As Merka had anticipated, someone did enter the cave after a while to check the situation.
As planned, Samael knocked the person out and brought him deep into the cave, leaving Merka, whose appearance had been changed using a backdrop, behind.
"Is this the only person we sent in? What about that bastard Altria?" A man with a hood and a sinister profile stood in front of Merka, leaning against the stone wall like a black wall.
His steel chin, glimmering with a faint light, reflected the sunlight that leaked in, and his pitiful jaw protruded like fangs, as if it wanted to tell its endless bitterness and hatred.
"Sir, he's unconscious," said another man in a robe and hood who approached and checked him briefly.
"No immediate danger to his life," the man added.
"...He wasn't killed? Why?" The leader-like man furrowed his brows and glanced towards the deeper part of the cave.
"Should we pursue?"
"Forget it, it's too late to catch up now."
"Bring him back, let the General hear what he has encountered," said the man referred to as the leader, effortlessly lifting Merka from the ground and slinging him over his back as if carrying a ball of cotton.
Merka remained motionless behind the man.
To make it look real, he had actually knocked himself unconscious.
"Although the Altria family is known for their heightened intelligence."
"But Turing is just a child in the end."
"Just a mere child, how could he possibly survive between ferocious beasts and his companions' attacks?... Today, we must avenge our past shame."
--------------------------------------------------
The sky gradually darkened.
At the point where the water and the sky met, a tantalizing shade of duck egg blue thoroughly soaked into the cotton clouds on the horizon.
The Festival of Fireworks was approaching once again.
Erisburg and its outskirts, Crotto, were brimming with excitement, the whizzing sounds and faint smell of gunpowder hidden within the passage of time, waiting for the fervor of the people to reveal them—as it happened every year.
On a distant mountain peak, the billowing clouds seemed to resemble flowing white skirts, partially revealed by a pointed church on top of the mountain.
Mammon sat amidst the cluster of tiles on the roof of the church tower, one hand lightly gripping a floating sheet of paper, the other holding a quill dipped in ink, shaking the pen shaft silently.
"Hidden deep in the clouds... the sorrowful goose arrives to bid farewell."
"A farewell letter..."
Mammon looked at her unfinished farewell letter and gently furrowed her brows.
For some reason, Mammon had thought that she would at least feel a hint of regret about her impending death.
But as the time drew nearer, she became increasingly calm.
The constantly shifting and meandering clouds carried away the remaining traces of her worries and anxieties.
Compared to the grief of the dying, a faint sense of poetry slowly unfolded in Mammon's chest.
What exactly is death?
Does it represent losing everything?
But when I delve deep into its origins, there is nothing at all.
All I have is...
Just...
Only...
I have no foundation for false memories.
Yes, who can distinguish what is true and what is false?
Oedipus changed memories, how much, I can never know.
Even now, my actions could still be part of her plan.
The only clarity...
Only Turing cannot be fake.
How could she be fake?
She is so pure, so endearing.
With no pretenses, always persevering, loyal to others.
Such a beautiful treasure.
How can a person like Oedipus imagine her?
Yes, based on who she is...
How can she be Turing's mother?
Mammon felt a pang in her chest, trying to soothe the pain of her own unwillingness.
Such actions often made her mistakenly believe that she was human.
Truly...
Hard to reconcile.
Mammon thought sadly.
As Mammon reminisced about the sweet and bitter days gone by, suddenly, a sparkling screen appeared before her eyes.
Mammon's eyes emitted a faint light, as the blue electronic font accompanied by the sound of keystrokes reflected.
【Mammon, how is it over there?】
In Mammon's eyes, a chat box-like interface displayed text.
The blue font was enclosed in square brackets and sent over.
The sender's ID was Samael.
【Oedipus didn't notice me.】
With a thought, Mammon typed a reply.
Mammon nodded slightly, and her hand made a downward pressing gesture.
The clouds suddenly seemed like obedient subjects, bowing their heads and receding.
The scattered clouds cleared Mammon's line of sight, revealing the mountains and Erisburg in front of her like a chessboard.
【Merka was right.】
【Oedipus may have noticed that I'm not in the castle.】
【But she can't find me.】
【Even if she does, what can she do? After all, I'm already on the brink of death. The barefoot are not afraid of those wearing shoes.】
【As for you... you shouldn't have any problems.】
Mammon seemed to remember something from the past.
That sweet smile appeared on her lips, a perfect match for her cute face.
【If I die, she won't have the heart to harm you anymore.】
"Maria is going to make a big move soon."
"A great battle is approaching, and Oedipus needs more people."
Mammon's peach-colored hair fluttered in the wind as she brushed aside the strands obstructing her view, gazing into the distance towards Erisburg.
For a moment, a grand explosion of sparks resounded.
Like a starting gun, countless dazzling flashes flew into the sky, dyeing the originally reddish dusk into a magnificent golden color.
Angry soldiers, swarming swallows, moths drawn to the flame - both tangible and intangible paintings were outlined in the sky with golden arcs.
The tepid, hazy fireworks really seem like shooting stars flying backwards - beautiful yet fleeting, and it's so sad.
It makes one wonder if beneath every extinguished spark lies a sincere wish, and within every falling meteor hides the whisper of a farewell.
Mammon's withered heart suddenly seems to have flowed through something, becoming warm.
She finds herself not wanting to die anymore.
Perhaps this is how a true human should feel at a time like this, she thinks.
[You... You shouldn't act rashly. Didn't you promise to tell Merka the secret? If that's the case, at least keep yourself alive until then.]
Samael may have sensed a bit of resignation in Mammon's words and quickly reminded her.
[You really should come and see the fireworks here.]
Without responding to Samael's words, Mammon fell silent for a moment and typed in the chat box.
[What's so special about fireworks? Don't we have them every year?]
Samael asked, puzzled.
[They're the same every year, yet they're different every year.]
Mammon lightly lifted her fingertips, allowing the unfinished farewell letter to float in the shimmering air.
