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With that in mind, Sigrid changed her approach. Instead of holding Flamel's hand, she took her arm around Flamel's waist and lifted her up after getting her consent, running as fast as she could along the forest path.
As it turns out... Miss Craftswoman can perform the role of vehicle just as perfectly as Sister Heda, and there is not much difference in speed and comfort.
She even uses solar energy, so she doesn't need to consume individual rations.
Of course, due to the objective physical differences between the two, the riding experience is also slightly different.
7. If one had to describe her, Sister Heda is more like an off-road vehicle, with a stable, comfortable, and spacious armrest. Sigrid, in comparison, is slightly slimmer and more like a sedan, but her endurance and speed are actually no less than the former's.
"Tread, tread, tread."
Sigrid hurried along, her golden hair dancing like a colt's mane.
Hidden in the murky fog were several headless hounds waiting for the approaching creature. They should have launched a surprise attack the moment they sensed any sign of life or movement... However, before they could emerge from their lurking state, Sigrid's figure had already approached, passed by, and then disappeared into the distance.
Headless hounds don't even have heads, so naturally they don't possess a brain structure capable of logical thinking. After a moment of instinctive panic, they return to normal without any confusion such as "What happened?"
Si “Whoosh—”
In just a few minutes, Sigrid had led little Flamel through the deep forest and into the old town on the outskirts of Presville.
After stopping, she parted her lips slightly and exhaled a wisp of warm, white mist, releasing some of the heat generated by the operation of the secret furnace. As one of the fragments of the primordial sun, she didn't need to worry about overheating, but she was concerned that her increased temperature might make Flamel uncomfortable.
At that moment, Flamel stretched out her arms and wrapped them tightly around Sigrid's neck.
Her cheeks were slightly pale, and her breathing was a little rapid. Clearly, a fast-moving humanoid vehicle wasn't so friendly to someone suffering from motion sickness.
Fortunately, her symptoms were not severe, and after a short while, the dizziness began to subside at a visible speed.
Sigrid seemed to notice the strangeness in her expression, then pursed her lips, her eyes filled with a hint of self-reproach.
“Was I too fast?...I’m sorry, Flamel, I was a little too hasty.”
In fact, the craftswoman maintained a considerable degree of stability throughout the journey, avoiding shaking as much as possible, but Fran, in his childhood state, seemed unusually fragile.
More accurately... this one is exceptionally fragile.
It resembles an exquisite glass cup, meticulously crafted with delicate patterns, yet it is also extremely fragile and easily shattered under external stress.
Faced with Sigrid's concerned inquiry, Flamel simply shook her head, indicating that she didn't need to worry. Her discomfort subsided quickly; she was currently only feeling a little weak in the legs from being held so tightly.
Once Flamel had fully recovered, the two slowly entered the long-neglected streets of the old town.
This place is like a suburban village far from the city center. The public areas are deserted and covered with dust and dirt, giving it an obvious sense of desolation.
Soon, they encountered a native of the old town of Preshville.
Qiu4/Ba∠×Chongsan∽≯〇Mousou'◆Suoqun: That was a village woman dressed in old clothes.
Her skin was a dark leaden color with grayish-blue hues, and her body was slightly swollen, like a recently deceased corpse. Similar to the woodcutter, her face was also strangely distorted, with one eye bulging and the other sunken, covered with festering scars from burns.
"Crack, crack... Ah!"
The village woman moved her lips, mumbling incoherently.
The moment she saw the person approaching, her murmur instantly turned into a sharp screech. At the same time, two short knives covered in dried blood appeared in her hands.
Seeing this, Sigrid's eyes narrowed slightly, and she sighed imperceptibly.
"I knew it would be like this."
"...It's a welcome ceremony that's very characteristic of the local area."
I had thought the situation in the town might be a little better, but judging from the current situation, it's probably much worse.
To prevent the guy from making too much of a commotion, Sigrid reached out and touched an abandoned old car on the side of the street, and in the blink of an eye, melted down its steel shell and reshaped it into a metal javelin.
Then, she cleanly and swiftly pierced the village woman's body with the javelin.
The number of enemies in Preciville is unknown, and night is approaching. Against such a weak enemy, a more energy-efficient attack method can be used.
At the same time, it also makes it easier to examine the body.
Sigrid had no interest in investigating these twisted and grotesque human corpses, but Flamel was quite intrigued. It seemed to be one of the few things that could pique her interest.
After confirming that there were no other enemies nearby, Flamel approached the village woman's body and began to examine it carefully.
After a few breaths, she came to a conclusion.
"Photoburn".
"Was it the light, and not the flames, that caused the burns?"
Sigrid lightly touched her lower lip and raised her question.
"Hmm." Flamel nodded slightly, confirming the assessment.
Compared to Fran, who had a rather doting nature, she was noticeably less talkative. However, when it came to the medical field, after a moment's deliberation and some research, she finally spoke up to offer further explanation.
"...Flame burns are direct thermal injuries that work from the outside in. First come protein denaturation or even charring, lipid liquefaction, and blood clotting and thrombosis, followed by inflammation caused by internal infection."
"Photoburns generally manifest as lesions that develop from the inside out. Initially, the injured area may only show discoloration due to pigmentation, but after a slight delay, blisters, purpura, and exfoliative lesions will gradually appear. Eventually, it will evolve into large-scale skin ulceration."
"This person's symptoms are ulceration caused by light burns. It's just that they are so severe that they look like ordinary burns at first glance."
She seemed a little unaccustomed to speaking so much, so much so that her breathing became slightly short and her chest rose and fell slightly after she finished.
Sigrid listened attentively, resting her cheek on her hand the entire time.
Flamel was always quiet and reserved, with a touch of childlike shyness; only when discussing medicine did he resemble Dr. Fran.
What she mentioned did indeed catch Sigrid's attention.
"So, what kind of 'light' caused the burns?"
This was not a question that required a long period of thought; almost the instant she asked the question, the answer appeared in her mind.
--moonlight.
A madman burned by the light, an unsettling night, and Rael, the celestial deity who bestows blessings with moonlight. The conditions and conclusions fit together so perfectly that association and deduction become effortless.
Not to mention that Rael himself is a god who symbolizes deception, delirium, and madness.
"In other words... being exposed to moonlight after nightfall can also be dangerous."
Sigrid pondered thoughtfully, wondering if the maddening moonlight would affect her. Even with some divine blessing, moonlight was, after all, just a weak reflection of sunlight.
However, this is not really important, since he has a little guy with poor health by his side.
She must find the moonlight unbearable; I must be careful to shield myself from it after nightfall.
In the old town, one would occasionally encounter these moon-scorched, mutated villagers; none of them possessed complete sanity, and all were invariably extremely aggressive. Sigrid was not Fran; she only knew one method to cure madness, but it was the most effective one. Zero
Faced with a soul already mired in chaos, she could only, and could only, offer solace through death. 7
"We've reached the town center."
Sigrid flicked the javelin, now stained with blood and bits of flesh, then summoned flames to remelt it, using light and heat to wash away the grime from its surface.
Although it was a makeshift weapon hastily cast from the steel of a car shell, it was surprisingly easy to use.
The reason she sculpted a standard-issue spear in the style of the Sunforge rather than a sword is not only because the craftswoman herself is a sword, but also because she doesn't actually possess any swordsmanship skills. She relies solely on the exceptionally resilient physical attributes of her alchemical life form to fight her enemies.
Therefore, a weapon with a sufficiently long range would be far more practical for her.
Most importantly, this makes it less likely for enemy blood to splatter on you. 6
In the heart of the old town is a vast square, where one can vaguely see figures either driven mad by the scorching moon, crouching in the shadows, or wandering aimlessly. The most striking feature is the enormous sculpture at the center of the square.
It was a stone cross covered with sharp, angular spikes.
Two naked, upside-down corpses hang from the spikes, their bellies ripped open, crimson blood flowing from the gruesome lacerations in their lower abdomens, filling the water-filled pools surrounding the sculpture. Fragments of organs can be faintly seen in the pools.
"That's... an astonishingly wicked sense of humor."
Sigrid's gaze turned serious, her understanding of the city's current situation deepening once again.
In Norrington’s hidden world, rituals using the spirits and flesh of the living as sacrifices are not uncommon, except for the Red Cup, the Decaying Crown, and sects that worship worms... Even the Sunforge, which claims to be a righteous religion, holds such secret rites.
For example, the "final program" that forges pure souls who worship the sun into alchemical life. In that ritual that plunged the tower and the forge into a cold, lifeless silence, Sigrid was simultaneously a direct participant, a sacrificial offering, and the final product.
Therefore, she had a high level of understanding of this type of sacrifice. Even if she felt uncomfortable, her thoughts would not be disturbed.
But there is a problem.
There are no ceremonial arrays or ceremonial rings inscribed in this square.
In other words, the sacrifices taking place here were not for praying to the gods, but simply to please them. Did the gods really see it? Or was the ritual here merely a self-indulgent massacre disguised as a religious act?
Sigrid led Flamel through the old town center, heading due north as indicated on the map. There stood a rather large mansion, its furnishings and amenities far more luxurious than those in the rest of town.
Based on her experience, this was usually the residence of local nobles or municipal officials.
Sigrid did not hesitate and immediately opened the front door and stepped inside.
With such a prominent landmark standing before her, there was simply no reason not to go. Moreover, she was eager to know whether the military and political authorities effectively controlling Presville had also completely fallen.
Although the outside has become such a horrific sight, the possibility of any survivors inside is extremely slim... but perhaps we can gather more valuable information, such as the specific reasons why Presville has become a living hell.
——泀
--samarium
Soup! Five
Chapter Fifty-One: The Decaying Priest [The Last Sacrifice]
What would the interior of this mansion be like?
Was it dilapidated, scarred, littered with corpses and signs of struggle, or was it as desolate as that unmanned train, as if dead? Sigrid had countless ideas in her mind... but reality was the most absurd one.
Looking into the mansion from the entrance hall, the main hall and corridors are clean and tidy, as if they are frequently cleaned, and one can faintly smell the fragrance of some kind of candle incense in the air.
Most importantly, a waiter was standing in the corridor in front of the hall.
He stood ramrod straight, his dark butler uniform spotless, and he even held a coffee cup with a porcelain tray in his hand. If it weren't for his face, twisted and rotten like those of the madly burning moon-borne beings outside the mansion... Sigrid would have thought he was a normal person.
Is he truly maintaining his rationality, or is he merely mechanically repeating the behavior he exhibited before going insane?
With a hint of doubt, Sigrid tightened her grip on the metal javelin slightly.
Just as she was about to ask, the butler across from her spoke first.
Good afternoon, ladies.
“Oh, you’re carrying a weapon. I’m sure the guys outside might have left you with a bad impression. After all, the townspeople here can be a bit rude to outsiders. But now, you don’t have to be nervous. I hope ‘politeness’ will be our only way of getting along.”
Sigrid's lips twitched slightly upon hearing this, though she tried to conceal it, her surprise was still palpable.
The person before her spoke and spoke in such a normal way that she found it hard to reconcile the person with that distorted face covered in burn marks. The feeling was subtle and strange, like a grotesque corpse humbly greeting you.
After a moment's consideration, Sigrid responded in the manner she normally used in Norrington.
"This is exactly what I need."
"You may call me Sigrid. What is your name?"
The butler nodded slightly and said his name without hesitation.
"Please don't stand on ceremony, Ms. Sigrid. You can just call me Jeeves."
Jeeves is a fairly common English name, almost synonymous with the profession of butler and waiter. As for whether it is his real name... there is no need to verify it.
After briefly introducing herself, the butler, Geeves, extended an invitation to Sigrid.
"Madam, judging from your neat attire and excellent spirits, you are clearly an outsider. Coincidentally, our newly appointed mayor has instructed me to invite outsiders to his dinner party... He has been waiting for you for a long time, and I hope you will not refuse."
His words revealed that the building was the mayor's residence.
This would be of little value to some who already knew about Presville's history, but Sigrid knew very little about the city, so every piece of information she obtained was invaluable.
A dinner invitation from the mayor? Why would he invite an outsider?
This invitation was rather abrupt and somewhat ambiguous. While it might not be a conspiracy, it wasn't necessarily a good thing either. Of course, Sigrid would never pass up this opportunity for exchange that had been presented to her.
For Miss Craftswoman, the most urgent task at hand is to find out as much as possible what exactly happened in Preshville.
And... she had some confidence in the violence she possessed, so she wasn't so afraid of the negotiations falling apart.
“Okay, I will attend your mayor’s dinner.” Having made up her mind, Sigrid accepted the invitation.
Jeeves seemed to have anticipated this, and his contorted face remained calm.
"I'm so glad you agreed. The mayor's residence's dining room is on the second floor, deep in the western part. I have some matters to attend to, so please excuse me for not being able to see you off."
"One thing to clarify is that the mayor is a polite gentleman and will rarely resort to violence. However, please refrain from discussing his horns; he is somewhat sensitive about that topic." - Lin
After leaving a word of advice, Jeeves carried the tray and walked slowly away.