Chapter 250
As she rolled, the woman with pink hair pulled a sharp copper piece from her boot, resembling a lock-picking tool, and pressed it against her neck, casting a cold gaze at the crowd before her.
Her body seemed unable to support her, leaning heavily against the wall. The earlier struggle had drained her of too much strength, and now she was breathing heavily.
Though she lacked the energy to escape, she had enough presence of mind to slice her own neck before anyone could brainwash her.
A trickle of blood began to flow down Gudwin's neck. Given the pressure she applied with the copper piece, it seemed she had no intention of leaving alive.
This sudden turn of events caught everyone off guard, especially Tara, whose face paled at the sight.
The freed Gudwin merely sat there, doing nothing, as if mocking Tara's incompetence.
“(Orlando language) Freedom or death! Long live Orlando!”
Gudwin rasped out the words before plunging the copper piece into her neck, piercing through blood vessels and windpipe, a mouthful of blood spilling from her lips.
“Damn it!”
Two white figures swiftly glided across the ground, lunging at Gudwin and snatching the copper piece from her grasp.
At the same time, they hoisted Gudwin up and charged toward the door, bursting it open and fleeing.
“Sorry, Lord Charles, I’ll do my best to save her.”
Tara knelt before Charles, her forehead pressed to the ground, shame evident in her voice. “We pried the poison from this ‘adventurer’s’ teeth, but…”
Charles raised a hand, cutting her off before she could continue.
“Adventurers” and “gamblers” are paths that dance between life and death; if the gamble pays off, all coincidences and luck will be on their side.
Even if they had removed that copper piece from the adventurer’s boot beforehand, other coincidences would have arisen, providing them with the tools necessary to achieve their goals.
“What did that woman say just now?”
Charles turned to Tara, inquiring.
“Uh…”
Tara paused to recall, uncertain as she spoke, “From the accent, it sounded like Orlando language, Lord Charles.”
“Hmm…”
At that moment, Isabella gently shook her body, making a sound.
Tara looked up, seeking Charles's permission, and upon receiving it, she controlled the white figure to cut the ropes binding Isabella and remove the rag from her mouth.
“It was… ‘Freedom or death’ and ‘Long live Orlando.’ These are two slogans that date back to the North Ansu Brotherhood, Charles…”
Isabella, lying on the ground, struggled to explain.
“She’s not lying, Lord Charles,” Tara said, looking at him. “Her name is Isabella, and she’s from the Stuart Art Exchange, an organization that specializes in laundering assets for nobles and wealthy merchants, while also dealing in intelligence.”
“Charles, there must be some misunderstanding! Cough, cough…”
Hearing Tara’s words, Isabella became slightly agitated. “We will not assist the Orlando Republican Army in transferring assets, nor will we sell any intelligence to them.”
Isabella was eager to distance herself from the Orlando Republican Army. While her family dared to profit from such dealings, they were well aware of the boundaries between nobles and the royal family; they would never betray Ansu’s interests.
Now, all clues pointed toward the Orlando Republican Army, but merely capturing a few small fry was far from enough. She needed to uncover who was leading the Orlando terrorists lurking in Ansu.
It was essential to snuff out this organization at its source, redirecting their focus elsewhere, away from Boren City and Aivina.
“Do you have any intelligence on the Orlando Republican Army? Anything related to the attack?”
Charles asked, looking at Isabella, who was struggling to sit up.
“Yes, yes!” Isabella nodded vigorously, speaking quickly. “A few days before the attack, someone came to our gallery to consign several strange paintings.”
“Since they were marked as having peculiar powers, we didn’t put them on display right away; we just wrapped them up, planning to hang them during a special exhibition.”
“But shortly after the attack, an anonymous buyer came and purchased those paintings from the corner at a high price, without even opening them to look…”
“Now it seems that was merely a means of payment; we’ve been wronged!”
“The money is still here, untouched. If you wish, I can notify you when someone tries to collect it.”
Paintings, huh…
The grain merchant Balfour had deposited ten thousand pounds, which led to his demise, and now a large sum was being used to purchase several paintings with “special powers”?
If there were a way to prove that the ten thousand pounds deposited by Balfour was the same money used to buy the paintings, perhaps the scope could be narrowed down further.
Charles nodded slightly, and Tara understood, controlling the white figure to untie Isabella’s hands and help her to her feet.
“If you have any intelligence, notify me immediately.”
Charles said, though the statement was somewhat unnecessary.
Once she stepped out that door, Isabella would be branded with the mark of the Holy Ascendancy, becoming a member of the cult, and would naturally do her utmost to assist Charles.
However, upon hearing Charles’s words, Isabella raised her hand.
Huh?
Even Tara was taken aback.
This girl had the audacity to refuse the Mother Goddess?
“No need for further words, Charles,” Isabella said. “I will keep my mouth shut. If I have news, I’ll inform you immediately… Trading with the Holy Ascendancy isn’t considered a violation of the rules.”
As long as it wasn’t an organization aiming to overthrow Ansu, any trade was permissible?
It seemed the bottom line of this art exchange was lower than she had imagined.
The basic clues had been gathered sufficiently.
If she relied on her own investigation rather than resorting to such violence, it might take two or three simulations to achieve results. The intelligence she had obtained this time was already quite ample.
As for the remaining twenty-plus hours… she would need to employ greater violence to extract more information…
This was something Charles hadn’t anticipated. Had she known it would develop this way, she would have chosen to save her progress, ensuring she had some combat capability.
However, the simulated version of herself had prepared a potion for Charles.
“The Butcher,” huh…
If Charles remembered correctly, this was a potion that needed to be consumed before digestion, similar to the “Coroner” and “Plague Bearer.” Once ingested, it would grant abilities, but if the replication ritual wasn’t completed within the specified time, the potion would backfire.
This was indeed suitable for Charles’s current situation.
After Tara led Isabella out of the room, Charles approached the table and picked up the potion.
Looking at the blue potion, which seemed to have completely turned to powder, Charles uncorked the bottle, tilted her head back, and poured the powder into her mouth.
As it entered, the powder violently stung her throat and taste buds, delivering an intensely spicy pain that nearly made her cough.
Yet it felt as if her throat was completely sealed, unable to produce a sound, not even a cough. She clutched her throat tightly, forcing herself to endure the sensation as if her tongue were melting away.
Fragments of knowledge and methods of using abilities began to surface in her mind, as if they were innate.
But as the pain intensified, her expression grew increasingly calm, her dark red eyes tranquil as water.
…
“No matter what means you use, keep her alive! She must awaken within 12 hours, understood?”
“Yes! Archbishop!”
“Let her go; she’s already become a believer.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Lord Charles is kind-hearted. If blame falls upon you, none of you will escape.”
Tara swiftly directed the extraordinary individuals in the secret chamber. The second and third-tier cultists bowed their heads, listening to Tara’s reprimands, none daring to retort.
After scolding them, Tara took a deep breath, tidied her appearance, and then passed through the narrow dark passage toward the secret chamber.
“Lord Charles…?”
As she opened the door to the secret chamber, the aroma of roasted meat wafted out, causing Tara’s brow to twitch slightly. But she quickly steadied herself, turning to look at Charles, who was covered in blood and standing at the wooden table to her left.
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