Chapter 880: Destitute
The answer came faster than she had expected.
“Why…” Hyde paused — not long. “Because you’re a witch.”
No tremor in the ability. He was telling the truth.
In the space of a second, something clarified. The hatred of witches as Devil’s servants, as the Fallen — it had been so thoroughly absorbed into the world’s common air that it had done its work long before anyone needed to choose it consciously. The category witch had, in the minds of people like Hyde, already ceased to be a subcategory of person. Once you fell into it, the human claim dissolved. His betrayal had not required cruelty. It had only required acceptance — of the idea that what he was giving over had already ceased to be his sister.
Perhaps Hyde still believed it had been right. That was why the words came so easily.
Hyde spoke again. He reproached himself for his ignorance; he claimed not to have known that the Church’s teachings about witches were fabrications; he said he had repented genuinely and hoped she could find it in herself to forgive him. Nightingale heard the words without quite registering them, still moving through her own thoughts.
Was it really so universal — so inevitable — that no one could have done otherwise?
There was another person she thought of, even now, standing in front of her brother.
He too was a noble. If exposing a witch had been simply the natural thing to do, he would have sent Anna — a girl he didn’t know, to whom he owed nothing — to the gallows long ago. But he hadn’t feared her. He hadn’t hated her. He had looked at her with plain, uncomplicated curiosity. His eyes had always been legible; she had been able to see through them since the first night, even when she had held a blade against his throat and he had not flinched.
The memories came back in pieces. The camp in winter. The cold that had stayed in the wood long past the fires were lit.
“I don’t think she’ll die during the Months of Demons.”
“Why?”
“She said she wouldn’t lose to the Demonic Torture, and I believe her.”
“You believe a witch? We’re cursed by demons.”
“Really? I believe you, too.”
The images dissolved.
Nightingale drew a slow breath and brought herself back to the room.
“Wait here,” she said. “If anyone comes looking for you, behave as though I was never here.”
“Wait — where are you going?”
She returned the dagger to its sheath. Then she stepped into the Mist. “To do what needs doing.”
She had known, walking in, what her instincts would want. The traditional method. Enter the bedroom, put the blade at his throat, let the sight of cold steel do the work that patience might take hours to accomplish. Most nobles crumbled immediately at the first sight of serious danger — they began to talk, loudly and thoroughly, without prompting. Those who held out could be persuaded in other ways. She had developed this theory through years of professional application.
If Dott Somi had arranged the deaths of her parents, she would make him pay in full.
But she didn’t want that. Not right now.
Especially not after the conversation with Hyde.
She was no longer alone in the way she once had been. She had someone whose life she would trust with her own, and who returned that trust without hesitation or qualification.
Compared to how she would have handled this as a Shadow Killer, this time she wanted to do it differently. If it were Roland, he would not want to see her wade through unnecessary bloodshed. She was certain of that.
Nightingale left the Mist and entered Dott Somi’s study. Several black voids hung in the black-and-white world — God’s Stones, dense and close. She ignored the guards dozing at the door and followed the domain of the largest stone to the bookshelf.
The wall answered to her.
She pressed both palms flat, and the surface twisted, the plaster distorting and curling back like dry parchment, revealing what the eye of an ordinary person couldn’t reach. She saw it: a metal rod hidden inside the wall, one end connected to the bookshelf’s back panel, the other attached to a suspended bell — the triggering mechanism for a standard hidden-door trap.
She snapped the bell free and pushed the book.
Without a sound, the concealed door swung open.
The vault was inlaid with God’s Stones, which presented no obstacle. Before she had come into her adulthood, old Gilen had engaged a Rat leader to teach her everything a competent, cautious thief needed to know — every variety of lock, every degree of resistance. She had been an attentive student. She broke open three iron vaults in succession, working quickly through the silence.
What she found was a ledger.
Recent, methodical, thorough: order numbers, names of purchasers, quantities of stock, dates. Dreamland Water. Everything she needed was in a single book, and the physical stocks were elsewhere in the mansion to serve as corroborating evidence. Nobles, in her experience, always hid their most dangerous secrets in the place they believed was most secure. It was their single reliable habit.
She returned to the camp and reported everything to Roland.
By the following morning, before the sun had properly cleared the horizon, the First Army surrounded the mansion.
Three days later, Hyde was released from custody.
He looked diminished — frame thin, bearing collapsed, the color gone from his face except where it had been replaced by a gray, disoriented vacancy. He walked like a man who had forgotten there was anywhere to go.
It was the sight of Nightingale that returned some color to his cheeks. And with the color came something else.
“Viscount Somi is to be hanged.” Hyde’s voice barely held its shape. They had moved into an empty alley — away from sight, away from anyone who might listen. “His family sentenced to twenty years of hard labor. His two domains forfeited. Is this what you wanted me to have?” The thin control cracked. He rounded on her. “You stripped everything from me and left nothing.”
“You should consider yourself fortunate you weren’t treated as a Somi family member,” Nightingale said. Her voice was level. “The viscount is being hanged. You’re alive.”
“Alive to be laughed at!” His voice rose, shaking. “You ruined my life eight years ago and you’ve done it again now. Do you understand what my life was after you killed old Gilen? I finally had a path to the Somis’ lands, and you destroyed it. I was a fool to think you wanted to help me.” He clenched his fists. “I have nothing. No title, no land. Does that make you happy? You never forgave me — not ever. You lied, Veronica. You just wanted revenge. I should have known it from the beginning.”
The hollering broke down somewhere in the middle of its own momentum. What replaced it was quieter and more final — a suppressed, ugly sobbing. He bent in on himself. “I have nothing… nothing…”
Nightingale waited.
“You’re right,” she said at last. “I never forgave you. I won’t. A sibling’s betrayal cuts deeper than a stranger’s.” She paused. “But you do have something. I gave you that, too.”
Hyde looked up. His face was a ruin of dirt and grief.
“Neither old Gilen nor the Somis can use you anymore. Whatever you do from this point forward, whatever path you choose — it’s yours. No one is moving you. No one is playing you. Whether you call that freedom or punishment is your business, not mine.” She held his gaze for one more moment. “We’re done. Officially, as of now.”
She turned and walked to the end of the alley. A minute later, she was gone.
Chapter 880: Destitute
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
The answer came faster than she had anticipated.
“Why…” Hyde did not reply immediately. “Just because you’re a witch…”
There was no reaction of the magic string, which indicated that Hyde was telling the truth. In a second, Nightingale seemed to understand many things. The notion that witches were Devil’s minions and the representation of the Fallen was so permeated among the public that people no longer viewed a person as a human being once she turned into a witch. The dehumanization process had thus further given rise to an alienation between the brother and sister. The so-called betrayal was simply an automatic self-protection mechanism. Perhaps, Hyde still believed he had done the right thing, and that was why he could blurt out his response so naturally.
Afterwards, Hyde said something else. He reproached himself for his ignorance and claimed that he had not known the rumor about witches was a fabrication created by the church. He also said he had truly repented for his sin and hoped that Nightingale could forgive him. Nightingale, however, could not really register his words, for she was still absorbed in her own thoughts.
So she shouldn’t blame Hyde because everyone would have made the same decision under the same circumstances?
For Hyde, he was not betraying his own sister but a demon who would sooner or later lose all her attachments to humanity. Since he thought she was a demon, there was no trust between them whatsoever.
But… is it really true for everyone?
Nightingale thought of another person, although she was currently confronting Hyde.
That person was also a noble. If exposing a witch was a matter of course, he should have sent Anna, a witch to whom he was not related and had never met before, to the gallows a long time ago.
He did not fear witches, nor did he hate them, but was simply curious. His eyes were always so clear that she could always easily see through his mind. He had remained open to her even when she had held a knife to his throat.
All the memories came flooding back. Nightingale then remembered that snowy day.
It was the first winter after their encounter.
“… I don’t think she’ll die during the Months of Demons.”
“Why?”
“She said she wouldn’t lose to the Demonic Torture, and I believe her.”
“You even believe a witch. We’re cursed by demons.”
“Really? I believe you, too.”
The pictures in her head faded away.
Nightingale took a deep breath and pulled herself back to the reality. “Wait here. If anybody comes to look for you, do what you normally do like I’ve never shown up.”
“Hold, hold on… Where are you going?”
She put the dagger back to her waist and stepped into the Mist. “To do what I should do.”
…
Nightingale knew Hyde was right. She could easily invade Viscount Dott Somi’s bedroom and threaten him to spit out all the truth with a dagger. Most nobles would lose their minds at the sight of a sharp blade and automatically disclose everything without further coercion. Some stubborn ones, however, might insist on their silence for a while, but would eventually pour their hearts out after she denailed their ten fingers. This was a theory she had developed after years of assassination experience.
If the death of her parents did have something to do with the viscount, she would definitely make him pay with his life.
Yet Nightingale did not want a brutal revenge at this moment.
Especially after she confronted Hyde.
She was now no longer alone.
She had a person she could trust her life with and a person who equally trusted her.
Compared to the traditional method employed by her as a Shadow Killer, Nightingale intended to solve the problem in an alternative way. She believed if it were Roland, he would definitely not want to see her cause so much bloodshed.
Nightingale walked out of the Mist and entered Dott’s study. Several pitchdark black holes, which resembled inky spheres, appeared in the black and white world. Ignoring the dozing guards at the door, she rested her eyes on the domain of God’s Stone next to the bookshelf.
Nightingale slowly walked to the wall, and the wall soon twisted and distorted. The outline of the wall curled up like dry, tangled hair, revealing what was hidden beneath.
Through the distortion, Nightingale could perceive the details that eyes of ordinary people could not penetrate. She saw a metal rod hidden in the wall, one end connecting to the bookshelf and the other attached to a “black ball”.
It was a very common trap.
Nightingale broke the bell hung below the trap effortlessly. She then picked an ordinary-looking book and pushed it. Without a sound, the trap door was open.
The secret vault was embedded with God’s Stones of Retaliation, but that did not pose an issue to her. Before she had entered her adulthood, old Gilen had hired a Rat leader to teach her all the skills that should be possessed by an experienced, cunning thief. After years of training, she had learned every deft trick of burglary, including how to open various lock catches with a copper needle.
After breaking open three or four iron vaults, Nightingale found what she wanted.
It was a recent ledger that kept a record of all the Dreamland Water transactions, including the order number, the name of the purchaser, and the quantity of the stocks for each transaction. As she had expected, nobles tended to hide important stuff somewhere they believed was most secure.
Both the ledger and the stocks in the mansion would provide solid evidence of the viscount’s crimes.
Nightingale returned to the basement and reported everything to Roland.
The following day when it was scarcely past dawn, the First Army who had received instructions surrounded the whole mansion.
…
Three days later, when Hyde was just released from the prison, Nightingale came to him again. His frame was emaciated and his countenance expressed a deeper despondence. Wan and lost, he looked like a walking dead. It was the presence of Nightingale that finally brought some color to his cheeks.
There was a tinge of anger and hatred in his eyes.
“Viscount Somi is going to be hanged. His family members were sentenced to 20 years of hard labor. The two domains of his were subject to civil forfeiture. This is what you want me to have?” After they entered an empty alley, Hyde could not contain himself anymore. He growled at Nightingale, “You snatched everything from me and left me nothing!”
“You should feel fortunate that you haven’t been treated as a member of the Somi Family.” Nightingale said placidly, “Compared to the viscount, you’re at least alive.”
“That’s because you want to see me continue to suffer, to live as laughingstock! You ruined my life eight years ago, and you did it again now… Do you know what life I had after you killed old Gilen? I finally got a chance to obtain the Somis’ lands, and you ruined it! I was a fool to believe you would help me!” Hyde clenched his fist. “Now, I’ve no title, no land. Are you happy now? You’ve never forgiven me, Veronica! You’re such a liar… you just want revenge! I should have known it long before!”
His hysterical hollering, in the end, yielded to a suppressed sob. He curled up his body and started to weep. “I’ve got nothing… nothing…”
Nightingale was silent for a while before she spoke, “You’re right. I’ve never forgiven you, and I never will. A betrayal from a sibling is more intolerable than one from a stranger.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “But you do have something. At least, I’ve given you freedom.”
Hyde looked up, his face covered with dirt and snot.
“Nobody, neither old Gilen nor the Somis, can manipulate you now. Whatever path you choose in the future, whatever you’re doing, they’ll be solely on your own decision. You’ll no longer live like a puppet as you did in the past. Whether you think it’s a punishment or a torture, I don’t care. That’s your own choice — we’re officially done as of today.”
With these words, Nightingale turned around and headed to the end of the alley before she disappeared from Hyde’s sight a minute later.