Chapter 479 - 101: Mirage
In the center of their loose circle was a figure in a specially made wheelchair.
The man’s hair was almost completely white, plastered sparsely to his scalp. His face was a roadmap of deep wrinkles and age spots. His once-imposing frame was now hunched in the wheelchair, draped in an oversized, plain-colored lab coat.
It was Quentin.
Ten years ago, he had been the Legendary Knight in the prime of his life, full of vigor—much like Blackstone Fortress itself had been twenty years prior. Compared to that image, the old man before him now seemed to have been drained of all his Essence, as decrepit as any common man in his sixties or seventies.
Murphy’s steps faltered for a moment.
The reason Quentin had become like this was not complicated.
After Murphy’s ascension and Elizabeth’s implementation of new policies, the old power structure had been completely shattered.
As a representative of the deeply entrenched old faction within the Templar Order, Quentin had naturally been the first to bear the brunt of the changes.
The in-depth investigation that followed uncovered a shocking darkness.
This former hero had, over the long years, used his power and influence to commit a mountain of atrocities.
He had secretly participated in the slave trade, allowed his subordinates to plunder merchant caravans, and even abducted young commoner girls he fancied, only to discard or sell them off after he grew tired of them. Each and every crime was gruesome and bloody, forming a stark contrast to his glorious image as a hero who had bled to defend the people at Blackstone Fortress.
Considering his past military achievements, Murphy had ultimately spared his life.
But while he was spared a death sentence, he could not escape punishment. As a Legendary Knight, Quentin’s body was a valuable research specimen.
He was stripped of all his positions and honors, and would spend the rest of his life in this mountainside workshop, cooperating with various experiments to contribute his final worth to the research of the new era in the name of "atonement."
"Lord Holy Sword!" a researcher was the first to spot the approaching Murphy and hastily bowed in greeting.
The others also stopped their conversations and offered respectful greetings.
Quentin, sitting in his wheelchair, slowly turned his head, his gaze meeting Murphy’s.
His face showed no resentment, no excitement—only a near-numb tranquility.
He cracked a smile, revealing sparse, yellowed teeth. His voice was hoarse and dry:
"Melfield... no, I should call you Murphy now, shouldn’t I? Come to see this old bag of bones?"
Murphy walked up to the wheelchair and stopped, calmly sizing him up. "It seems they’re taking good care of you."
"Good care?" Quentin scoffed, lifting a withered arm that was covered in needle marks and monitoring patches. "Every day, it’s either drawing blood or inserting tubes. Or I’m thrown into one of those humming machines to be scanned over and over... This feeling is much worse than taking hits from Otherworld creatures back at Blackstone Fortress."
A nearby researcher looked uneasy and started to explain, but Murphy stopped him with a slight raise of his hand.
"This is what you deserve," Murphy’s tone was flat, betraying no emotion. "At least you’re still alive."
"Yes, alive..." Quentin repeated softly, his cloudy eyes staring dazedly at the bright lights on the corridor ceiling. "Sometimes I think it would have been better to die back at Blackstone Fortress. At least I would have died a hero, with my name carved on a monument for people to admire."
He paused, then suddenly turned his head to stare intently at Murphy. "Did you know? I wake up every day now and confess to Oriane. I confess everything I’ve done... To be honest, back when I was doing those things, it’s not like I never thought there might be repercussions one day."
Murphy watched him in silence, waiting for him to continue.
But Quentin suddenly grew agitated. His withered hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, veins bulging. "But... but back then, who could have known? When you hold power, when you’re in a high position, surrounded by sycophants and subordinates... You start to think it’s all just how things are supposed to be."
"Those ant-like commoners, that wealth and beauty so easily within reach, those rules you could trample on at will... It’s like drinking, one glass after another. At first, you can still taste it, but later, you just feel numb. You only think it’s not strong enough, that you want something more thrilling."
His voice trailed off, thick with a deep exhaustion. "Ah, people... they get numbed by what’s right in front of them. Power, desire, that illusion of ’I can control everything’... They warm you up slowly, like a pot of water on a stove. It’s like soaking in a hot spring, and by the time you realize the water is boiling, it’s already too late to jump out."
Murphy said coolly, "If you thought there might be repercussions, why did you still do it?"
Quentin seemed stumped by the question. He sat there in a daze, his lips moving but no sound coming out.
The agitation on his face gradually faded, replaced by a look of confusion, remorse, and emptiness.
"...I don’t know." Finally, he shook his head with extreme slowness. "Maybe... it’s like a drunk who knows he’ll have a headache the next day but keeps chugging one glass after another anyway. Back then... it just felt good. Who cared about later?"
He looked up at Murphy again, a light of almost desperate pleading appearing in his clouded eyes. "Murphy, tell me... will Oriane forgive me? This... does this count as atonement?"
The very instant Murphy was about to speak, something changed!
From the depths of Quentin’s eyes, which had only moments ago held pleading and confusion, an intensely blinding light suddenly erupted!
A bone-deep chill shot up Murphy’s spine and straight to the crown of his head!
Murphy reacted on pure instinct!
HUMMM!
A flash of Dark Gold sword light, condensed to its absolute limit, shot out from Murphy’s Dantian and vanished in an instant!
PFFT!
The moment it made contact with the sword light, Quentin’s head—along with everything inside it—silently evaporated.