Chapter 420: Flora

"Herbert..."

Flora murmured softly, the image of that boy appearing before her eyes.

That handsome boy with white hair and gray eyes.

That jailer who held the authority of the Penitentiary.

That... "Master" who had made her a promise.

Flora and Herbert’s relationship was unique.

Beyond jailer and heretic prisoner, they were nominally bound by a master-servant bond.

Master and servant.

Flora was to regard him as her master, obey his orders, and serve him with reverence.

And Herbert, in turn, was to grant her the promised redemption—eternal peace, complete freedom from the erosion of chaos.

Yet she had little trust in her master’s ability.

Herbert had never truly demonstrated the capacity to fulfill his promises; those promises seemed more like exaggerated words meant to convince her.

But what puzzled Flora herself was—despite such claims, she chose to believe.

For some reason, she had confidence in that boy she could not explain.

He... might not deceive me?

He... might truly fulfill his promise?

No, it wasn’t entirely without reason.

Part of it was because of the way Herbert looked at her.

There was no greed in his gaze, no lust stirred by her charm, no anger or revulsion from a holy servant.

From their first meeting, those beautiful eyes held only a faint wonder and appreciation.

Beyond that, those clear eyes held only calm.

Herbert never saw her as an otherworldly being who could bewitch him, nor as a heretical impurity to be purged.

He saw her simply as a woman he had just met.

In a way, this was a dismissal of Flora’s charm, an unspoken provocation.

Yet Flora felt no resentment—on the contrary, she was quietly pleased.

She had finally met such a person—a man who could utterly ignore her seductive charm and treat her with ordinary composure.

Flora had once told Lilith she firmly believed such a person existed, yet she had never encountered one.

After centuries passed, just as she began to doubt herself, she had finally found such a being.

How could such a unique existence not make Flora treat Herbert differently?

"..."

Flora now understood that her sudden thought of Herbert was not due to his initial impression on her.

It was because of deeper impressions he had left during their later interactions.

That witty, humorous noble boy.

That knight who grew stronger with every meeting.

That master who had become increasingly charming to her.

The succubus, ever skilled at seducing others, had somehow gradually been seduced herself.

"..."

Flora fell silent for a long while, silently asking someone in her heart: "Will you... appear in my nightmare too?"

She knew she had once again surrendered to her suppressed instincts, sinking into endless chaos.

Flora understood this better than anyone.

Her earlier conversation with Lilith was not just a distant memory—it was a vivid nightmare.

She relived every emotion from that moment of parting with Lilith.

This was the nightmare that trapped her.

Succubi were demons who walked through dreams, masters of manipulating others’ dreams.

Dreams were their natural domain, where none could easily capture them.

But in this world, there was a surprising truth—succubi could not alter their own dreams.

They could wreak havoc in others’ dreams, yet could not interfere with their own.

A healer cannot cure himself; one who saves others cannot save oneself.

Succubi possessed nightmare resilience and rarely fell into nightmares.

Yet once they began dreaming, they fared worse than ordinary humans, fully immersed in the dream until waking restored their self.

Just like in the previous dream, Flora had experienced it countless times, yet could not wake—always trapped in past memories.

No, it wasn’t entirely memory—this dream held new variations.

Past Flora had believed she would meet such a person, but never with the certainty shown in this dream.

Future experiences had retroactively reshaped past memories, forging a new twisted nightmare.

"Why am I thinking of him? Has he left such a deep impression on me?"

Flora fell silent, sensing this nightmare might differ from all she had ever endured.

Far more dangerous than any before!

She might truly lose herself forever in the chaos of nightmares.

"Will I sink deeper?"

"Or will I... uh."

As she pondered, drowsiness surged over her, her consciousness fading.

She sank deeper into the dream.

It was not easy for demons to leave the Abyss and enter the mortal realm.

Demons were closely watched by the orthodox churches, never allowed to descend lightly.

In every kingdom, "summoning demons" was a blasphemous capital crime, punishable by burning at the religious tribunal.

After parting with Lilith, Flora endured countless hardships, finally breaking free from her chains and stepping onto the path to the mortal realm.

She had been hunted by demons, targeted by angels patrolling the Abyss’s edge, and nearly died countless times.

After narrowly escaping the angels’ pursuit, Flora seized a rare chance, slipping past the guards’ watchful eyes and barely escaping the Abyss.

She succeeded.

Flora had finally reached the mortal realm she had longed for.

She had arrived at the mortal realm she had imagined countless times from ancient texts in the Abyss.

No reeking stench of the Abyss, no ever-watching enemies threatening her life, no endless battles.

Yet the real mortal realm differed slightly from her imaginings.

Her first landing place was a land soaked in blood and fire.

Everywhere she looked, scenes of war raged in horror.

Thick smoke rolled like black dragons, spiraling into the sky, blotting out the blue heavens.

Charred earth scattered with bloodied weapons; broken blades clutched in corpses glimmered with a chilling sheen under the setting sun.

Crops in the fields were trampled into ruin; once vibrant green now lay dead, yellow, and withered.

Roads teemed with fleeing crowds, ragged and filthy, eyes filled with terror and despair.

Behind them, madmen laughed, beheading the slowest elders and forcing others to keep running.

Farther still, flames licked everything.

Burned villages were consumed by roaring fires; wooden houses cracked and collapsed with crackling sounds amid screams.

Amid the ruins, other figures in black robes performed some cruel ritual.

They chanted as they ignited piles of corpses.

The corpses rapidly shriveled in the flames, emitting eerie green fire and radiating a terrifying aura of corruption.

Flora smelled a familiar scent in the flames—the sacrifice ritual to summon Abyssal beings.

The cries of the dying, the pleas for help, the laughter of the madmen, the chants of the heretics—all intertwined.

Heart-rending, grotesque, leaving one speechless.

Blood and fire.

Slaughter and death.

This was Flora’s first impression of the mortal realm.

It felt like returning to the Abyss.

Though the mortal realm lacked the Abyss’s vile environment and ever-present demonic threats,

the ever-present wars and endless strife were no different from the Abyss.

Flora hesitated, wondering if she was still trapped in the Abyss, not truly in the mortal realm.

Yet deep down, she knew... this was the mortal realm.

"..."

Flora stood in silence amid the smoke over the charred earth, the setting sun stretching her shadow long, merging with the scattered corpses.

She gazed at the village still burning in the distance, its rising smoke twisting into black mist like churning depths—someone from her own homeland was about to be summoned forth.

Flora knew she had to leave.

If she stayed any longer, she would surely run into that man.

She had barely smuggled herself into the mortal realm and had no desire to be tied to any madman who answered blood sacrifices.

Finally, Flora sighed and withdrew her pitying gaze from the innocent souls about to die.

Her figure melted into deeper mist, vanishing like a wisp of fog scattered by the wind.

Flora left.

She did not know what had happened here, nor did she know what grudge bound them together.

She was no emissary of justice, but a demon from the depths.

Though Flora’s nature disliked killing, she lacked any strong sense of righteousness.

The most urgent matter now was ensuring her own safety.

As for the lives or deaths of mortals, it was none of her concern.

Yet at that time, Flora did not yet understand that, in many cases, events would not unfold according to her will.

The River of Fate was the most free of all.

No one could know where it would ultimately flow.

Though Flora chose to avoid such matters, Fate had no intention of letting her go so easily.

Half a month after Flora’s departure, just as she had finished observing the mortal realm and was about to fully transform herself and blend in… a group found her.

They were a well-equipped, perfectly coordinated team of holy practitioners.

Dressed in silver-white armor, wielding weapons glowing with holy radiance, they surged toward her like a pack of hunting wolves.

“Fallen demon of the depths! You shall pay for the tragedy you have wrought! In the name of the Sun God, we shall purify you!”

They spoke these words with righteous indignation, condemning her for crimes she had never committed.

No further explanation was needed—Flora understood why they had come: they had mistaken her for the demon summoned by the cultists’ ritual.

Whether the true demon had been killed after the summoning or the ritual had failed entirely, Flora did not know.

She only knew she had become that man’s scapegoat, burdened with heavy guilt.

Flora’s heart swelled with injustice and rage, yet she did not lose her reason.

Unwilling to clash with these people, she reluctantly chose to flee—and as expected, they continued to hunt her.

To avoid drawing stronger pursuers, Flora kept her power at the High Rank.

This led to her being surrounded again and again, escaping each time, only to be chased once more.

Back and forth, over and over.

Finally, after being trapped for the fourth time, Flora could endure no more and struck back, revealing her true power.

The holy practitioners, none stronger than High Rank, were no match for her—a legendary succubus—and were easily wiped out.

It was the worst possible outcome: she had no wish to clash with the divine churches, no wish to draw the gods’ attention from the start.

To Flora’s surprise, after eliminating these enemies, she waited for reinforcements that never came.

As if no one had noticed the deaths of these foolish fools.

Whether the gods cared nothing for their deaths—or simply never noticed—she could not tell.

Flora waited half a month without any pursuers appearing; though confused, she finally relaxed.

After burying those foolish, annoying, yet still admirable holy practitioners, Flora left.

After this disastrous beginning, Flora officially began her journey through the mortal realm.

She altered her appearance, donned a heavy cloak, and concealed her aura.

For the next hundred years, Flora traveled always in this mysterious guise.

She walked through bustling towns and desolate villages alike.

She witnessed the nobles’ extravagance and the poor’s hardship.

In this wandering journey, she encountered all manner of mortals.

People hated one another, fought each other, and stole lives.

The mortal realm was no different from the depths.

Yet the mortal realm still held some differences from the depths.

Love.

She had seen parents beg humbly for food so their children might eat, witnessed shy yet sincere love between young men and women, and observed friends supporting one another.

Such things were unimaginable in the depths.

Though Flora had always claimed she wished to obtain love, to fall in love, when she truly witnessed others’ “love,” she fell silent.

Flora did not understand love.

Faced with kindness offered to her, she even felt fear and chose to flee.

Yet even as she fled, she grew increasingly drawn to this unfamiliar emotion.

“Perhaps… I could try?”

She had such thoughts, but never acted on them—each time at the crucial moment, she retreated.

Until one day, a variable appeared.

On that day, Flora met a boy by a lake.

The beautiful, white-haired youth bathing in the water showed her astonishing kindness.

“Hey hey hey! Beautiful lady, nice to meet you—would you like to be friends?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Miss, you’re bold, jumping right to asking names?”

“Hehe, you can call me—Lord of the Lake!”

“Of course, if you dislike that title, you can also call me…”

The boy smirked meaningfully, winking at her as he spoke his name.

“Herbert.”

“Don’t worry if you forget it the first time—you’ll remember my name eventually.”

(End of Chapter)