Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

Gray hair, young girl, leader, equality...

The words themselves were nothing special, but when put together, especially when uttered by a dying Plantagenet soldier, they momentarily threw Sufby into a panic. The person in her eyes wasn't speaking with fear or disgust, but rather with a soft, fragmented murmur, as if pursuing an ideal and yearning for the future.

These words gradually overlapped with the figure that could never be erased from the depths of her memory—that excessively cunning person who, despite having done favors for herself, could have asked for more, yet only demanded that she reclaim her honor and become the most beautiful pearl; who, despite her noble temperament and focus on herself, was willing to sacrifice herself for the suffering people, ending the rule and exploitation of a powerful person with her own life.

Watson...

The peacock that left the nest will never forget that night, when the gray-haired girl carried her younger sister on her back, covered in wounds, yet proudly displaying herself, and gave her a kiss.

The heartbroken nouveau riche will always remember that art exhibition. With a sharp gunshot, that slender figure slowly lay down, dying like an ordinary person, content and without regret.

She witnessed her beloved's fall in love, but why would this dying Plantagenet soldier, in his fading consciousness, mutter these things, mutter about the same unfulfilled ideals, mutter about people so similar yet different?

A strong sense of suspicion and an almost instinctive impulse made her stand up immediately, ignoring the surprised looks from the surrounding soldiers, and walk quickly toward the captured wounded soldier.

"What did you just say?" Sophie crouched down and asked in as calm a tone as possible, but her trembling fingertips betrayed the turmoil in her heart.

She used the language of broom flowers, albeit with a slight accent but in fluent speech.

The wounded soldier's unfocused gaze struggled to focus on her face, as if he could tell that she was not the interrogating officer, but someone whose voice seemed less menacing.

His lips moved, repeating intermittently:

"The gray-haired girl taught us that to survive... we must fight; equality cannot be achieved through contracts and compromises... it must be achieved with the guns in our hands..."

"Teach you?" Sophie's voice involuntarily rose. "Who is she? Where is she?!"

The wounded soldier seemed startled by her urgency, or perhaps overwhelmed by the pain; he coughed violently, vomiting blood-tinged saliva, and his pupils became dilated again.

The officer from Hadings next to her clicked his tongue impatiently: "Luna, it's just a dying madwoman spouting nonsense. What valuable information can you get out of her? Mind your place, don't waste your energy here."

Ignoring the officer's reprimand, the little peacock stared intently into his eyes, lowering her voice almost coaxing, "Tell me, what's the gray-haired girl's name..."

“Name, courtesy name…” Repeating the word, a glimmer of light seemed to flash in the wounded soldier’s gray eyes, but it was immediately swallowed up by pain. “No, she never told us… that she was a ‘teacher’. She said that she was also one of us, so the name… is not important.”

How similar they were! The fragmented words gradually formed a clue, pointing directly to the girl's long-cherished wish, a possibility she had never even imagined.

Once, Watson also appeared in the same image at the port of Tingen, bestowing blessings upon the people under the setting sun, bringing himself into their lives, and expounding on that unattainable ideal.

What if Watson hadn't died?

What if that gunshot was also part of her plan?

What if she not only survived but also broke away from Tingen and became the figure supporting the uprising behind the Plantagenets, someone who was revered as a teacher by the soldiers on the front lines, teaching them how to fight and survive?

So, how much of everything about Tingen, her rescue and her death, is real?

So, Sufby's oath to the Deer family for their injustice, her obsession with joining the army, and her current fate on the battlefield are nothing more than a joke instigated by a lie.

No, Sophie, how could you think that way? In any case, Watson saved your sister and gave you a respectable job and access to extraordinary opportunities.

Because of her, you are who you are today.

At this point, nothing is certain; it's just the vague ramblings of someone else. Even if it's a complete lie, we still need to go up to the person in person to verify it and question them.

And by then...

Let your instincts decide.

She clutched her forehead, feeling slightly dizzy, but after only a brief question, the wounded man's head lolled to the side, and he lost all breath, unable to give a clear answer. In the distance, the bugle call of the Golden Broom Flower brigand sounded mournfully again, accompanied by even more intense gunfire approaching.

Looking to the side, one can see a black-haired girl wearing a coat, holding a short gun, leading countless soldiers to break through the outpost, fearlessly stepping over the iron fence, crossing the front line, and reaching the nearby bunker.

Ansuna.

Hearing the junior officer address the petite girl in that way, she realized with certainty that the person in her eyes was the general who had recently achieved successive victories on the front lines, crushing every weak-willed position with a fearless attitude, earning him the infamous nickname of "hyena" from their side.

Setting aside her thoughts, at this moment, she too was a part of the battlefield, unable to control the situation or escape life and death.

Gripping her short gun as well, the girl pursed her lips, leaned forward, and aimed at the charging figures, then—

Pull the trigger.

Chapter 237 Stray Arrow

The artillery fire, like intermittent epilepsy, repeatedly erupted and subsided on the scorching battle line, leaving behind only devastation and deathly silence.

When the last wave of Plantagenet soldiers charged and was torn apart by the heavy machine guns on the flank of the Hastings position, this forward outpost located east of White Stork Harbor finally fell into a suffocating silence.

Almost no one could be seen standing on the position anymore. The scorched earth was soaked in blood, and broken limbs, twisted guns, and smoking shell casings were everywhere. The original fortifications had been razed to the ground, with only a few ruins remaining to tell the story of the resistance that had taken place.

Sofby slowly raised her head from behind a low wall that had been half-bombed, her face covered in mud and blood. A stray bullet had cut her left arm, which she was barely bandaging with strips of torn cloth, from which blood was seeping.

The excessive consumption of her spiritual energy also made her feel dizzy. The battlefield of the extraordinary should not be a place of indiscriminate gunfire and violence, but for Hadings' army, someone like her, whose abilities are more focused on late-stage attacks, is no match for a precise bullet when she is at a low level.

Therefore, being transferred to the front lines and becoming a slightly more perceptive reconnaissance soldier was the most common outcome for them.

At that moment, amidst the ruins piled high with countless corpses, a petite yet exceptionally determined figure stepped out, treading on the still-burning embers.

It is Ansuna.

Her oversized woolen coat was tattered and stained with blood, yet her steps remained remarkably steady. The short gun in her hand hung limply. Her youthful, bright face was devoid of any expression, only an almost cold focus. With a single glance, her amber eyes precisely landed on the splash of red behind the low wall.

In the battle just now, all their comrades fell. Now, on this battlefield strewn with corpses, within a radius of no more than fifty meters, only the two of them, extraordinary beings, remain alive.

"Heh, heh..." Ansuna broke the silence first, blood oozing from Yang's mouth. "It seems we're the only ones left, Miss Hadings. How does it feel to step on the corpses of your own people?"

Her voice carried a hint of sarcasm, and she could also sense the traces of high society that Sophie could not completely conceal even in her downfall, something she loathed most.

Sophie didn't answer, but simply propped herself up, trying to calm her surging blood. Seeing the undisguised hatred in Ansu's eyes, her heart turned cold. She knew where this hatred came from—the class divide, the gap between rich and poor, a deep-seated problem that Hadings and the Plantagenets, and indeed the entire continent, could not resolve.

“I have never been proud of my background.”

Once the words were spoken, there was no hesitation.

The proud peacock did not refute. Even though her noble status had become a source of inner turmoil, and she had witnessed the cruelty of war and realized the injustice of her own side, she would not choose to run away.

"The glory of our family has long been tarnished. I stand here, just like you, a mere soldier."

"Soldier?" Ansuna coughed violently, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world, causing his wound to reopen.

"Stop deceiving yourselves. Anyone can say nice things. You are nothing but parasites sucking the blood of the people. Everything you have is built on the bones of countless people. You glorify aggression and take killing as an honor. You have no right to stand aside."

The hardships of the past shattered the innocence of this ordinary girl, burying her budding hopes deep within. Now, she climbs fiercely upwards, determined to grasp her own freedom in her own hands, even if it means being wounded or dying.

Their lower lips were bitten through by sharp teeth. Their different backgrounds and circumstances made it impossible for them to reconcile. Therefore, neither of them hesitated and they pulled the trigger almost simultaneously.

The painter's brushstrokes are replaced by blood, weaving a false work of reality and illusion; the fighter's tenacity weakens the sense of pain, ignoring stray arrows that brush past him as he moves forward.

As extraordinary beings, their reactions and perceptions far surpass those of ordinary people; their first encounter was merely a test and a deterrent.

Without any setbacks, the battle continued.

Using the intuition granted by her 'Painter' sequence and her innate battlefield instincts, Sofby moved swiftly among the ruins, occasionally using blood as her canvas to create elaborate paintings, confusing the enemy while simultaneously returning fire. Her marksmanship was honed to perfection, each shot aimed at severely injuring her opponent.

Ansuna, on the other hand, displayed a fighting instinct akin to that of a wild beast. Unlike Suf, who relied on extraordinary abilities, she depended on her petite frame and a ruthless, fearless spirit. She would roll and stop abruptly, her short gun spitting fire as bullets darted erratically at Suf's movements.

The gunshots were particularly jarring on the silent battlefield. They weaved through piles of corpses and leaped between shell craters, each exchange accompanied by flying mud and gravel.

"Hypocrite, your so-called debate isn't about what people say, but what they do. Repentance? Self-reflection? If so, why are you still standing on the battlefield, killing those young lives?"

Such words were like sharp daggers, piercing the most contradictory part of the little peacock's heart. Once, she was indeed arrogant, and indeed no different from those greedy faces. But when she truly immersed herself among the people, realized that she was one of them, and witnessed that strand of gray hair sacrifice for the ideal, passing away from her palm, the proud peacock shed her bright feathers and climbed up step by step.

She felt guilty, helpless, and indignant that her efforts had been summarized in just a few words.

"What do you understand? Do you think I don't want to change? Do you think I've never tried? My family, my reputation, even her..."

"Placing your hopes on others will only lead to nothing. As the master said, those seemingly wonderful gifts have already come with a hidden price tag."

A cluster of bloodstains brushed past her ear, and even though she didn't want to agree, Sophie was still momentarily lost in thought because of the memories she had.

Indeed, Watson's kindness was without reason and too wonderful. If she hadn't returned that day covered in wounds, carrying her younger sister on her back, how could Little Peacock have completely let down her guard and still remember it so fondly?

In that brief moment of distraction, the short gun was already pressed against the girl's forehead, poised to fire.

"Noble lady, say goodbye to your fantasies."

Sufby's pupils contracted as the shadow of death loomed over her, but her strong will to survive and her indignation at being denied gave her an astonishing burst of willpower at the last moment! She jerked her head to the side, and at the same time, her left hand desperately blocked the muzzle of the gun, forcing it to deflect.

boom!

The bullet pierced through flesh and went through the palm, bringing with it a muffled groan of pain.

After their spiritual energy was severely depleted, the two could no longer distinguish themselves based on their extraordinary abilities. At such close range, the firing of firearms was easily affected, so fingernails and elbows became their only weapons.

They rolled in the mud, blood mingling together, making it impossible to tell whose it was.

In the end, Sufby, who was slightly weaker and more seriously injured, was pinned down by Ansuna. Then, the black-haired girl picked up a broken bayonet from the ground, raised it high, and her eyes flashed with a cold light.

She gasped for breath, about to stab him.

call out--

In that critical moment, a sniper rifle shot from an unknown location struck Ansuna precisely in the shoulder, making her grit her teeth in anger. She dropped her bayonet and leaned back slightly.

Sofby seized the opportunity to kick her away and struggled to her feet. In the distance, she saw a Hastings sniper gesturing for her to retreat—clearly, friendly forces had spotted the situation.

It was quite a frightening experience. As an observer, Charlotte was naturally unhappy that her little bird and her beloved pet had both died in the fight, but watching them fight for her was actually quite pleasant.

Well then, after all, Sophie is the only bird who has never seen her true face and is so persistent. Let her follow the clues to get closer to the current Watson. After all, her concerns and interests also have priorities.

Ansu clutched her bleeding shoulder, glared fiercely at the girl, then glanced into the distance, knowing her chance was gone.

She staggered backward, disappearing into the shadows of the ruins, leaving behind only a whisper filled with hatred:

"As long as the war continues, we will meet again, noble lady..."

With her body intertwined, Sufby collapsed in the mud, panting heavily. In her heart, there was a sense of relief after surviving a disaster, but it also strengthened her will to follow the trail.

Even if not, she wanted to find more traces of her in Watson's hometown.

Chapter 238 Bella's Death

Perhaps this was yet another branch of hell opened up on earth; the scene at this field hospital was beyond description. The artillery fire tore the already rudimentary tents to shreds, and rainwater mixed with blood poured in through the holes, forming a sticky swamp on the ground.

Stretchers were brought in like a flowing river, almost endless. The horrific state of the wounded was appalling: shrapnel had torn open their abdominal cavities, and limbs with exposed white bone fragments at the fracture points. Large areas of charred skin from burns were also visible. Just by glancing at them, one could tell that the number of wounded far exceeded the limit that this corner of the area could handle.

Medicines were completely exhausted, bandages were reused until their original color was unrecognizable, and even clean water had become a luxury. Besides the approaching front lines, what was even more terrifying was that the wounded soldiers and civilians being sent in were becoming increasingly severe, and most of them were as fragile as candles in the wind, beyond saving.

“Ms. Bella, our medical resources…”

The nurse who temporarily took over held the last of the anesthetic and hemostatic gauze, her face full of sorrow and despair. Even though she hadn't finished speaking, she knew the predicament she was in.

"Go ahead and get busy, girl, I'll figure something out."

There was no panic; the doctor's comfort was as gentle and reassuring as ever. But when his gaze fell on her, he couldn't help but feel worried.

Isabella stood among the wounded as if it were yesterday, but her once pristine white robe was now soaked in blood and mud, turning a dark brown that clung tightly to her body, outlining her unusually thin yet always upright back.

Her face was as pale as paper, her lips were cracked from thirst and lack of sleep, her amber eyes were sunken from exhaustion, and sweat kept sliding down her forehead, mixed with splattered blood.

She moved between the beds, her movements slowed by accumulated fatigue, yet still precise. Each diagnosis, each debridement, each suture was performed with complete focus. However, more and more wounded soldiers stopped breathing under her care.

It wasn't because of her lack of medical skills, but because of the severity of the injuries, the infection, and the extreme scarcity of resources.

The choice has come again.

Should we follow standard procedures and classify these wounded as "expectant to be treated," reserving limited resources for those with a greater chance of survival, or...?

Her fingertips continued moving, but the brown-haired beauty slowly closed her eyelashes. In her eyes flashed Eliza's tearful pupils, Zelena's tired face, and Melina's idealistic yet still immature face.

it's time.

Everything she needed to do and everything she needed to prepare had been done. So, what was needed in the end was the predetermined sacrifice: a letter sent to her homeland, a regret and apology for never returning, a coffin carrying a broken body, and a responsible and serene smile.

A slight smile played on her lips as she looked at the seriously wounded soldiers who had just been brought in. She saw the young soldier whose abdomen had been blown open and whose intestines were sticking out, the old man whose chest was sunken and whose breathing was filled with broken bubbles, and the boy whose legs were broken and who had lost too much blood and gone into shock... Each one of them was teetering on the edge of death, waiting for the doctors to save them.

“Melina.” She opened her eyes again, the hesitation and weariness in them seemingly completely overshadowed by a resolute determination. “Carry them…all of them into that relatively intact tent over there, everyone.”

At this moment, not only the little parrot, but also the nurse and assistant beside her were stunned, all looking at her in disbelief.

"Doctor! This can't be, they all..."

“Do as I say.” Isabella interrupted the clamor, her tone leaving no room for argument, carrying an unprecedented solemnity. She turned and walked toward the designated tent, her steps slightly unsteady, yet incredibly resolute.

"Dr. Bella, you, you can't, you can't do that..."

Awakening from her daze, Melina quickly grasped the deeper meaning of the tone. She rushed forward, trying to grab the beautiful woman's hand, crying, "No, no! You, you will die!"

However, the healer shook her head, gently patting her shoulder, leaving behind a feeling that, though weak, was destined to be unforgettable for a lifetime. She did not answer Melina's question, but only gave the girl a deep look, her gaze complex and unfathomable, containing concern, instructions, and a hint of barely perceptible relief.

"Remember what I taught you... about measuring? There are many ways to live, some as light as a feather, some as heavy as Mount Tai. Compared to the former, even I would want to—"

"Selfishly choose the latter."

As figures intertwine, the moment fingertips brush past the cuffs signifies a final farewell with no return.

"Can I be willful just this once, little parrot, Melina?"