He had loved, hated, hoped for, and feared."

Now, all of this has fallen silent.

The tone was straightforward, without any sentimental fluctuations or lengthy eulogies, only an affirmation of death and a recognition of life. This unadorned farewell carries more weight than any elaborate mourning.

"The war took him away, just as it took away countless others. Not for glory, not for faith, perhaps simply because... he stood there."

Her fingers slowly retracted, gripping the umbrella handle tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"At this moment, no relatives weep, no friends offer libations. Only the rain of Florence bids him farewell."

"May your sacrifice not have been in vain. May you rest in peace, free from the terror of war."

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

As the coffin was slowly covered with soil, an old soldier in an old uniform, missing half an arm, couldn't help but turn his head away, his shoulders trembling slightly. Ms. Mosang, however, simply watched quietly, her expression unreadable beneath her black silk veil, as if she had long been accustomed to such scenes, and as if each time she witnessed them, the cold image was etched into her heart, just like the first time.

Yes, her warmth, her passion, her emotional ups and downs, have long since faded with the passing of her friend, and chilled by the detective girl's abrupt departure.

Her little sun, her lively little colt, had clearly opened her tightly closed heart, yet cruelly left behind news of her death and letters of no return.

Jingle bell, jingle bell.

It was a bell tied in her hair, a gift once given to a young girl, a pair of bells. But now, one of them no longer responds. Every time I hear its lonely chime, I feel only mourning and heartache.

After the funeral, she turned and walked away, concealing the sighs in her heart and burying her myriad emotions.

until--

Jingle bell, jingle bell.

Her steps faltered, and even though she knew this was not the same person as before, Ms. Mossang still looked away, subconsciously glancing at the new visitor to this land.

Her light blonde hair cascaded down to her chin, with only a single strand falling over her collarbone. From top to bottom, her tall figure and beautiful features were evident.

The long, fitted dress sculpted her figure like a tailor's blade, framing her slender shoulders and narrow back, creating a graceful, alluring curve that curved slightly inward. The finishing touch was her dark blue eyes, like pools of mist, conveying a melancholic beauty even without a word or utterance.

Through the rain, and several dozen meters apart, their eyes briefly met.

The new visitor didn't use an umbrella, letting the drizzle dampen her hair, dripping down her defined jawline and disappearing into her crisp collar. She simply stood at the edge of the cemetery, her posture upright, exuding a quiet elegance that seemed out of place in this sorrowful setting.

It seems we met once before, and it seems like it was the same scene, but almost no impression of the other person remains.

Yes, even though they are completely unrelated, why do I feel a vague sense of familiarity?

No, her little sun is lively and cunning, sometimes with the sharpness of a detective, but her underlying nature is warm, and she would never be so sorrowful and serene.

Perhaps the sound of the bell was just a coincidence. After all, as an ornament, it is cheap and ordinary, and can be worn in anyone's hair, just as there are so many similar people in the world.

So, I nodded slightly, giving a silent greeting to the blonde woman who was walking into the cemetery in the rain, and then I stood on tiptoe again, brushing past the person in front of me and moving away.

However, the blond visitor spoke again at this moment.

“Good day, madam,” she whispered, her voice gentle, even melodious. “An untimely rain, but perhaps just right for farewell.”

Ms. Mossam nodded silently, her eyes beneath the black veil carrying a barely perceptible wariness.

The blonde woman didn't seem to expect a response from her. Her gaze went over the former's shoulder and landed on the newly erected grave. She looked at it for a few seconds before slowly looking away.

Yes, even though she is far away from Tingen, as a former member of the arbitration tribunal, she still has to fulfill her duty to mourn her deceased colleagues again on behalf of the disabled Zelena.

Therefore, this encounter cannot be called a coincidence. Through the pull of fate, she already knew that Ms. Mosang was at the cemetery giving an obituary for the deceased. It was because of this that the seemingly accidental reunion took place.

"Please grief."

However, the tone was too distant, sounding insincere, as if it were just going through the motions.

“I don’t know him.” Upon hearing this, the beautiful woman finally spoke, her voice slightly hoarse from the long silence. “I’m just doing my duty.”

“Ah,” Charlotte pursed her lips slightly, a faint hint of understanding flashing in her dark blue eyes, “I see. You are a selfless ‘obituary’.”

She used the word that Ms. Mossant was more accustomed to.

A brief silence descended once more, broken only by the patter of rain.

Suddenly, the blonde woman seemed to notice something, her gaze falling on the beautiful woman's slightly clenched cuff—where a small section of thin string with a bell attached was inadvertently revealed.

Her gaze lingered on it for a brief moment.

“A very unique ornament,” she said softly, her tone as natural as if she were commenting on the weather. “It reminds me of a… someone I know. She also had a pair of similar bells, always tied in her hair, jingling as she ran, as if she knew nothing of sorrow.”

Ms. Mossam's breath hitched suddenly, and all the blood in her body seemed to rush to her heart in an instant, only to freeze and lose its warmth.

"You..." Her voice was so dry it was almost inaudible, "You know Watson?"

Without replying, Charlotte quietly watched Madame Moissan, noticing her slight trembling and the undisguised bitterness in her eyes, as if admiring a painting that had finally achieved its intended effect.

After a long pause, she tilted her head and casually said, seemingly indifferently, "I wouldn't say I know her. I just overheard her mention that in Florence, there was a lady who always wore a black dress and would keep warm for her, and she took good care of her."

She paused, as if recalling some insignificant detail.

“She said the lady was kind-hearted, but too lonely. Like a locked garden.” Her gaze swept over Ms. Mossant’s pale face again. “She also said that the pair of bells were a very precious gift. A promise of return.”

“Return…” Madam Mossang murmured, her fingertips icy cold, the bell in her sleeve feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds, digging painfully into her wrist. That radiant young detective, the girl who swept the snow from her heart, had once accompanied her before the furnace work, promising her safety.

But when she returned, she gently fell, like a withered leaf falling to the earth, turning into spring mud.

"Yes, you've returned..." the blonde woman sighed softly, seemingly regretful, but without any real sincerity.

she says:

"Unfortunately, she didn't show up."

She also said that if she could no longer sweep the snow in front of the grave, she hoped that you would not wait for her. She hoped that you... would not only listen to funeral music.

As she finished speaking, she saw Ms. Mossant stagger, almost unable to stand, and saw a broken, unbelievable bitterness, and a fleeting confusion instantly well up in those usually calm and sorrowful eyes.

In an instant, the confusion, though subtle, transformed into a question on his lips.

"You, your name is Charlotte O'Shaw?"

No longer indifferent, no longer a stranger brushing past, the black-haired beauty turned around, her gaze fixed intently on the latter.

Yes, Charlotte did it on purpose. The flaw was so obvious that anyone who saw it would surely investigate further and get closer to the truth.

But to achieve her ultimate goal and to verify a certain hypothesis, she does need a powerful ally, even if the cost is incredibly high.

Yes, even though this is almost an explicit statement about the connection between the other and herself, the girl is still confident. She is confident that the memories of their companionship and her deep understanding of the former's goodwill will outweigh the anger and sorrow of being deceived. This makes the beautiful woman in front of her feel reluctant to let go, and she can only rejoice in the joy of regaining what she lost.

Chapter 228 Atonement

"Thanks to the righteousness of that detective, I was able to escape from prison and retain this useful body to repay grievances, revenge, and kindness."

Without denying it, Charlotte lowered her eyes, deliberately avoiding a direct admission, yet still connecting herself to the deceased.

"It's laughable, my family left long ago, my enemies disappeared with that gunshot, and I can't even repay the kindness I owe them."

"She left so suddenly. She left behind so many unfinished things, so many words she never got to say." A sigh rose from her lips, carrying the weariness and melancholy soaked by the rain. "If it was so for me, I suppose it was for you too."

These words, like a precise probe, pierced once again the softest corner of Ms. Mosang's heart. The unspoken care, the promised future, the warmth that abruptly ended with the devastating news...

"I once thought that such a selfless person as her, like the warm light of dawn breaking in the cold winter, shone brightly and then suddenly went out. She should have left something behind, rather than just becoming a farewell that was gradually forgotten in the rain."

Her breathing grew fainter and fainter, and there were too many words of remembrance and mourning. Even she, with her heart dead and cold, couldn't help but recall the person she ultimately couldn't win back.

"What...what do you want to say, young lady?"

Her voice was slightly hoarse, and Ms. Mosang herself didn't realize that there was a faint, even unrealistic, plea in her heart.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly, offering no response, raindrops dripping from her hair and tracing the shapely lines of her jawline.