Chapter 587 - 32: Alive

Chapter 587: Chapter 32: Alive

He was the one who had saved her from Anvil.

He was the one who had made Rodrick bow and scrape.

He was the one who had given her and Lina clean clothes to wear, hot food to eat, and a clean room to sleep in.

He was her only living, breathing, real protector she could cling to.

’What would happen if I defied him?’

Martha didn’t dare to imagine.

But she knew it would be terrifying.

The gang members trembling on their knees were a testament to that.

Anvil, punished to stand guard over the sewers, was a testament to that.

And what about her and Lina?

They had nothing. They *were* nothing.

If he became displeased, a single careless word from him would send them tumbling back into the abyss.

An abyss even deeper than before.

Because the people who had once treated them with courtesy would instantly turn on them.

Because those trembling thugs would vent all their resentment and anger on them.

Martha had seen it happen far too many times.

In this place, a protector was everything.

With a protector, you could survive.

Without one, you were just mud for everyone to trample on.

And now, her only protector was the man standing before her.

It was him.

Only him.

But this man was desecrating her faith.

He was negating the sole purpose she had lived for over twenty years.

He was telling her that everything she believed in was a lie.

According to the Holy Scripture, such blasphemous words were a one-way ticket to Hell after death.

Martha didn’t know what Hell was like.

But she had heard the Priest describe it as a place ten thousand times more terrifying than the world of the living.

It was a place of unquenchable flames, unending torment, and inescapable suffering.

Those who committed evil in the mortal world would go to Hell.

Those who did not believe in Him would also go to Hell.

And those who blasphemed Him would most certainly go to Hell.

’This man... Will he go to Hell?’

The moment the thought surfaced, Martha shivered violently and desperately forced it down.

’I can’t think about it.’

’I absolutely can’t.’

’He is my protector.’

’He saved us.’

’He is good to us.’

’He...’

’He is a blasphemer.’

But if she defied him, death would likely be swift.

Martha had seen too much death.

Death by starvation, by sickness, by beatings, by being devoured by nightmares, by being taken away by the "collectors."

In this district, death was the most ordinary of things.

Every day, corpses washed out of the sewers. Every day, new drifters took their places.

She had seen far too much death.

She wasn’t afraid to die.

But she was afraid for Lina.

She was only five years old.

She hadn’t had a chance to truly live.

She shouldn’t have to die in a place like this, this stinking gutter.

She shouldn’t have to vanish without a trace, like a piece of discarded trash.

Martha raised her head to look at Lina.

The little girl was still standing there, her small frame looking exceptionally fragile in the sunlight.

She had stopped crying. That was normal; no one can cry forever. People adapt. When your tears run dry, you simply stop.

She was just clinging to the corner of her mother’s clothes, her eyes filled with fear and confusion.

She was scared.

She was scared her mother was angry.

She was scared of the man in black.

She was scared of the suffocating silence in the air.

But she didn’t know what she should truly be afraid of.

Tears welled in Martha’s eyes again.

She suddenly remembered something from long ago.

It was when Lina had just learned to walk. They were living in an even more dilapidated hovel.

One night, rain leaked through the roof. Lina was so cold she turned purple, and a high fever took hold.

Martha held her and ran through the rain all night, knocking on every door that might open, begging every person who might help.

No one opened their door.

No one helped.

In the end, it was an old drifter who gave her a Nightmare Pill.

He said to crush it up and feed it to her, that it would break the fever.

Martha knew what it was.

It was the kind of thing that got you addicted, that caused Nightmare Transformation, that turned you into a monster.

But she gave it to her anyway.

Because Lina was dying.

She would rather see her become a monster than see her die.

That night, holding Lina, she knelt in the rain and prayed again and again.

"Oh, Savior, I beg you, please save my daughter."

"Please, let her live."

"I’ll do anything."

"I’ll go to Hell."

"Just let her live."

And Lina survived.

Martha had always believed the Savior had heard her prayers.

But now, the man standing before her said the Savior didn’t exist.

’Then how did Lina survive?’

’Was it luck?’

’Was it the old drifter’s Nightmare Pill?’

’Or...’

’...was it the man standing right here?’

’No.’

’He wasn’t there then.’

’He hadn’t appeared yet.’

’So how did Lina survive?’

Martha didn’t know.

She truly didn’t know.

She only knew that if the Savior didn’t exist, then every prayer she had offered, every hardship she had endured, and every hope she had clung to over the years would be meaningless.

But if this man didn’t exist, she and Lina would be dead today.

’No.’

’This man exists.’

’He’s right here in front of me.’

’He just saved us.’

’He let us change our clothes, eat, and rest.’

’He said we don’t have to kneel when we speak.’

’He said we don’t have to bow our heads.’

’He said...’

’He said there has never been a Savior in this world.’

Martha began to cry again. An adult’s tear ducts are always a bit more productive than a child’s, their bodies holding more free-floating water.

The tears slid down her cheeks and dripped onto the gray flagstones, spreading into small, dark patches.

She didn’t wipe them away.

Nor could she have wiped them all away.

She just stared at Murphy, at his pitch-black, bottomless eyes that betrayed no emotion.

Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t make a sound.

She didn’t know what to do.

She truly had no idea.

Lina felt her mother trembling and gripped her hand even tighter.

She looked up at Martha and whispered in her small, childish voice,

"Mama... don’t cry... Mama..."

Martha shuddered at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

She lowered her head, looking at Lina’s worried eyes, at her young face, at the small hand clutching the hem of her clothes.

Suddenly, she crouched down, realizing she was able to.

But she paid it no mind. She just pulled Lina into a tight embrace.

She held her so tightly it was as if she were trying to merge her into her own body.

The hug was tight enough to hurt, but Lina didn’t struggle.

She just reached out a small hand and gently patted her mother’s back, just as her mother usually did for her.

"Don’t cry, Mama... don’t cry..."

Martha buried her face in her daughter’s thin shoulder, her body shaking violently.

Her tears soaked the collar of Lina’s dress.

A long, long time passed.

Only then did she slowly, so very slowly, raise her head.

She didn’t look at Murphy.

She didn’t dare.

She just kept her head down and spoke in a voice so hoarse it was nearly inaudible.

"Sir... you saved us. You let us live. That’s enough. As for the rest..."

She paused, her voice dropping even lower.

"As for the rest... I don’t dare to think about it. And I can’t understand it."

With that, she hugged Lina tightly and fell silent.

She just remained crouched there, head bowed, her body trembling slightly.

Lina grew quiet, too.

She wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck, pressed her small face against her shoulder, and peeked at Murphy with her big eyes.

For one second.

Two seconds.

Then, she buried her face again and stopped looking.

The midday sun was warm. It shone on the mother and daughter, on Murphy’s long black shirt, and on the few flowering trees with white blossoms in the corner.

Murphy watched them in silence.

He watched Martha huddled on the ground, watched her hands clutching her daughter, watched her shoulders trembling slightly.

He watched as she, though scared to death, still chose to trust him.

He watched as she, though her faith had been shattered, still chose to live.

He watched this mother and daughter struggle in this world, using the only means they had to survive in this mire.

"Surviving?"

Murphy spoke softly, the sound swirling around him, unheard by anyone else.