"Be careful, old man," Elysia said, handing back the iron bowl. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me..."
"It's alright, it's alright. Thank you, little girl," the vagrant sighed. "Ah... getting old. I can barely walk straight anymore."
After the hunched-over vagrant shuffled away, Carolina rushed over, stammering, "E-Elysia? Sister Ely? You... him... this..."
In the eyes of most White Eagle citizens, vagrants were little more than social parasites. Most people's first instinct was to avoid them like the plague. Who would even think of offering help? You'd be lucky if they didn't mutter about bad luck.
"I simply saw someone who needed help and lent a hand," Elysia said with a gentle smile. "It's all taken care of now. Shall we continue on our way?"
"But... Sister Ely, your sleeve!"
Only then did Elysia notice a small, dark stain on her right sleeve. It looked like spilled soy sauce, a conspicuous mark against the fabric.
The stain must have happened when Elysia helped the homeless man earlier, when he rubbed against her clothes.
Carolina looked slightly anxious. In her memory, Elysia had always been impeccably groomed and deeply concerned with her appearance. Surely someone like that would be furious if someone else soiled her beautiful clothes?
But Elysia simply looked slightly troubled. "Hmm, this is a bit of a nuisance. No matter, I'll just change when we reach the White Tower. Luckily, I have a spare outfit with me."
She showed no anger at all.
After a moment of hesitation, Carolina said, "There are so many homeless people like that in this country, Sister Ely. You can't possibly help them all..."
"I never intended to help everyone," Elysia replied. "But if someone crosses my path, if I see them and can help, it's better to lend a hand."
As she spoke, she suddenly remembered an advertising slogan from her previous life: "If everyone were willing to offer a little kindness and help those around them, wouldn't the world be a much better place?"
Strictly speaking, Elysia's act of kindness wasn't a deliberate performance of her Elysia persona. Any version of her would have helped in a similar situation.
What Elysia didn't know was that after she and Carolina left, the homeless man she had just assisted was now weeping uncontrollably. This man was none other than the elderly gentleman who had left the bar earlier.
No matter how perfect someone appears in a video, it could always be fake or staged. That's why he had staked out near the White Tower. Fortunately, after only three hours of waiting, he spotted Elysia.
His first thought was that she was even more beautiful in person than in the videos. Then came the events that had just transpired.
Who would care about a dirty, old homeless man on White Eagle Road? No one. Yet this lovely pink-haired young girl had come straight to his aid.
"My God..." the old man murmured, "have you truly manifested yourself? Martyr, if you were still alive, you could finally fulfill your heart's desire..."
During his reign, the Martyr created countless perfect Illusionary Realms, immersing countless people within them. But after his death, these illusions shattered, forcing them to return to the hellish reality they had left behind.
This old man, named John, was one of those who had returned.
Unlike the others, who sought the Martyr to escape the pain of losing loved ones and live in illusions where their families still existed, John had endured too many wars and grown weary of the endless conflict. He simply longed for rest.
While others enjoyed illusions filled with family, friends, and carefree bliss, John's Illusionary Realm consisted of nothing but boundless darkness and absolute silence. For him, losing consciousness and slipping into a comfortable slumber was true happiness.
After waking from his shattered illusion upon the Martyr's death, John retreated to bars, numbing himself daily with alcohol to make life's pain more bearable.
Every person needs something to look forward to in life. John was trapped in a state of utter hopelessness, unsure why he continued to exist, yet unwilling to end his life.
This is why religious faith has persisted throughout history. It's undeniable that religion provides many people with the motivation to keep living. In his youth, John himself had been a devout believer, but after enduring immense suffering without any divine intervention, he abandoned his faith.
But what if God were to truly appear before him now?
Though a bit late, it wasn't too late, was it?
As Old John pondered this, he overheard a hushed conversation nearby:
"Was that the pink-haired woman from earlier?"
"No mistake. She's been passing through this intersection for the past two days. We should report back to Lord Wrath when we get back..."
Normally, an elderly man with poor hearing wouldn't be able to make out words spoken twenty or thirty meters away. Yet Old John heard every word with perfect clarity.
Without hesitation, Old John straightened up and strode purposefully toward the two figures, his earlier frailty vanishing completely.
"What are you two... talking about?"
The two men froze, glaring at the filthy vagrant before them, their anger flaring. "Mind your own damn business, you stinking beggar!"
One of them stepped forward and brutally kicked the iron bowl out of Old John's hands, scattering small bills into the air. "Get lost, bum! What's it to you..."
But before the bills could even settle, and before the man could finish his sentence, a gun barrel had materialized against his forehead.
Bang!
Old John didn't waste a word. He pulled the trigger without hesitation, then swiftly shifted his aim.
"You..."
Bang!
For Old John, gunning down two men in broad daylight was as casual as taking a sip of water. His expression remained impassive as he slipped the pistol back into his pocket and turned to leave.
Only a nearby pedestrian, after a brief moment of stunned disbelief, stared at the two corpses on the ground before letting out a scream and fleeing in terror.