A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

After all, he had only been to a limited number of places on his own, but he wanted Angelia to see the whole world.

“…” Angelia placed her hand on the hem of her skirt, listening to Diman’s description and imagining every detail in her mind.

“I don’t know when it started, but I’ve come to feel that everyone’s kindness towards me is a given,” Angelia said.

"Because you are beautiful, many people are willing to be kind to you."

"To get me, right?"

“Hmm,” Diman said, continuing to draw.

Are you the same?

“At first, yes.” Diman laughed, not denying his motives.

But that was the original purpose.

"The initial purpose? And now?" This was the first time Angelia had spoken to Diman about this in a year.

"I just wanted you to look at the paintings more."

"Can I look at the paintings a little longer?" For some reason, Angelia felt that Diman was telling the truth, because Diman was clumsy in this regard and didn't know how to say anything to make people happy.

"Because I really enjoy drawing."

"And then you like looking at paintings."

As he spoke, Diman put away his paintbrush.

The painting depicts an exquisite snow scene.

While the Central Continent does experience winter and snowfall, the snow there is different from that of the Northern Continent.

The world of the Northern Continent seemed to have been white from the very beginning.

The white color on other continents is simply due to later dyeing.

"Can I hang this painting up too?" Angelia asked, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

"Of course, just like any other painting."

The paintings next to the stairs are all his.

Each painting represents a scene that Diman wanted to show Angelia.

Even if all his efforts ultimately come to nothing, he still hopes that this sheltered young lady can witness the wonderful world.

Because she genuinely loves her paintings... even if he doesn't like her as a person.

His liking for Angela is enough.

“I’ll be back next week.” Diman put away his other tools, leaving only the painting in the sunlight.

The light streaming in from the balcony fell on the canvas, making the snow-white surface appear even more realistic.

"I'll wait for you." Angelia was a little surprised after saying this.

"..." Diman was also surprised that Angelia would say that.

"Okay." After a pause, Diman replied with exceptional joy.

---

"Their relationship is really strange," Naruko muttered to herself, crouching in the corner.

The look in Diman and Angelia's eyes did not reveal any romantic feelings between them.

It was unrequited love.

Just as Angela herself said, there was no love in her eyes.

Only Diman's eyes held love.

But the love in his eyes wasn't intense, unlike that of a persistent pursuer.

Besides love, there is also a kind of steadfastness.

"Could he really just want Angelia to experience the wonders of the world?" Naruko had a bold guess in her mind.

"But...does Angelia really dislike this painter?" Her intuition told her that Angelia's feelings for Diman were complicated.

It's definitely not as simple as she says, "I don't like it," nor is it as simple as "I like it."

"Heave-ho!" Naruko slipped away from the corner and ran downstairs.

“Mr. 112!!!” Naruko lifted 112 up.

"..." 112 did not resist, but her expression was quite interesting.

He never expected that Naruko would lift him up high without warning.

“Let’s try to matchmake Miss Angelia and Diman!” Naruko said with utmost seriousness.

"Play matchmaker?"

I disagree.

"Besides, Miss probably doesn't want to go through another relationship either." 112 looked regretful.

He easily escaped Naruko's clutches and landed lightly.

"For Miss, love is just a source of pain." 112 looked up at the corner of the stairs.

The young lady is probably still watching Diman draw there.

"pain?"

"Yes... the young lady is just an innocent young girl."

Unfortunately, episode 112 didn't go into detail about Angelia.

Perhaps 112 felt that as a servant, he had no right to discuss his young mistress.

In any case, apart from Naruko being very interested, no one else made a move.

Naruko kept muttering to herself as Diman left with his art supplies.

"Thank you for your concern, but my story with Miss Angelia can't be told in just a few words." After leaving the old house, Diman turned his head and glanced at the empty balcony.

"No, pursuing something means you have to work hard for it."

"Who knows, maybe one day it will touch someone's heart?"

"Was it touching?" Diman closed his eyes and uttered the word "touching" in a very complicated tone.

For many people, love is simple, but for others, it is difficult.

Clearly, Diman is one of those people who are unlucky in love.

"Let's not talk about this anymore, I'll take you back." Diman led the way for Bray and the others after passing himself and Angelia.

---

After Diman left, Angelia touched the border of the snow scene painting.

Because Diman said the paint wouldn't dry so easily, Angelia didn't touch it.

Another theory is that you shouldn't touch the paint after it's dried.

She just stared blankly at the snow scene.

“That artist isn’t right for you,” 112 said, standing next to Angelia.

“No one is right for me,” Angelia said quietly.

"Thump—thump—thump—" Just then, a regular vibration sound came from below the old house.

The vibration sounded like a huge, powerful heart beating.

However, apart from Angelia and 112, no one could actually hear the sound clearly.

"Young Miss, this is your mother."

"You're restless again, aren't you?" Angelia's expression was somewhat helpless.

"Let's go down." She started walking down, and 112 silently followed.

Every large house has an underground space.

Angelia's old house is no exception.

Generally speaking, these underground spaces are used to store important items.

The items placed in the space directly beneath the old house were indeed very important to Angelia.

Angelia lifted the seemingly ordinary curtain and opened the iron door behind it, which was sealed with countless locks, and stepped into the dark space.

Without the aid of light, Angelia's blood-red eyes could see clearly in the dimly lit room.

Including the enormous monster right in the center.

A beautiful woman was bound by thick thorns.

The beautiful woman... if you only look at her upper body, that's certainly true.

But the lower half of this beautiful woman's body was a rosebud nearly ten meters long.

The flower buds connect the beautiful woman, forming an eerie presence.

The flower bud was throbbing rhythmically, and the "thump-thump" sound came from inside the rose bud.

“Angelia…” the beautiful woman began, her voice slightly distorted.

She opened her eyes, which were the same red eyes as Angelia's and 112's.

This monster is Angelia's mother.

However, Angelia did not respond to the other party.

“An…Anjie…” Her mother’s voice gradually became blurred and hoarse.

Angelia looked at her alien mother with a very complicated expression.

Her mother was once an ordinary person.

This "past" can probably be traced back to a hundred years ago.

She has lived for over a hundred years, just like her mother, but her appearance has not changed at all.

"Ange...I'm thirsty..."

"112, give my flesh and blood to Mother." Upon hearing this, Angelia expressionlessly extended her fair hand.

"As you wish, my lady." 112 took out an axe from behind her back.

"Swoosh—" The axe brutally chopped off half of Angelia's hand.

Angelia's brow furrowed involuntarily; it was clearly in considerable pain.

After glancing at Angelia, 112 took the severed hand and threw it directly at the monster.

"Swish!!!" Countless thorns surged toward the severed hand like earthworms.

In a matter of moments, the thorns stuffed the severed hand into the rosebud, as if it were eating.

Meanwhile, Angelia's severed hand was regenerating at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The ability to respond at high speed, a capability rarely possessed by humans, is embodied in Angelia.

However, only Angelia understood that this was not simply a matter of rapid response.

Rather, it is a curse of "immortality".

"It must hurt a lot."

“I’m used to it,” Angelia said softly, shaking her wrist.

"This habit is bad."

“…” Angelia sighed as she looked at her mother, who was satisfied with receiving her own flesh and blood.

“I hate my father,” Angelia said, her voice trembling as she stared at her unmarked hands.

“I know you hate him,” 112 said calmly.

"Why pursue so-called immortality? Why use your own wife as a test subject...?"

"Why did the mother still willingly undergo this experiment?"