The mysterious silver crown.
On the day of the celebration, when Eve saw the crown, she felt sothing was off. From an ornantal perspective, its workmanship was extrely rough, practically a craft disaster, and no matter how she thought about it, Lorenzo didn’t seem like soone who would collect decorations.
A gift for giving away? That didn’t seem right either. Lorenzo was poor, but not to the extent of giving such things. Could soone have given it to Lorenzo? Unlikely, because anyone who really knew Lorenzo would give him knives and swords, or at least a bottle of beer.
Its existence was too abrupt and strange, but at that ti, her doubts were dissipated by the joy of the mont. Seeing that Lorenzo didn’t want to say much, Eve didn’t ask more until now, when she saw it again.
"Thief?"
Eve looked at the woman unfavorably. In her view, the crown on the woman’s head belonged to Lorenzo. She had no idea where the woman dug it up from, and actually had the audacity to wear it on her head.
No, Eve couldn’t rember the details of the crown, but she rembered that Lorenzo’s crown wasn’t that worn out. Its surface was shiny, like a mirror, whereas the crown on the woman’s head was full of scratches, with dirt in the crevices, looking like it had been worn for a long ti and endured many hardships with the woman.
"Two crowns... did you give the one to Lorenzo?"
Eve realized this point. Lorenzo’s crown originated from this woman before her. Perhaps she had underestimated Lorenzo; outside of Old Dunling, he did have so people he could count as friends.
"So Lorenzo received the crown?"
The woman also cald down. Once she heard the news from Eve’s mouth, she seed much more at ease and sighed deeply.
"Yes, he received it. So who exactly are you?"
Eve slightly reduced her hostility towards the woman but hadn’t completely let her guard down.
She still rembered Lorenzo’s complex web of relationships, where friends might turn into enemies in the next mont. She rembered Lawrence, the great enemy, and couldn’t imagine how such a madman had once been Lorenzo’s ntor. One would expect so storyline of respecting the teacher and his teachings, but instead, the two t and imdiately stabbed each other as a gesture of friendliness.
Watson remained silent, staring at Eve, contemplating sothing.
During her days traveling with Lorenzo, Watson was well aware of what kind of girl Eve was—a heart yearning for danger concealed beneath a mortal’s body, like a moth drawn to a fla. But she wasn’t chasing after light; she was yearning for the fleeting warmth of brushing past the fire.
Watson could not divulge anything she knew, not a single word. If Eve were to find out, she too would be placed on the Silencer’s blacklist. To protect Eve, Watson could only maintain absolute silence, preventing any information that could lead to danger from leaking out.
"You don’t need to know. Just tell where he is."
Watson said slowly.
"You say nothing, how am I supposed to trust you?"
Eve gripped the folding blade, looking at Watson with ill intention.
Watson felt a headache for a mont. She glanced at Eve, then at the scene outside the door, sunlight falling as people ca and went on the streets.
Her face showed so bitterness, revealing a helpless smile.
"Let rest for a mont first."
Without caring about Eve’s reaction, Watson said these words and then tilted her head back, her eyes confusedly looking at the ceiling.
Recollecting the recent experiences, it seed she could publish a book. Watson had already thought of the title: "Watson’s Drifting Story."
Thinking of this, Watson herself felt it was a bit far-fetched. Maybe being around Lorenzo for too long, she was sowhat influenced. Her indifferent self had also beco sowhat neurotic.
Ever since being chased by the Watcher, also known as the Silencer, Watson’s journey had been fraught with difficulties. She forcibly made her way from the Holy Evangelical Pope Kingdom to Old Dunling, encountering several ambushes along the way, but managed to get through them unscathed. When, exhausted, she reached the office, she found Lorenzo not at ho. Judging by the state of the house, he should have been gone for several days.
At that mont, Watson felt a rather chaotic sensation, feeling like a miserable postman who had finally arrived here after countless hardships, only to find the recipient had moved.
She hadn’t figured out what to do next. Her will was trapped in this body, which also needed food and rest. After a simple respite, she lay down on Lorenzo’s bed to sleep.
Then ca the present mont, with Eve holding the folding blade, confronting her.
Watson wanted to say sothing but couldn’t get anything out.
She had so understanding of the old Pope’s suffering now.
The old Pope had learned the cursed knowledge. To protect more people, he had to remain silent, unable to respond to any inquiries, only witnessing their confusion and anger until they too embarked on the sa path of seeking knowledge, then perished.
This was the reason the old Pope never revealed the secret to the new Pope. If he spoke, everything might beco worse. If he stayed silent, only he would suffer the pain and despair, and that would be enough.
Watson understood a bit of the old Pope’s feelings now. She and Eve were so similar to the old Pope and the new Pope at that ti.
Watson also realized the confusion and collapse the new Pope felt at that ti. He thought the old Pope was a vicious traitor who betrayed the Church. But in fact, he was a Secret Keeper who bore the fear alone, always trying to continue the existence of the Evangelical Church.
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