Chapter 366: Chapter 310: The Gospel Incarnation of the All-Knowing Weaver (Third Update)

Feeling the soft touch at the back of his head, Ash sneered in his heart.

Ha!

What did they take me for?

Sure, it was indeed comfortable to rest on, but did they really think I could be so easily manipulated by a lover?

With such rational thoughts swirling in his mind, Ash felt his integrity soaring. However, he suddenly noticed that both Sonia and Diya were watching him calmly, their eyes devoid of any waves, as if they were staring at a corpse.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“After all, you’ve been in her embrace for nearly thirty seconds, and you’re only noticing us now. We have no choice but to just look at you like this.”

“What, it’s been thirty seconds already? Wasn’t it just three seconds? This must be a ‘Miracle’! Lover, did you secretly cast a ‘Miracle’ on me!? I’ve misjudged you!”

After a second of thought, Denzel confirmed that Ash should be unable to resist her charms. She had him in the palm of her hand. Thus, she turned to Diya and said, “I’ve discovered a piece of information that might affect your answer. In exchange for this information, I hope you will not pursue what I’ve done just now and try your best to help me when I answer–at the very least, don’t hinder me.”

Sonia snorted coldly, but she didn’t say anything, only watching Diya.

Diya blinked decisively and agreed, “Okay.”

Denzel continued briskly, “Ever since my lover (Sonia) confirmed the correct answer with her eyes in the first question, I’ve been paying close attention to the ocular features of the person in the painting. And then I noticed–the Witch’s eyes, they are identical to the woman’s in the painting.”

Eyes?

Diya suddenly looked at the Witch, who looked back at her frankly, her face still wearing an unchanging smile. But at that moment, the smile seemed like spotting a cockroach at the bottom of a bowl, each strand of hair curling up.

She lowered her gaze back to the painting. The Princess in the painting, of course, bore no smile. Her white and gold robe was without a wrinkle, every strand of hair in place, even her eyelashes neatly aligned. The Princess seemed like a perfect woman who could only exist within the painting, each shade of color defining nobility, completely different from the jovial Witch.

However, within her pupils, there was the same… arrogance as the Witch’s.

An arrogance that seemed to regard everything in the world as mere puppets on strings.

…

Perception was being rewoven, rationality reconstructing.

When Diya came to her senses, she found herself in a strange place, with everyone else gone.

This was a room at the top of a Tower, with the night sky outside lulling the City to sleep. Diya, dressed in a silk nightgown, was lying in bed, seemingly about to go to sleep–or perhaps she had just woken up.

As she stepped barefoot on the marble floor, the coolness was so real that she even began to doubt whether the cabin adventure had just been a dream.

From outside the door came the sound of conversation and multiple footsteps. An intense impulse surged within Diya out of nowhere. She tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against the room’s only Super Alloy automatic door, listening to the voices in the corridor:

Middle-aged woman’s voice: “…She goes to sleep at exactly 12 o’clock every day, and then every hour ‘Ode to Joy’ is played for the Armament Ceremony, with no errors arising.”

Pleasant yet cold female voice: “Three.”

The middle-aged woman’s voice became slightly anxious: “Yes… During the Armament Ceremony on the 16th, the Princess suddenly turned over in her bed. That was the biggest incident this month.”

Cold female voice: “Two.”

Middle-aged woman’s voice: “On the 23rd, the Princess said she wanted to eat red velvet cake, and I had the kitchen prepare one… I’m sorry, it was all my fault.”

Cold female voice: “One.”

After a brief silence, the middle-aged woman suddenly wailed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just don’t understand why we need to confine the Princess like this, why we need to…”

“That’s why I secretly inquired of the Gospel Book what the Armament Ceremony is, I’m sorry, I thought your Highness wanted to make the Princess…”

“After all, there are rumors in the palace that Your Majesty remains eternally young because…”

“I really do like the Princess. I just didn’t want… But now I’ve come to fully understand Your Majesty’s difficult decision. I completely get it. The Princess will certainly appreciate your training, as she will inherit the glory of Yisu at the Weaving Festival and become an Armored Saint once again–”

All sounds ceased abruptly.

The world grew so quiet that only the heartbeat of the first person remained.

Diya didn’t understand why she was getting increasingly nervous, every hair on her body seeming to tremble.

Tap.

Suddenly, footsteps were heard outside the door.

The number of footsteps.

Just one person.

…

“Hey.”

The Witch’s voice pulled her from the Tower back to the wooden hut: “What is your answer?”

The voices in her mind exploded in an instant. Diya realized that the voices of the inhabitants in her mind had always been quiet in the Tower. It now appeared that their voices hadn’t become more sensible but had been blocked by some force, only erupting now.

The strong emotional waves of her sisters had breached Diya’s rational defenses. She didn’t have the strength to even bite Ash, only managing to muster her last bit of energy to say, “It’s the third option…”

Having said that, she fainted directly into Sonia’s arms, passing out on the spot.

“Don’t worry.” The Witch curbed Ash and the others’ rough attempts to awaken her: “For her, this is a normal spiritual fluctuation. She’ll be fine after some rest. If you’re still worried, just throw her out of the hut, and she’ll return to normal once she gets her memory back.”

“The treasure bound to this question is… never mind, you’ve already passed out.”

The Witch seemed to lose interest as well, flicking two streams of light toward Diya, then moving to sit next to the Sword Maiden. However, the Sword Maiden seemed to disdain her company, promptly shifting over a space, while the Witch followed closely behind.

While the two Phantoms tangled with each other, the Empress picked up a sketchbook from the table: “So, the next question is yours…”

“And his first.”

Out of nowhere, the Observer had already moved his favorite chair close to the dining table.

Surprised, the Empress looked at him: “Do you wish to pose a question together with me?”

“Is there a problem?” the Observer countered, “Your question just happens to be the same as mine…”

Impossible!

Ash and Denzel had never seen each other’s faces before entering the hut; how could they possibly have the same question!?

Countless words choked in their throats, but the Empress could only nod expressionlessly. As a Phantom, she still had to abide by the mechanisms of a Phantom, not revealing any information about the answer to the question.

“The question is very simple.”

The Observer flipped open the sketchbook, and there in the painting was the masked girl Denzel wished to engage in ‘Shared Life and Shared Death’ with: “You just have to guess who this girl is.”

“First, the Missionary Saint who redeems the people.”

“Second, the secret strategist of the first rulers.”

“Third,” the Observer glanced at Ash and Denzel: “the Gospel incarnation of the All-Knowing Weaver.”