Chapter 444: This Is Impossible (5K Fans Explode, Seeking Comfort)

Thud. thud.

After the knocking sound, Crete and Flora also snapped to attention, turning their gazes toward the door.

Someone’s here?

Who is it?

The three inside the mansion simultaneously frowned, suppressing their energy, none daring to speak first.

In the silence, they stared at the door, trying to sense the identity of the visitor through its surface.

“…”

The person outside, receiving no reply from within, knocked again.

Thud. thud.

The knocking maintained its previous rhythm—steady, light, deliberate.

Thud. thud.

Neither hurried nor slow, neither heavy nor light.

Yet precisely this seemingly ordinary occurrence caused all three inside to slowly tense up.

Each knock seemed to sync with their heartbeats, gradually drawing their pulses into step with the rhythm.

But when they focused intently on their own heartbeats, the invisible influence vanished instantly—as if the sensation had been nothing but a fleeting illusion.

The current situation was truly bizarre.

They had just arrived; this mansion had never been prepared for Herbert or his companions.

Only a handful within the Sun Church even knew their exact address.

So who could possibly be knocking at this hour?

And with what intent?

The visitor is most likely a high-ranking member of the Sun Church—perhaps one of those conservative sectarians Herbert mentioned who harbor hostility toward demons like them.

If they had come out openly hostile, it wouldn’t be so troubling.

The truly dangerous kind are those who appear friendly on the surface but secretly plot to stab you in the back.

Overt malice isn’t frightening; what’s terrifying is the grotesque hidden beneath a mask of kindness.

With Herbert absent, Flora assumed the role of the team’s strategist, quickly analyzing the situation for the two others.

Their reliance on guesswork stemmed from one simple reason—they could not sense any external energy.

The Sun Church was not short on funds; the mansion provided to foreign allies was of the highest grade, nearly equivalent to a top-tier cultivation cave in the cultivation world.

Layers upon layers of defensive arrays, energy-sealing arrays, and magic-power-enhancing arrays encircled the mansion.

Inside, sealing arrays completely blocked all internal and external energy signatures, restricting all perception below the True Person realm.

Nothing from outside could probe in; nothing from inside could sense out.

These stacked arrays treated everyone equally—no one got special treatment.

Of the three, only Valentina could faintly sense disturbances in the external energy, detecting the visitor’s approach.

But Valentina’s intellect was insufficient to describe the visitor’s details—only vague impressions.

It felt like a Sun Church believer, with no obvious malice but a sense of danger if they stepped outside.

Her statements were highly confusing—especially to her teammates.

If Valentina were deliberately deceiving, she’d be playing Wolf Among Us so well she’d fooled even her own allies—true wisdom disguised as foolishness.

But the grim reality was—Miss Hungry Dragon’s actual intelligence was likely barely above idiocy.

“…”

Under the questioning gazes of the other two, Valentina unusually fell silent, nodding calmly.

Then, finally… she painfully swallowed the last mouthful of her dry, clumpy yogurt.

Glug!

Ha!

Burp!

Rarely had Valentina eaten so much yogurt—she’d practically worn out her tongue from chewing.

It felt like she’d done a full oral workout.

“Cough, don’t open it.”

Valentina ignored the death glares from the devil and demon, coughing lightly and murmuring: “My intuition tells me the energy outside feels… off.”

The person outside gave her a sense of danger, yet upon closer inspection, it felt merely ordinary.

How strange!

“…“ The demoness frowned, deep in thought.

Just intuition?

Though Valentina’s reasoning sounded implausible, Flora did not question it.

Every strong cultivator has unique habits, forged through countless trials of life and death.

Some are born with luck others cannot comprehend; others are cursed with misfortune beyond understanding.

People can never truly understand one another!

As the luckiest cannot fathom the misery of the unluckiest, the unluckiest cannot grasp the loneliness of the luckiest.

Human joys and sorrows do not connect; they only find each other noisy, barking and wailing in their own corners.

If Valentina is certain the visitor is dangerous, there must be a reason.

So now—should they continue playing dead, or drive the visitor away?

As Flora hesitated, a cool, calm voice came from outside.

“Open the door.”

It was Bishop Evelyn’s voice.

Her tone remained even, yet upon closer listening, a faint note of resignation could be detected.

“Do not worry—I am not here to trouble you, nor will I force you to leave.”

“I simply wish to speak with you—with her.”

Oh, so it’s her!

The unexpected identity of the visitor instantly eased the tension inside the mansion; Flora sighed and shook her head.

Ugh, all that worry for nothing.

Just Evelyn? Any one of them three could handle her alone, let alone all three together.

The devil and demon relaxed; only the dragon remained conflicted.

Valentina tilted her head, bewildered, blinking rapidly.

“Huh? How could this be…”

Only Evelyn’s magical signature was detectable outside; Valentina had nearly sucked the air dry with her nose and sensed no other presence.

Was the visitor truly alone?

But that didn’t make sense!

Did I make a mistake?

“This is weird… it can’t be! The energy outside was clearly dangerous!”

After receiving Flora’s signal, Valentina scratched her head and walked to the door.

After opening the door and letting Evelyn in, Hungry Dragon slammed it shut and pinned her against it.

Stop!

“Hm… hmm?” Evelyn frowned, raising a hand to push Valentina away—but halted halfway, lowering it.

Sniff. sniff.

Valentina circled Evelyn, puzzled, sniffing repeatedly, nearly ready to reach out and touch her.

After repeated inspections, Valentina finally concluded—Evelyn was truly harmless.

The misjudgment must have been due to her own excessive tension distorting her perception.

Once freed from the “security check,” Evelyn wasted no time, turning to Crete, who stood huddled in the corner with arms crossed, feigning indifference.

She nodded gently and said slowly: “My lord, might I request a private audience? I have words to speak with you.”

Evelyn’s purpose was clear—she had come solely for Crete.

“You want me?”

Crete frowned, staring at Evelyn with confusion. “Do I know you? I’m certain I’ve never seen you before.”

Evelyn responded calmly to the devil’s sharp tone: “You likely don’t know me… but I know you. The [Blasphemous Whisper]—or the [Thorn of Noble Blood]. Am I correct?”

“Oh?”

Hearing those titles after so long, Crete’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze toward Evelyn growing more wary.

This person actually knows me!

I’ve been locked away for so long—and still someone is watching me!

Are you self-proclaimed righteous ones really that bored?!

Can’t you do something useful?

Why spend your days fixated on a single imprisoned devil?

Yet even as Crete seethed inwardly, a quiet pleasure stirred in her heart.

Hehe~

You actually still remember my fame!

So it seems I’m still quite famous after all.

They must be furious over the glorious deeds I accomplished back then!

She exuded a self-satisfied air, as if everyone under heaven knew her name.

Crete straightened her chest and stopped rushing to leave, instead engaging Florah right there.

Look!

Both of you—especially that damned demon—pay close attention!

I’m not someone to be trifled with!

The demon’s tone regained its former arrogance: “You care so much about me that you found me even after I hid so deeply—surely there’s some connection between us? Hatred?”

“There is, indeed, a slight connection between us.”

Evelyn nodded, gazing at her calmly: “My parents died because of you.”

Patricide. Matricide… Such a standard setup.

“Heh, hah! So it’s true.”

Crete showed no sign of being intimidated; instead, she languidly licked her lips.

Her expression grew even more satisfied. She stepped forward slowly, bent down, and whispered almost against Evelyn’s ear: “Then, you poor orphan who lost both parents… are you here to seek revenge on me?”

The whisper echoed softly in Bishop Evelyn’s ear, trying to pull her into memories of the past.

Blood feud.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

Killing and being killed—an endless cycle of vengeance, revenge at any cost.

It began as an unwritten rule among hunters, but later spread to every corner of the world.

Demons loved this rule.

In this chase and being chased, demons found great pleasure.

Crete also greatly enjoyed it, deriving joy from the suffering of those seeking revenge.

She was a demon.

Though a solitary oddity, her body still flowed with demon blood.

Provoke her. Anger her. Then watch her rage helplessly.

What a rare delight!

But this time, Crete made one mistake.

She overlooked a detail crucial to the present moment.

“You’re mistaken.”

After hearing Crete’s words, Evelyn shook her head slightly and whispered: “I’m not here to seek revenge. On the contrary, I’m here to thank you.”

Yes.

She’s not here for vengeance—she’s here to present a banner of gratitude!

Crete blinked in confusion, her carefully crafted pose and built-up emotion shattered.

“Thank… me?”

???

Me? Thanked?

That doesn’t make sense!

Have I ever done anything good in my life?

The demon girl was utterly bewildered.

She even turned her head, bewildered, toward her companion—did you hear her say that wrong?

Tell me you did.

Otherwise, this makes no sense!!?

Valentina blinked, silently shifting her gaze aside—then immediately locked eyes with the fourth jar.

Florah’s smile was deeply amused; her lips moved soundlessly, whispering to Crete: “Congratulations!”

!!?

Seeing Crete’s bewildered expression, Evelyn’s expression, which had remained unchanged for so long, finally shifted noticeably.

“Thank you.”

Her stiff, frozen lips for years struggled to curve into a subtle smile as she whispered her thanks to the demon whose “racial logic” had been shattered:

“Thank you for killing my… parents.”

Crete: ???

What the hell are you talking about!?

…

…

Moments later, after sincerely offering her thanks, Evelyn did not linger—she turned and left quickly.

As she walked away, her expression was no longer its usual calm—it carried a look of profound relief.

In contrast, Crete’s expression was utterly rigid.

The demon girl stood frozen, her face like she’d swallowed something foul, her mind flooded with questions.

“What just happened?”

“That person said she came to thank me…”

“Huh?”

“Wait, why?”

“Who the hell thanks a demon?”

She scratched her head in confusion, tugging hard at her hair.

“What does it mean, ‘You killed the nobles and saved the nation from destruction’?”

“What does it mean, ‘Thank you for killing my debauched marquis parents and freeing the slaves’?”

“What does it mean, ‘I’ve spent years searching for you, and many others like me want to thank you too’?”

Crete understood the literal meaning of her words—but she refused to accept their content.

Did evil deeds turn out good?

“Could it be… all these years… I’ve actually been doing good?”

You say I’ve spent my life killing and burning, boasting of living on the edge of the blade—yet now you tell me all my evil was actually accumulating virtue?

“I cannot accept this!”

As a demon, with her sense of dignity and common sense, Crete could not accept this insane reality.

No, this can’t be true.

How could I be the great benefactor Evelyn describes?

How could I be the greatest ally in destroying the corrupt noble dynasty?

What nonsense!!?

Don’t belittle the evil deeds I’ve committed!

I never fought for your so-called freedom!!?

I did it because it made me happy!

I…

“So… are you happy now?”

Florah watched for a while, then quietly added:

“Happy? Hah!”

Crete’s eyes widened, she rolled them, and scoffed: “What nonsense!!? How could I possibly be happy?”

“Really?”

Florah raised an eyebrow and pulled out a round mirror, placing it before Crete: “Before you say that, look at your own expression.”

Expression?

What expression could I possibly have now?

Crete instinctively took the mirror and looked into its reflection.

!!?

Gulp.

No, impossible!

How could I… be smiling?

“Gulp! This can’t be! This is impossible!”

“This… hmm!?”

As she kept shifting the mirror, trying to see every angle, the calm surface suddenly trembled.

The next instant, the flawless mirror cracked open with no external force.

Crack!

“Hm!!?”

While Krety was still stunned by what had just happened, Valentina, who had been slacking off nearby, suddenly lunged forward and yanked her behind herself.

Valentina’s expression turned grave; she shielded the two behind her and let out a threatening growl toward the empty corner where the mirror’s reflection had shattered.

“Ha!!!”

…

…

At the same moment.

Herbert, existing within a fragment of the past, sat obediently listening to the Sun Pope’s teachings.

This Saint, whom Herbert had never met before, showed him unexpectedly great tolerance.

Even when Herbert deliberately adopted a haughty demeanor to test him, the man responded like a kindly elder, patiently permitting the child’s boldness.

No matter what question Herbert asked, the Sun Pope answered each one with patience.

But the more tolerant he became, the more uneasy Herbert felt.

The Grand Archbishop favoring him was understandable—he was his own child, after all, not someone to be slapped to death.

But why, Your Holiness, do you allow me such insolence?

Herbert fell silent, thinking, then suddenly raised his eyebrows.

“Hss…”

Looking at the Sun Pope, who resembled an old neighbor, Herbert’s urge to provoke surged—he couldn’t resist trying something big.

Should I try?

Hmm… fine, let’s try!

So Herbert stared solemnly at the Sun Pope and suddenly blurted out a question so blasphemous it was forbidden to any follower of the Sun God.

He asked:

“Your Holiness, do you think…”

“Could the Sun God perhaps be a goddess?”

Pfft—

The kindly old man finally lost his composure, spitting out his “coffee” in shock.

The spray of coffee turned into a brown mist, swept entirely to one side by the wind—Herbert had carefully calculated the angle to ensure he wouldn’t be hit.

“Cough! Cough cough… you!”

The old man’s voice trembled with rage; his finger shook as he pointed at Herbert, glaring at the boy’s innocent face.

“What kind of nonsense is that!!?”

“Impossible!”

The Sun Pope slammed his thigh in fury. “That is absolutely impossible!!!”

(End of Chapter)