Free Web NovelChapter 443: Chapter 443 Wealthy Neighborhood and Refugees_1
"It seems you and that bitch are quite chummy; she actually came to see you in person. When I, as the ruler, summon a follower, that person would rush over like a rabbit, whether out of worship or fear," the Goddess of Revenge teased Aiden.
"She came mainly because I hadn’t shown my face to her in a while. You deserve some ’credit’ for that; she’s a mind reader, and I didn’t really want her to know about your existence, so I’ve been avoiding contact with her. This aroused her suspicions, which is why she made a special trip here," Aiden said.
"If she wanted to know the answer, it would have been easy to find out once she got here."
"But she chose not to delve deeper, wanting to see what kind of surprise I could prepare for her."
"Just as you said, this fellow really has no sense of crisis," Halo sneered. "Though I wasn’t much better in the past; otherwise, I wouldn’t have had my divine name taken away by a mere mortal being supported."
"To some extent, that’s the privilege of the strong but also the only chance for the weak," Aiden spoke, "As for the mortal who took your divine name, I might have found a clue..."
Then Aiden shared the intelligence he had gleaned from the secret police with Halo.
"This kind of miracle, rewriting reality with spirit, does sound like a voluntary transfer of ’sacrifice’ abilities," Halo assessed. "Coupled with my call for revenge showing he’s indeed in that direction, it appears you lot have pinpointed the direction correctly."
"It only remains to investigate further whether he’s using the cult to seek people. My network is only responsible for investigation, not for risking their lives for me. A direct confrontation is out of the question, but later on, we can use them to limit the cult’s activities..." Aiden began to outline the following arrangements.
Heinz could directly delegate the local secret police or use the Heretic Inquisition to deal with the cult. As long as it could be confirmed that the cult was serving Mister Bloodmantle, there would be no need to worry about what crimes to charge; the secret police were experts at fabricating charges.
But Halo proposed other ideas, "Merely restrict?"
"You have an opinion?"
"Such a mild approach won’t shake his plan. If you’re short of people who will die for you, I have a way. I recall you finding out that all my remaining followers are there, right? Help me contact them. As long as they confirm my identity, they can also become a force for you."
"They’d be your force, not mine. Employing a bunch of terrorists? You can simply say if you want to screw things up completely." Aiden left no room for negotiation, "And by the way, you could also rebuild the Temple of Vengeance in advance. Suggesting such a thing so openly, do I look that stupid to you?"
"Just providing an opportunity for us to use each other more conveniently," Halo said in a tempting tone. "Sounds like your network has some clout locally; surely they could also restrain my people, right? Don’t you want to take a gamble and see?"
"I only push my chips in when it’s needed. The quickest to die at the gambling table are the reckless bettors," Aiden replied.
"That’s exactly why you’re difficult to like," Halo sighed regretfully.
"Difficult for you to like, maybe, which I don’t need," Aiden retorted. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
"But you sure do curry favor with that bitch," Halo sneered. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"Either way, I don’t need you right now, and please refrain from causing trouble in my prison. In a few days, you’ll be back in your cell, whether you choose to feign insanity or play the fool with the other inmates; just try not to stir up trouble." Aiden finished speaking and prepared to leave.
"I’d like cream stew for dinner," Halo suddenly began to place an order.
"I’ll mention it, but I can’t guarantee they’ll have it." Aiden walked away after speaking.
He also had to contact the secret police to investigate Professor Dodge’s family composition; Melissa wouldn’t leave such a clue for no reason.
...
In the Kingdom of Gistas, in the central park square of Sunset City’s Golden Lake District, a wealthy businessman was walking his pet dog.
It was a refreshing evening, with nice weather and a partly cloudy sky that had an appropriate ratio of clouds. The twilight left a glow on the horizon, the breeze across the square was gentle, and the chill of night had not yet arrived.
Because of this, there were more people strolling in the park after dinner than usual, most of them gentlemen and ladies dressed respectably like him, and not a few walking their pets as well.
An old business associate approached from the opposite direction, and the businessman almost instantly recognized each other. He promptly removed his hat to greet, and then they exchanged a few pleasantries.
On his way, he had already encountered two acquaintances.
The Golden Lake District was the most bustling district of Sunset City, with residences near the central square invariably carrying hefty price tags along with numerous large estates. This was what was known as the affluent area, and many of his business acquaintances lived nearby.
After parting ways with his friend, the businessman continued to stroll through the park with an exceptionally good mood.
His good mood ended when he came to a clearing in the park, where an old beggar had claimed a prime spot, randomly extending his hand to passersby while repeating the same begging lines he had murmured all day.
Just by the man’s accent, the businessman knew he was definitely not a local, not to mention his distinctly different racial appearance—a refugee who had fled to Gistas in the recent tide. This was the main reason for the businessman’s sudden souring mood.
He was not without sympathy for these foreigners who had lost their homes. At first, like other people who were overflowed with sympathy, he had donated money when the call for fundraising for the refugees was made. Sometimes, when he came across begging refugees elsewhere, he would occasionally give some spare change.
But as beggars and fundraisers became more numerous and began converging on the wealthy Golden Lake District, like many of his neighbors, he too had become increasingly irritated. Reports of theft and other crimes by refugees in the newspapers were on the rise, and the voices calling for the deportation of these refugees and their expulsion from the city grew louder.
Now, the businessman’s attitude had shifted toward the latter, but he wouldn’t lower himself to drive away the beggar or get someone else to do it—that would be utterly undignified. It was enough to just walk around.
There was a crisp ringing sound in the beggar’s broken iron bowl, another person had generously given him some coins.
"Thank you, kind sir, a good heart will bring you good fortune," the beggar said the phrase skillfully, without lifting his head to glance at the person who had given the alms.
The businessman instinctively frowned and looked over to see who was still as naïve as he used to be, giving money to these insatiable refugees—the more they ate, the worse this city would get, more like a garbage dump.
That look landed on an acquaintance.
A gaunt middle-aged man, so thin he seemed like a ghost, with a mongrel sheepdog following him.
"Mr. Katch?" As their gazes met, he tried to greet.
"Ah, Mr. Bos, what a coincidence," the other man replied with a suitable smile.
At his feet, the sheepdog looked up at its master’s familiar face, without giving a single glance at the other dog the businessman was walking.
