franphil Chapter 236 Straw? No, it's weeds.
Chapter 236 Straw? No, it's weeds.
Chapter 236 Straw? No, it's weeds.
This is light.
A sacred and warm light illuminated Backlund, which was shrouded in a mist.
On the streets and inside houses, people who were coughing felt much better after being exposed to the sunlight.
In an apartment in the East District, blankets lay scattered on the floor, and old Kohler, wearing a mask, coughed with difficulty.
He cursed the weather in Backlund inwardly. If it weren't for the lack of work in the countryside, he would have loved to move back to his cottage, tend to the rented land belonging to the nobility, and deal with those greedy rent collectors. He would never want to come to this bustling yet filthy city again.
However, headaches, fever, chest tightness, and throat discomfort were constantly eroding his consciousness... Damn it, these awful things... Old Kohler endured the headache and nausea, feeling short of breath at the thought of throwing all his savings into the hospital.
But he soon lost that concern. Perhaps it was the thick phlegm blocking his throat and the sharp pain in his lungs that made him realize that death might come soon. In that instant, he seemed to see a cottage in the countryside, golden fields and lush green woods.
He reached out with trembling hands and took a bite of the expensive smoked ham he had bought at great expense. It had been the culmination of all his New Year's expectations, and he had made a decision to savor each slice of ham with bread. But now, he mechanically bit into the ham meat, which still had a few bits of white showing through.
My senses were already somewhat blurred, and my chewing was particularly weak. I couldn't taste anything from the long-awaited ham, whether it was meaty, salty, or anything that could be called delicious. All I could perceive was bitterness and pain.
At least, I got to taste my "New Year's gift".
Heh, when I die, I wonder which rats will benefit from my ham and savings.
He couldn't understand why, despite carefully wearing a mask and reducing the number of times he went out, he, who was healthy, would suddenly contract the disease. He thought of his wife and children who had died from the plague, and of his neighbors who had died in the factory for various reasons.
I was reminded of the grumbling of a drunkard in a tavern.
"People like us are like straw in the field; we'll fall down when the wind blows, or even without wind, we might fall down on our own."
In the end, old Kohler did not receive the wind, but instead received the sunshine that illuminated the earth.
Golden light shone into the oppressive rented room, which felt like a coffin. The divine power purified the plague that had infected Old Kohler. The thick phlegm that had been stuck in his throat, like glue, dissipated, and his weak chewing gradually regained its strength. The unique aroma of cured ham spread, and his mouth was no longer filled with only bitterness and despair.
The old man struggled to his feet, looked at the ham he had gnawed out of shape, and instead of feeling joy at surviving, let out a scream of utter heartbreak:
"Damn it! What stupid things have I done! This is several days' worth of food!"
Judging from that powerful scream, the man is indeed as healthy as he has always been proud of.
Similarly, the golden sunlight replaced the crimson moonlight.
Chael tapped her fingers on the windowsill, a slight smile playing on her lips, and uttered a murmur that was hard to tell whether it was a sigh or a sigh of resignation:
"These aren't straws that fall over with a gust of wind; they're clearly weeds growing wildly in the fields, tenaciously taking root and growing no matter how harsh the environment."
"What they need is perhaps just to dispel the thick fog and let in some golden sunlight, and perhaps some rain."
They could live even better.
They may be lowly, fragile, or their lives may be as worthless as those of insects that live only a day.
But as human beings ourselves, how can we not see that silent perseverance and strength?
Shael could sense that the number of victims dropped rapidly after the Royal Family of Rune used that Level 0 seal of the Solar Path.
By the time the somewhat slow-witted church of storms reacted and gathered into a terrifying hurricane, the people affected by the smog were in better condition.
The Sea King in Sequence 3 is still very powerful.
The whooshing sound of the wind was like a typhoon passing through, blowing away the accumulated fog and quickly fading the dense dark yellow and iron black.
The smoke from the eastern district and factory area thinned out, losing its medium for transmission, thus naturally affecting the spread of pollution.
Boom! Boom!
Lightning flashed, thunder roared, and torrential rain began to wash the earth.
Chael opened the window, looked at the torrential rain washing away the filth outside, and shook his head somewhat boredly.
"Isn't this something that can be done?"
"Since it's visible, wouldn't it be better to blow away this long-accumulated smog a while earlier?"
"Doesn't a pale yellow city look disgusting?"
Chael was reluctant to comment on the saint who guarded the Holy Wind Cathedral.
Where's your arrogance at sea? You're just as capable on land, aren't you?
"Heh, how could those people have thought of such a thing?"
"The Church of Storms never thought of this, and how could it have imagined it?"
Panatia, the "Witch of Despair," dressed in a plain white robe, appeared in the room and made no attempt to hide her sarcasm.
"Faced with such a dense fog, without proper protection, the middle class and the wealthy are just lambs to the slaughter. It's a pity we have to cooperate with the royal family's actions; otherwise, if the smog had spread any longer, I would have heard the desperate cries of those fat pigs."
Panatia licked her lips with a hint of ecstasy as she spoke, clearly having taken advantage of the heavy smog on her way here to make a few extra bucks.
Perhaps... in the eyes of the Witch's Church, the fortunes accumulated by those wealthy men were simply for their benefit.
Since Triss had no chance to escape, did the "Mother of Heaven" simply not appear?
Chael glanced at Panatia, who was still lively and energetic, and hadn't been punished by being locked up in a dark room. She thought to herself that the Goddess of the Night was indeed not so idle.
To interfere in this human farce.
"What are you doing...?"
Panadia looked at Triss, who was standing in the corner, dressed in a maid's dress, and remained silent. She wondered if the witch in front of her was an imposter.
What about that somewhat impetuous, restless witch of pleasure?
Who is this well-behaved and obedient maid?
"How were you trained?"
This demigod, who had been "tortured" by his seniors and was also keen on "torturing" newcomers, became somewhat interested.
As for... the fact that Triss is actually a treasure of the Witch Church and a vessel for the Primordial Demon Goddess was selectively ignored by Panadia.
The person is still perfectly fine, without losing a single piece of flesh.
"She is quite self-aware."
"Triss, Marquis Black Tea."
Chael offered no explanation.