Light.
Turs looked up at the sky, squinting in the blinding light.
He hadn't looked directly at the sun like this in a long time, even though the Sky City had blocked much of the light.
"Ah, hehe..."
The warm feeling on his skin felt somewhat unfamiliar, and the gentle breeze lifted his spirits considerably.
Where do you want to go?
With limited time, Turs didn't have time to visit every place, so he could only choose the places he most wanted to go.
Where do you most want to go?
That's a really good question.
After a brief moment of thought, Tulls suggested an unexpected location:
"Then let's go to the hospital."
Hospital?
"Are you sure you just got out of bed?"
What do you need to do at the hospital?
"Nothing much? I just suddenly felt like going for a walk."
Seeing his unwavering resolve, Alice lost any reason to dissuade him.
She was merely Turs's companion on the final leg of his journey and had no right to interfere.
"Thank you for your understanding. There's one more thing. Could you please hide me and your figure? I don't want to disturb their rest."
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"OK."
Since so many things have already been promised, a few more exceptions won't hurt.
The scenery around them flashed by, and the two found themselves in a corner of Sky City, where several rows of houses were being used as hospitals.
Although it's called a hospital, it's more like a series of sanatoriums. There's no smell of blood, the air is clear, but there's a heavy sense of death about it.
The deathly aura did not come from the building, but from the wounded people living in it.
These sanatoriums were places where wounded soldiers who had suffered severe injuries, including disability or more serious injuries, lived on the battlefield.
The Prophet Society was indeed advancing triumphantly, but were all of them like gods descended from heaven?
These are the guys who, after repeated battles, could no longer catch up and eventually had no choice but to accept being persuaded to leave.
To others, these people are heroes who escaped death and deserve preferential treatment.
And what about themselves?
These people dream of returning to their companions and following them forward, ever forward.
When they wake up from their dreams and see the bleak reality, the stark contrast will gradually demoralize them.
Alice led Tulls through the houses, the walls disappearing before her as she saw the interiors of each house.
If Alice wanted to, nothing in this city could be kept from her; it's just that she usually chose not to observe or accept that information.
But after she accompanied Tulls on a careful examination, her expression, hidden behind the crystal, became somewhat out of control.
She wanted to sigh.
This is the darkness behind the light of the Prophets, an indelible scar.
This is true even when the prophet is not present; death and injury have always occurred.
What bothered her most was that none of these people blamed the prophet; instead, they vented their resentment on the gods and that hateful fate.
Even though they had fallen to such a pitiful state, even though they had lost everything they once had and their will had become despondent, their beliefs remained unchanged.
It's truly regrettable.
Unlike the sentimental Alice, Tulls's expression was serious as he carefully examined each face.
There was sadness in his eyes, but even more so, pride.
Be proud of these people's will, and applaud their beliefs!
But when they passed a room, Tulls's expression underwent a truly dramatic change.
It was a figure that was short in stature but had very large feet.
Habaron, known as the first scout most trusted by the prophet!
However, unlike ten years ago, he can no longer pave the way for the prophet.
A blindfold was put on his left eye, his right leg was cut off below the knee and replaced with a wooden leg, and his left hand disappeared from the wrist and was fitted with a wooden hook.
His face, covered with a thick beard, looked somewhat rugged, and his eyes shimmered with a fine bloodshot glint. Several empty wooden buckets lay overturned at his feet.
"…………"
He looked utterly defeated and dejected. After seeing Habaron's expression, Turs sighed deeply.
"Just as I thought, you really are..."
Ten years later, the only things that remained unchanged about Habaron, besides his short stature, were his unique characteristics.
That trait is often referred to as "blind optimism".
He had tied a four-stringed instrument to his chest with a bed sheet, and his right hand suddenly swept across his chest.
Clang!
Raising his hoarse voice, Habaron sang loudly towards the window:
"I am a fierce and free-spirited pirate!"
"Oh ho ho—"
Clang!
"A lifetime spent sailing the seas for treasure!"
"Oh ho ho—"
clank!
"Join me in praising the great Prophet!!!"
"Oh ho ho—"
Clang! Clang! Clang!
...
Why should I worry about him?
"Habaron...you, hehehe."
Whether it's the thirteen-line poem that only conveys emotion but lacks technique, or this pirate song that sounds like ghosts howling and wolves wailing.
"You really have absolutely no talent in art."
As Tulls chuckled, Alice suddenly turned her head to look in another direction.
She heard two slightly different sounds...
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