Chapter 330: 330 CHAPTER 329 "Rolling Suspicion and Shaking Blade"

The two most common terms used to describe Jailer Paloma-Bashar were freak.

A person who is skeptical and believes that it is right not to believe in anything. A believer in skepticism. He probably doesn't believe in himself or even in God or demons. That's how he's described.

And they weren't wrong. That's who Paloma is to me. Paloma doesn't even want to correct such rumors when she hears them.

Relationships in the aristocracy exist so that someone can take advantage of someone else. Mutual aid may sound nice, but in essence it is about using someone and eventually kicking them down.

Of course, the substance of this is not something that can be described in a few words. At least, the Bashar family has often seen this side of things. Mainly on the side of the exploited.

My father, my grandfather, and my ancestors up to that point, Paloma thinks, were above all honest. Honesty is a virtue, but a virtue is another word for a flaw.

Trust people, and be betrayed. On the battlefield, in politics. How many times has that happened? How could you not see that there is no such thing as true friendship among the aristocracy?

Because of this, the Bashar family was cut off from the political mainstream long ago, and forced to sweat as a local noble family.

Because of this past, Paloma no longer believed in human relationships. A freak. If you have that kind of reputation, people will naturally stay away from you. If people don't approach you, you can avoid trouble.

And even if that didn't happen, Paloma wouldn't stop suspecting things. He had always been that way, and it was the only way to find out the truth, in Paloma's opinion.

Paloma nodded in satisfaction as she saw the intruder, Vestalines-Gerua, lying on the floor, her limbs pierced by the magic ice.

Judging by the amount of blood that poured out of her extremities, she had gouged out enough flesh. Hopefully it would have broken the bones as well.

The fact that he was throwing down his imposing battle axe on the floor probably made his guess closer to the truth. But it's not necessarily true, Paloma thinks.

That's why, even after seeing what happened, Paloma didn't break her magic wards. Nor did she approach the prone Vestalines.

Even if she didn't, she had a good chance to win. Paloma had all sorts of magic formulas in the room, of all kinds and forms.

They do not produce any effect. However, the magical mechanism that fills the room is enough to take away a person's physical strength. It's no different than having the miasma of a hexenbiest on your skin.

That's why I don't have soldiers here. They'd be a useless encumbrance. Paloma thought that she would have a better chance of winning if she were on her own.

Of course, as a sorceress, Paloma could not avoid the influence of the magic mechanism. Even now, she feels a numbness slowly creeping into her skin.

But it's also true that she has a higher tolerance than most people. If we spend the same amount of time together, the enemy will certainly make a noise.

So Paloma doesn't move. She just waits for the enemy to weaken. The way she looks at her enemy as he falls, sniffing, is that of a hunter. Paloma may not like it, but...

Out of the corner of his eye, Vestalinu sticks his fingertips to the floor. I could hear her ragged breathing even from a distance. Paloma watches as her hand reaches for the battle axe that has fallen to the floor. From the looks of it, it's the only weapon she can trust anymore. And she doesn't have the strength to pull out the sword at her waist.

But what an obsession. Paloma gritted her teeth as her eyes twisted.

As far as she could see, the intruder in front of her was still young. He may be an adult, but he's still less than half her age, Paloma thinks.

She wonders what he was like when he was her age. No, I don't need to remember, I was just a boy. She's still the same skeptic, but she's never been this obsessive about getting something done.

What was it that drove her? That's what Paloma was wondering.

What was her background? What does she aspire to? What is it that she, so young, is willing to give up her life for? I don't know any of that.

But I do know that I was mistaken. She's not some night thief to be despised. An enemy to be respected. An honorable enemy.

That's why we can't afford to be careless or complacent.

As these thoughts licked round and round Paloma's chest. A moaning voice was heard. Vestalinu, who remained prone, shook her voice.

I'm not sure what to make of that.

The blood is spitting out of her limbs, but her eyes are still rapt. It's not the eyes of someone who wants to get rid of everything and get off easy.

I'm not going to play into your hands. Paloma stroked her beard, jutting her chin.

No need for that. The guardian will be back soon. With the heads of your people.

It is not as easy as you might think to maintain a magical ward while using another magic. Just as it is difficult to have two thoughts in your brain at the same time, if you try to activate two magic wards at the same time, one of them will be neglected.

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The previous attack was a complete surprise. This time, however, she would definitely take advantage of the opportunity. The moment she activates her own magic ice, she might pick up her battle axe and thrust it into the fragile magic ward.

Am I thinking too much? No, no. She'd do it even if it pierced her extremities. Paloma believes in her own incompetence but not in that of her enemies.

That's why it's best to wait for the guardian. I don't believe in that demon, but I still can't imagine it being defeated in this prison.

As if in response to Paloma's words, Vestalinu grunted.

"...... My people might kill your people, you know?

Paloma shook her head as she narrowed her eyes. Her gaze was piercing.

Do you think a man can resist a great flood? Do you think a man can resist a flood? Is there a house of ribs that will not be blown away by a storm? That's the way it is.

Vestalinu laughed sadly.

I don't know. I'm not sure what to do.

The hero killer.

I'm not sure. I'm not sure what to make of this. All kinds of passions were shaking the blade.

At the same time, the blade possessed a strange restlessness.

An uncomfortable feeling that you are not where you should be. The grief of not having your half-body near you.

It is strange to use such a word for a sword, but I guess you could call it suspicious behavior. All sorts of emotions such as rage, grief, agitation, etc. are swirling around inside the sword.

--Oh, my Lord. It's terrible, this. Isn't it terrible?

This is terrible, isn't it?" Baofeng was tempted to complain. Lord Lugis flung himself off his back and threw him to some random person.

And now he is even wielding another blade that is not his own - that white sword.

I can't forgive that. There is no forgiveness. I am the Lord's sword. I couldn't even contain my annoyance at being carried around the waist in the same way. How dare you remove yourself from my waist! The treasured sword shakes its blade in frustration.

I should have appealed to my lord for this. I should have spoken to the Lord in some form. That there was no need to trust anyone but yourself.

It was an unmistakable outrage to him, an irritation that he could not hide. The blade heated up and trembled violently.

At the same time, however, the sword of the Hero Slayer was experiencing another kind of emotion. It's almost like anxiety in human terms. The purple light shines coldly.

--Perhaps the reason you were removed from the waist was because the Lord had decided that you were no longer needed.

It is comforting to be told that you are as good as dead, but is that true?

I am well aware that the Lord longed for the hero who was the owner of the white sword. With that longing, it is no wonder that the Shiro Sword is his weapon of choice.

Baotou had never had any such fears before. He was free to handle the weapon however he wished, and if it was thrown into the armory, it was a casual thing.

If they were thrown away, they could wait for the next hero to come along. In the past, I never lost sight of that.

But not now. Perhaps it's because I've achieved an irreversible assimilation in mind and body. Lately I feel terribly afraid of it. I don't even want to imagine being separated from my Lord.

I can't wait to get rid of this anxiety. I want to get back to my Lord as soon as possible. These are the thoughts that run through my mind.

And yet what is this woman doing? As Vestalinu crawls to the floor, entangled in magic, the sword clicks its blade in frustration.

This is not even a difficulty if you are the master. No, I won't let myself. How dare he expose himself to such an abomination, so easily cornered by his enemy?

Houben thinks. This Vestalinu-Gerua is a man of valor. But he is not a great hero. He will not leave a mark on history.

Therefore, there was no reason for the sword to help him in any way. I am not interested in his predicament either. The only thing swirling in his mind was his master.

If there's one thing I do care about...

The only thing that bothered me was that even though things had come to this point, it seemed that this woman had not given up on anything.

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