Lynch's Worries

When Lynch appeared outside the gates of the white high tower, his eyes instinctively ignored the flock of girls swarming up to solicit donations. The first thing he saw was Mrs. Nightingale, standing by the entrance and looking up at the sky.

After not seeing her for just a few days, the elderly woman’s complexion had worsened considerably. Visible exhaustion clung to her, and her back was even more hunched. The ongoing disease had clearly overdrawn her energy to a severe degree.

Yet upon catching sight of Lynch, the old woman still offered a kind smile and naturally held out a donation box in front of him.

“Good morning, Sir Levive. How about offering a little something as a celebratory gift for your knighthood?”

???

“Do you have some kind of misunderstanding about what a celebratory gift is?”

Lynch rolled his eyes. Facing this respectable old lady, however, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He pulled out a shilling, and after a moment's thought, was just about to swap it for a penny when the shilling was swiftly snatched from his fingers by the old woman. Her speed was so dazzlingly fast that Lynch almost suspected all that exhaustion she displayed was purely the result of constantly robbing people.

After mourning his departed coin for a brief second, Lynch spoke up. “You've heard about what happened to me, too?”

“There are very few in Rhine City who haven't heard by now, child.” This time, the old woman’s smile was truly gentle. “I heard you all worked very hard yesterday?”

“Uh, do you mean working hard at raking in benefits until our hands went numb? That was indeed quite exhausting.”

“Hahaha, Diana already told me everything this morning. There’s no use trying to hide it. Thank you for what you've done for this world, child.” The old woman patted Lynch’s arm and said with a gentle smile, “If you all feel tired, why not rest for a few more days? There is still enough time.”

Lynch sighed, nodding toward the church. “Another one was just carried in a moment ago. How many fell ill yesterday? Fifty?”

“Not quite that many,” the old woman replied with a wry smile. “Forty-five.”

“And the total? Counting Rhine City alone, it’s already over two hundred, isn't it?”

The old woman fell silent.

“Such young and lovely girls, every single one sporting dark circles under their eyes. And your own state is even worse...” Lynch shook his head, not finishing the sentence. “We didn't do anything wrong, but we still bear a responsibility in this matter. If I went back to rest right now, I doubt I’d even be able to close my eyes. Let’s stick to the plan.”

“Are you still worried about the disease turning into a plague?”

Lynch sighed. Keeping these things bottled up inside his own mind was suffocating. After a moment of thought, he said, “I haven't mentioned this to anyone—I didn't even go into much detail with Diana or Natalie—but talking with you might be good. In truth, I've been targeted and schemed against by the Shadow Alliance for the past two months, which has also given me an exceptional understanding of them. I am almost certain that the members of the Shadow Alliance intend to emulate the great catastrophe at the end of the First Age by triggering a continuous sequence of plague, war, famine, and death, ultimately inducing a world-ending catastrophe.”

The old woman didn't speak, merely listening intently.

“Yesterday’s events, the princess's incident the other day, and even Howard’s death—all of them should be parts of their plan. The goal is to ignite the contradiction between royal authority and civil rights, incite war, and then push that war to the entire world, creating a 'world war.'”

“A ‘world war’? You’ve already coined a name for it?”

“That is a name passed down from the Mythological Era of the First Age,” Lynch replied. “In other words, their plan has already progressed to the war phase. But what about the plague? They firmly believe I have already helped them accomplish the first step—meaning the artillery shell of plague has already been launched, just not yet detonated. The only possibility I can think of is Mordiggian...”

“Hey.” The old woman glanced at the people around them and shot Lynch a stern glare.

“Ahem, well, the matter regarding the King of Ghouls. But you were quite certain this is merely a disease, not a plague.” Lynch hesitated for a second before pressing further. “I'd like to confirm with you once more: can this disease really not turn into a plague? If it becomes contagious, it would be utterly terrifying—transmitted through mere bites and scratches.”

Given Lynch’s current reputation, the old woman dared not dismiss his concerns. After pondering for a long while, watching as two carriages pulled up with frantic roars echoing continuously from within, she finally shook her head.

“I actually told you back then, though you might have overlooked it. It isn't entirely impossible, but the conditions are exceptionally strict—bordering on impossible. The patients I've been waiting for have arrived, so I must tend to them first. If you insist on not resting, then head inside. Diana is waiting for you in there, your other little lover should be arriving soon, and that cultist as well. Close the doors and get started first. Once I finish treating these patients, I will come in to explain everything in detail, and you can judge the possibility for yourself.”

“By yourself? Let me help you,” Lynch said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked at Nightingale’s frail state. “Or have those girls who rob people help out.”

“They still have to rob... to solicit donations.” The old woman glared at him fiercely. “Unlike me, they aren't so idle.”

“Aren't you ‘soliciting donations’ as well?” Lynch curled his lip. “Didn't the princess bring twenty thousand pounds in disaster relief funds? Why are you still shaking people down to the point where even you’re standing out here extorting passersby?”

The old woman showed a subtle smile. “Disaster relief funds?”

“Don't tell me someone is embezzling it.” Lynch’s gaze darkened.

“No, precisely because no one dares to embezzle it. In Lande, everything must go through procedure. That way, nobody makes a mistake, and nobody has to take risks or bear responsibility.”

Hiss... Bureaucratic red tape exists in every world, doesn't it? Lynch couldn't help but make a pained grimace.

“Hahaha, it’s no big deal. The process is already being expedited. We should be able to receive the first batch of relief funds in another three to five days. Don't worry about us; our fundraising is just a matter of habit. It's really not that difficult.”

“Uh, in that case, isn't my shilling...”

“What do you mean, your shilling?” The old woman gave a polite smile. “That is our shilling.”

Hiss, if I weren't afraid you'd flop to the ground and extort me, I’d really hit you.

Watching the old woman’s hunched back, Lynch let out a soft sigh. For the sake of this saint’s dedication alone, he wanted to resolve this crisis as quickly as possible.

Hopefully they would make it in time, so that the painstaking efforts of this true saint would not go in vain.

When Lynch stepped into the reading room of the Church of Suffering, what met his eyes was Miss Diana dressed in a white sister's robe.

The count's daughter sat in a corner, staring intently at the bracelet on her wrist as she organized her armory. Her long eyelashes fluttered gently, and her side profile was as exquisite as a work of art.

The image of her dressed in splendid, elaborate attire from last night still lingered in his mind, yet today she had changed into a simple, distinctly charming holy robe, making it impossible for Lynch to tear his eyes away.

I’m just curious about the design and took a few extra looks, nothing else.

With a dry cough, he dispersed his stray thoughts and caught the young lady's attention. Diana turned her head, biting her lip with a slight smile as she spoke softly, “You’ve arrived so early, Sir Lynch. After all that wine you drank last night, I was worried I wouldn't see you today.”

The moment he saw this girl, for some reason, the gloom weighing on Lynch’s mood vanished instantly. Even the air thick with medicinal smells seemed to turn fresh.

Winking mischievously, Lynch leaned in close to Miss Diana’s ear and whispered, “I’ll let you in on a secret: last night, I was faking it. I caught someone secretly poking my stomach while I was being hauled into the carriage.”

The young noble lady’s face flushed bright red in an instant. Pouting, she glared at the infuriating man. But after maintaining the glare for barely two seconds, she couldn't help bursting into a giggle, biting her red lips as she raised a delicate little fist in threat.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you the real secret.” Checking that there was no one around, Lynch reached into his pocket, retrieved an item, and handed it over. “Take a look at this. It’s ours now.”

The touch of their hands sent a tremor through Lynch’s heart. Miss Diana took hold of the mysterious object, and the moment she accepted it, a crimson, warm glow illuminated the entire reading room.

“Ah, this is...”

Flaming Red Lips.