Pad City, nestled within the Karl Mountains, marked the frontier of the evil god Beacai’s domain. Vast primeval forests encircled it, teeming with ferocious demonic beasts.
A long main street bisected the city center, lined with bustling shops. Though pedestrians moved in an unending stream, most wore dark hoods, seemingly anxious to conceal their identities.
Such behavior was common along the evil god’s borderlands. After all, the populace here consisted primarily of the Evil God Church’s devotees, with the remaining being desperate fugitives.
Compared to other cities, the public order here was significantly worse, leading many to avoid inviting trouble.
Clad in a black hood, Isis was one of these pedestrians. Yet, as she touched the thorny bloodstains on her neck, her eyes held a profound complexity.
She remembered the scene at the Church of Life with vivid clarity.
She had embraced Beacai, called her daughter, and even promised to love her eternally.
Despite her consciousness being perfectly clear during these actions, she found herself utterly unable to control her own body. She could only watch, helpless, as she held Beacai and poured out her affection.
Inner agony had nearly consumed her. Her child was Nona, not this vile, despicable evil god.
Moreover, if Nona were to witness such a sight, she would likely be devastated, believing her mother had fallen to the evil god.
However, Isis was powerless to prevent it. She simply could not remove the thorny bloodstains that controlled her.
She glanced up at Beacai, who intimately held her arm, and a wave of helplessness washed over Isis.
Unlike Isis, Beacai wore no black robe. Her exquisite beauty frequently drew the gaze of passersby, and her white divine gown bestowed upon her an extraordinary aura.
While these onlookers noticed her, none dared approach. Behind Beacai followed a tall, burly man, clad in the vestments of the Blood Church.
From Isis’s observations, he appeared to be the local bishop of the Blood Church. Passing believers reverently bowed to him, while the criminals exiled to this place dared not meet his gaze.
Thus, facing someone so significant that even the bishop required careful treatment, they certainly wouldn’t risk any disrespect.
****
After turning several street corners, Beacai led Isis into a thriving restaurant. The moment they stepped inside, the bishop, who had followed them, gave the restaurant owner a subtle look, signaling him to dismiss the other patrons.
The Blood worshippers and long-term outlaws, recognizing the bishop, gathered their belongings and exited the restaurant without complaint. However, a few of the newly arrived individuals showed clear displeasure, even a hint of wanting to pick a fight.
They had grown accustomed to lawlessness outside the evil god’s territory, engaging in arson, murder, and plunder without consequence. If not for being hunted by the empire, they would never have fled to such a place.
Beacai, perceiving their thoughts, subtly crooked her index finger without a change in expression. Blood transformed into fine threads, delicately slicing across the necks of these villains.
The sounds of chatter abruptly ceased. Their expressions began to stiffen, and soon, their heads rolled like balls, blood erupting from the severed arteries to stain the tables and chairs.
Witnessing this, no other patron dared to linger. Meanwhile, the restaurant’s staff, their faces impassive, employed magic to clean up the corpses and the blood-soaked dining area.
“This way, my lady.”
The restaurant owner bowed. Beacai, still holding Isis’s arm as if nothing had happened, smiled sweetly and led her toward the second floor. The bishop stood guard at the staircase, blocking the way.
Inside a private room on the second floor, the owner had prepared a long table for them, adorned with several candles and laden with food.
No, it was more accurate to say fruits. Most were simple and unassuming, the kind one could purchase for a small sum at any town fruit stand.
Isis sat at the east end of the long table. Beacai, disregarding etiquette, sat beside her, resting both hands under her chin, her eyes filled with anticipation as she spoke, “Eat, Mother must be hungry. These are all your favorite foods.”
Isis’s breath hitched, a tremor of alarm running through her as she scanned the fruits on the table.
Her true form was the World Tree, and her dietary preferences leaned heavily towards fruits and vegetables; she disliked all meats. The fruits laid out were, indeed, her favorites from over the years.
So, how did Beacai know her preferences?
A terrifying thought sparked in her mind.
“How do you know I like these? Have you been watching me?”
Beacai elegantly twirled a strand of hair by her ear, her expression slightly puzzled as she replied:
“Watching? I don’t like that word. I was merely quietly accompanying Mother. Shouldn’t Mother feel touched? Your daughter has never truly left your side.”
“…When did it start?”
“From the moment you hid away with that infant.”
“You’ve been watching me for eighteen years?”
“I’ve been accompanying Mother for eighteen years,” Beacai emphasized, but Isis felt a chilling dread.
Being monitored by an evil god for eighteen years—nothing could be worse. If she were still the World Tree of old, she would have personally annihilated the evil god before her.
This was blasphemy, blatant and undisguised blasphemy.
Regrettably, she could do nothing about it.
Moreover, she worried Beacai might already know Nona’s secret. If news of the evil dragon NÃðhöggr were to spread, it would undoubtedly bring insurmountable trouble upon Nona.
However, if Beacai didn’t mention it, Isis wouldn’t either. She would simply pretend the secret didn’t exist.
As she pondered this, her hand on the table was suddenly grasped. Beacai, who had been sitting, also rose, meeting her gaze.
“What’s wrong? It’s only eighteen years. Why does Mother seem a little agitated? In the eyes of us gods, that amount of time is but a flick of a finger, isn’t it?”
As she spoke, she suddenly blinked, as if understanding something new.
“Oh, I forgot. Mother is no longer a god. These eighteen years must be very important and long for you, for mortals don’t live for long, do they?”
“In that case, Mother must be very happy with my eighteen years of companionship, right? Right?”
Beacai’s smile was sweet, silver strands of hair tracing her cheek, always reminding Isis of evening clouds. Yet, immediately afterward, the memory of Beacai’s earlier killings resurfaced in her mind.
Cold, ruthless; life held absolutely no value in her eyes.
She was an evil god, a deity of chaotic evil, incapable of any true kindness.
Her so-called companionship was nothing more than surveillance, indistinguishable from the universally loathed actions of a stalker.
“I…”
Lost in thought, Isis took a deep breath, preparing to mock Beacai. But just as she opened her mouth, Beacai smiled, tilted her head, and happily murmured to herself:
“Over these years, I’ve taken care of all the scoundrels who coveted Mother’s beauty. Sometimes, when Mother encountered difficulties, I would even lend a hand. And afterward, every time I saw Mother smile, I don’t know why, but my heart would feel so warm…”
She didn’t quite comprehend this emotion; she only knew that her heart was filled with Isis.
“Perhaps it’s because I’ve fulfilled a daughter’s duty? Regardless, that feeling truly captivates me.”