The Prodigal Son’s Public Confession

The old woman’s trembling cry brought the haggling at nearby stalls to an abrupt halt.

Instinctively, people turned their heads, their gazes first landing on the old woman’s startled, uncertain face, then following her pointing finger to focus on Allen.

Curiosity, suspicion, disdain, a relish for drama…

All manner of gazes, like countless invisible needles, converged sharply on Allen.

The market, once bustling with vendors’ shouts, bargaining, and children’s laughter, fell into an eerie silence, centered entirely around Allen.

This silent scrutiny was more unnerving than any clamor.

Marianne felt a chill snake through her. She instinctively moved closer to Allen, her fingers subtly tightening around the pocket hidden beneath her skirt—where her ‘little tools’ lay concealed.

Anna, too, instantly abandoned her foodie delights. Like a startled small animal, she quickly hid her unfinished skewer and cautiously retreated behind Allen, only her wary amber eyes peeking out.

Yet, Allen, at the eye of the storm, stood perfectly straight, as if nothing were amiss.

He was all too familiar with the sensation of being scrutinized by countless hostile and disdainful eyes.

In his previous cycle, at the Saint Nora Heraldry Academy’s graduation banquet, he had been run through by Livia’s sword amidst such cold, indifferent gazes.

The gazes remained the same, but Allen was no longer the insignificant villain he once was.

Now, he was an envoy of God, a supervillain determined to overturn the entire old world!

He had come here to save these lost sheep. Would a shepherd truly fear his own flock?

There was no trace of panic on Allen’s face; instead, a peculiar calm settled upon him.

He stood there, an invisible wall, steadfastly resisting the pressure that surged from all directions.

He offered a gentle smile, his gaze sweeping candidly across the surroundings.

His eyes were clear and resolute, as if imbued with a certain warmth. Those caught in his gaze felt their disdain or curiosity prickle, like a burn, and involuntarily shifted their eyes away.

After a brief, deathly silence, a louder wave of clamor erupted!

“Allen de Laval? How is that scoundrel here?”

“Good heavens! Is it really him? Why is he dressed like a commoner?”

“He looks somewhat similar… but the feeling is entirely different! Like a changed man!”

“Did you hear? He fell into the river and nearly drowned! He changed after he woke up!”

“Really? Is it possible he’s possessed by a water ghost?”

“Water ghost, my foot! I say he’s been targeted by an evil god! The cultists have already found him!”

Rumors spread through the crowd like wildfire, twisting, amplifying, growing ever more outlandish with each telling.

Listening to these discussions, Allen not only felt no anger, but his eyes actually brightened.

‘What an opportunity! I’m seeing Archbishop Lucien tomorrow, so why not have a warm-up today!’

‘Hehehe, Archbishop Lucien, I’m going to prepare a little surprise for you!’

A brilliant smile instantly bloomed on his face as he clapped his hands softly.

“Clap, clap!”

Allen’s claps were not loud, yet they seemed to cast a powerful calming spell in an instant.

Those closest to Allen were the first to cease their chatter. Immediately after, the quiet spread rapidly like ripples.

The noisy clamor gradually subsided, and everyone watched with curiosity the young man standing at the center of the crowd.

“My dear neighbors,” Allen’s voice, clear and calm, carried distinctly through the small corner of the market, “I believe all of you, to some extent, have heard the name Allen de Laval, and perhaps some of my ‘illustrious deeds.’”

He took a deep breath and declared candidly, “Indeed, I am that good-for-nothing, degenerate scoundrel, Allen de Laval, the black sheep of the de Laval family!”

A buzzing murmur rose from the crowd once more.

Allen, quick-eyed, spotted a large wooden crate nearby, used for unloading goods.

He agilely climbed onto it, instantly becoming the center of attention.

Standing elevated, looking down upon the crowd, was a feeling he was not unfamiliar with.

In a previous cycle, Allen had personally ignited a sweeping revolution in the royal capital to break free from a predicament.

Citizens, determined to resist tyranny, stormed the prison, erected barricades in the streets, and successfully repelled several attacks from the royal guards, until—

The Hosted Mark Bearers appeared before the citizens.

It was an unprecedented and brutal massacre. Allen fought until the very end, feeling a profound despair.

For the first time, he viscerally understood the sheer terror of Hosted Mark Bearers’ absolute dominance over ordinary people.

From then on, he frantically sought methods for a mortal body to defeat a Hosted Mark Bearer.

Allen’s dark history of joining the Scarlet Spiral Cult occurred during this period of obsession.

In past cycles, Allen had often mingled with the common people, developing a natural affinity with them.

He believed that these hostile citizens before him would eventually become his staunchest allies.

The eyes of the people were sharp; they would understand who was good and who was bad once they truly interacted.

“My dear fellow citizens, please be quiet and listen to me!”

Allen instantly shifted into politician mode, his voice rising and falling with emphasis, his body language natural and fluid, captivating everyone’s attention.

“If any of you have seen me on the streets before, you probably still remember my loathsome, dog-despised appearance,” Allen said with a self-deprecating smile. “I imagine you’re all tired of hearing about my absurd deeds—my drinking, my brawling, my abusing my status to bully others, my boundless extravagance. Your ears must be calloused from it.”

He paused, his voice deepening with a hint of sorrow. “But this, I fear, is merely the tip of the iceberg! Today, I wish to make a public confession right here, before all of you! To lay my past sins bare in the sunlight!”

As if standing before an invisible judgment seat, he recounted his story with a sorrowful tone.

He spoke of the de Laval family’s rise, of his gentle and beautiful mother, Hélène, of his father Bernard’s coldness and detachment. Finally, he spoke of his mother’s death from illness and the profound hatred that had taken root within him.

When he spoke of his mother, Allen’s heart felt a sharp pang.

He remembered his own mother back on Earth.

After enduring so much hardship, how desperately he wished to return home, to taste his mother’s home-cooked food again, or even just to hear her voice.

Alas, just as the original owner had lost his mother, he, a transmigrator, would likely never see his own mother again in this life.

If he had transmigrated before his mother’s death… what a tragedy that would be for his parents.

The tree desires calm, but the wind does not cease; the child wishes to care, but the parents are gone… This pain, he understood better than anyone.

This genuine sorrow completely infused his narrative; when he reached the emotional parts, his voice choked, and his eyes reddened.

Allen’s story and the genuine emotion he displayed deeply moved everyone present.

The hostile glances that had once been cast his way gradually gave way to sympathy and understanding.

Subsequently, a trace of bitterness and remorse entered Allen’s voice.

He spoke of how, to spite his father, he repeatedly committed outrageous acts, shaming the old man in aristocratic circles and forcing him to humbly clean up his messes again and again.

He recounted how, out of misplaced anger, he wantonly bullied the innocent maid Marianne; how he spiraled step by step into utter depravity and self-destruction amidst a life of debauchery; and finally, he spoke of the icy lake, of the despair as he drowned in darkness, of the light of revelation that seemed to come from beyond the heavens, and of his rebirth and bewilderment upon waking.

His story was not fabricated; fragments of the original owner’s memories, combined with his own sincere remorse, imbued every detail with compelling power.

The onlookers listened with rapt attention. What could be more thrilling than a notorious young master confessing his sins and exposing the dark underbelly of aristocratic society?

Compared to the embellished rumors, the protagonist’s tearful account was clearly far more impactful!

Allen took a deep breath, knowing the most crucial part had arrived.

In his previous cycle, the Crown Prince had executed his father on charges of ‘exploiting the common people.’

In this cycle, he had to clear his father’s name in advance!

“My father, Viscount Bernard de Laval, was not born into nobility!” Allen’s voice carried a hint of pride and sorrow. “Like many of you here, he came from a merchant background! It was only through generations of diligent accumulation by our ancestors that he was able to don a noble’s robe and become a tax collector! He had hoped this would protect our family, but he never anticipated inheriting lands already drained dry by natural disasters and human suffering!”

“He couldn’t bear to raise a whip against the impoverished farmers struggling on the brink of death. So, silently and alone, he bore the immense financial deficit that threatened to crush our entire family! And I…”

Allen’s voice was filled with agonizing self-reproach, his fists clenched. “I, this unfilial son! I completely disregarded my father’s hardships and his humble origins! With my utterly foolish and degenerate actions, I not only failed to lighten his burden, but instead brought countless troubles and distress upon him, upon the de Laval family’s reputation, and upon all of you who might have been shamed by my past infamy! I… am deeply ashamed! I have nowhere to hide my face!”

He suddenly lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, his voice resounding and firm. “From the moment I awoke from chaos and felt the Lord’s revelation, I resolved to turn over a new leaf and become a changed man!”

He bowed deeply to the dense crowd, performing a nearly vertical bow, executed with the meticulousness of a craftsman, his voice clear and powerful.

“If you, my elders and fellow villagers, do not despise me, then please observe my transformation! Watch how I use my actions to atone for my past mistakes! If you do despise me, if you believe my sins are unforgivable…” He maintained his bowed posture, pausing as if gathering courage. “Then please, hurl your fruits, vegetables, and rotten eggs at me! It is a punishment I deserve!”

He remained bent at the waist, unmoving. Time seemed to freeze.

The square was so silent that only the sound of breathing could be heard.

He could feel countless gazes converging on his back: scrutinizing, hesitant, complex, and—wary!

Allen had long noticed several suspicious figures in the crowd.

They wore inconspicuous dark clothing, their faces expressionless, their eyes as sharp as ice picks. They had maintained an unusual calm even during the most fervent discussions.

Now, their cold gazes remained firmly fixed on him.

Indeed, the Heretical Inquisition was ubiquitous.

Allen had likely been marked the moment he arrived at the market.

One second, two seconds, three seconds… The anticipated rotten eggs and spoiled vegetables did not fly.

An old voice was the first to break the silence. “Ah… a prodigal son’s return is worth more than gold…”

“His father… old Viscount de Laval was indeed a good man.” Someone murmured in agreement.

“Looking at him, it doesn’t seem like an act…”

“Divine revelation… could it be true?!”

“Who hasn’t made mistakes in their youth…”

The citizens hadn’t truly been harassed by Allen ‘personally’.

Their resentment towards him stemmed more from projecting their grievances against the entire nobility onto him, a ‘notorious’ specific target.

Now, having come to know this ‘reformed’ young master anew, that hostility naturally dissipated.

Whispers gradually began, no longer purely of disdain and anger, but mixed with sympathy, emotion, and a glimmer of hope.

Finally, a single clap echoed abruptly, remarkably clear in the silence. Then came a second, a third…

The applause spread rapidly like stones tossed into a lake, eventually converging into a sincere and fervent ovation! Some even began to cheer.

“Well said, Young Master Allen!”

“To correct one’s mistakes is the greatest virtue!”

“We’ll be watching you! Do well!”

“Be kinder to your father and that maid from now on!”

“Be a man!”

Allen slowly straightened up.

When he lifted his head, his face was streaked with tears.

These tears were not entirely feigned.

The simple, direct kindness and the willingness to grant a ‘lost sheep’ a chance, displayed by the common people at this moment, surged through his heart like a warm current.

It was the warmth he had longed for most when he died alone in his previous cycle.

Several young women, blushing, pressed a few freshly bought, dew-kissed wildflowers into Allen’s hands.

‘Being popular… it’s quite nice, isn’t it!’

Of course, Allen had to ignore Marianne’s gaze beside him, which was practically spitting fire—

She was glaring intently at the girls who had given the flowers, her possessiveness and killing intent almost solidifying in her eyes!

“Thank you… thank you all…” Allen held the simple yet fragrant wildflowers, his voice choked with genuine emotion. “Thank you for being willing to forgive me, thank you for giving me this chance. From now on, I will atone for my past with my actions!”

The moment Allen jumped down from the crate, he was instantly engulfed by a ‘human cannonball’!

“Waaah! Allen, you’re so pitiful!” Anna sobbed uncontrollably, her tears and snot smearing all over Allen’s clothes, her arms wrapped around him like iron bands. “I’ll never sneak your pastries again! Waaah…”

“Marianne… help… help me…”

Allen couldn’t focus on the truth of the missing pastries; he felt as if he was being strangled.

Marianne, still immersed in Allen’s past story with tear stains at the corners of her eyes, finally snapped back to reality. She quickly stepped forward and, with great effort, pulled Anna off Allen.

She looked at Allen, her eyes filled with tender concern.

She now fully understood the villainous young master’s sorrow, his initial desire for death, and what the relieved smile on his face had meant when she pushed him into the water.

To be Allen’s servant, to be his sister—all of this must be the Lord’s will.

Allen was the Lord’s envoy, come to redeem the world, and she was his apostle, meant to redeem him alone.

Marianne needed not aspire for much; as long as she remained by Allen’s side, the gates of God’s paradise would open for her.

When Allen’s identity was discovered, it was like stepping into a hostile jungle.

Yet now, as he left the small square, he was surrounded by enthusiastic crowds, bid farewell with benevolent glances and words of encouragement.

Before Allen departed, the old woman selling ornaments even slipped the beautiful butterfly hair ornament into his hand for free. With a kind face, she said:

“Take it, child, and give it to your ‘sister.’”

As she spoke, the old woman nodded to Marianne, her gaze a mixture of sympathy and satisfaction.

She seemed to have recognized that Allen’s lovely ‘sister’ was none other than the poor little maid from his story.

A new story, one of a prodigal son’s return and rebirth through divine revelation, began to take root that very afternoon amidst the bustling life of Lucien’s lower city. It was destined to spread like wildfire to every corner of the royal capital.

This process was now unstoppable.

****

The Inquisitors and their retinues, mingling in the crowd, exchanged glances, their expressions grim.

Victor Soren, specifically tasked with monitoring Allen, even had fine beads of cold sweat forming on his brow.

He had seen too many charlatans using God’s name to deceive, their eyes filled only with greed and calculation.

But this Allen de Laval—his tears, his remorse, the sincerity in his words, and the public support he now garnered—all of it was too real! This was more terrifying than any disguise!

He recalled a politically astute remark once made by a certain dignitary in the court: “You must stand behind someone before you can stab them in the back.”

Wasn’t this Allen, right now, successfully positioning himself behind the Church in plain sight?

When would he deliver that fatal blow?

“Quick!” Victor Soren hissed at his subordinate beside him. “Immediately! At full gallop! Report everything that has happened here, word for word, to His Grace Archbishop Lucien! Now! At once!”

Unlike the chaotic Inquisitors, behind a dilapidated shed selling second-hand goods on the market’s edge, a half-grown boy stared at Allen’s retreating figure with an immensely complex gaze.

The boy, about fifteen years old, was slender and nimble, like a rat constantly ready to dart into a hole.

He wore a coarse short tunic, patched and stained beyond its original color, layered with an equally worn and shiny leather vest. A wide cloth belt, bulging with what seemed to be many ‘small gadgets,’ was tied around his waist.

Beneath his unruly brown hair, a pair of constantly darting eyes were now filled with shock and bewilderment.

“Hey, ‘Sparrow’!” A boy of similar age, freckled and more impatient, nudged him with an elbow, complaining, “What are you spacing out for! So many people were gathered to listen to that guy’s nonsense; what a perfect opportunity! Fat sheep everywhere! Why didn’t you make a move?! All my cover was wasted!”

Sparrow, as he was called, snapped back to reality and slapped the freckled boy on the back of the head with an exasperated grunt. “Idiot! Use your pig brain! Without the de Laval name as our shield, how many days do you think we’d last bouncing around in the sewers of this capital?”

“Have you forgotten last month when you stole half a loaf of black bread from the bakery, got caught by that fat man, and almost had your leg broken? If I hadn’t quick-wittedly shouted, ‘Put it on Young Master de Laval’s tab!’ at the last minute, would you have gotten out in one piece? You would’ve been dragged to the dungeon to feed the rats!”

“But… but we’re still using his name now, aren’t we?” The freckled boy mumbled, rubbing his head stubbornly.

“Like hell we are!” Sparrow’s eyes sharpened as he pointed in the direction Allen had disappeared. “Didn’t you see? Didn’t you hear what he said? He’s changed! Completely changed! He’s no longer the scoundrel young master who ignored us but at least tacitly allowed us to use his name!”

“Now he wants to ‘turn over a new leaf’! To ‘reform’! Do you think he’ll tolerate us continuing to steal and cheat under the de Laval name, tarnishing the reputation he’s worked so hard to clean up, even just a little?”

The freckled boy froze, seemingly just realizing the gravity of the situation. “Then… what do we do?”

“What do we do?” A hint of worry and ruthlessness, unbefitting his age, appeared on Sparrow’s lean face. “You go back immediately! Gather everyone! Something big has happened! I’ll go see if I can talk to this lord again for a bit. Otherwise, for us, the real rats who live in the shadows, the end might truly be upon us!”

He cast one last look in the direction Allen had departed. All that remained were surging heads and the clamor of the market. The figure of the black-haired young man was gone, yet he had left behind ripples capable of overturning their shadowy world.