70: Chapter 70 The Past of Mother and Daughter

She had been eating as little as possible, but she could not eat any less.

If she lost her strength, she would lose her labor value and be unable to trade work for food; she and her daughter would only die faster.

It was a cold and cruel equation: she had to live, had to have strength, and had to be able to work—only then could she trade for the next bite of food, and only then could Martha have a bite to eat as well.

But it was always just short, always just a little short.

Martha was forever in a state of hunger.

She was so thin that she could barely make a whimper, and when hunger reached its peak, she would lick the rust off the metal walls.

Those orange, powdery rust stains were licked off bit by bit by her tiny tongue and swallowed into her stomach.

She didn't know what it was; she only knew she was hungry, very hungry, and her stomach needed to be filled, or else it would have to fill itself with her own body.

Martha was very sensible.

Her mother always reminded her that she was being watched by evil and must absolutely not go outside.

So, even though she was hungry enough to bite her own arm, she never dared to step a foot outside the room.

She had licked every place in that room her tongue could reach countless times—the walls, the bed legs, the corners of the table; those rusted metal surfaces had long since been licked until they shone and reflected light.

Deeper in the corridor, someone had carved profane symbols on the wall.

Lena could not understand those twisted symbols, but she knew clearly that the appearance of such symbols was often accompanied by the shadow of death.

There had always been such rumors in the Underhive: cults needed sacrifices, and children were the best sacrifices—pure, untainted, and souls that had not yet been completely swallowed by the filth of this world were the most favored by cultists.

She didn't know what those cultists would do after taking the children away, but she knew clearly that those children who were taken away never appeared again.

Every night, she would hold Martha tightly in her arms, using her own body to protect this, her only concern, with her life.

Just when she thought that she and her daughter would eventually head toward a desperate end, Old Fox arrived.

He said that a Skitarii named Gluck had brought Protein Bars with two chimera troop transports and told him to find those who needed them most to collect them.

Lena went.

She was already at the end of her rope and had even prepared to trade her body, as long as it meant Martha could survive.

But the result far exceeded her understanding—there was free water there, and free Protein Bars as well.

Vera suddenly felt as if someone had knocked her on the head, and she was instantly kicked out of the psychic link.

Her face was as pale as paper, her light gray eyes were filled with tears, and her lips trembled uncontrollably.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but only let out a very soft, almost whimpering breathy sound.

Her gaze was fixed firmly on Martha—this little girl who was as chubby as a piglet, this little girl who was rolling her eyes from choking on a Protein Bar, this little girl who had just been baring her little tiger teeth and glaring at them.

She could not connect the round, healthy child before her, who dared to express anger freely in front of strangers, with the tiny figure in the psychic vision who licked rust, was as thin as a kitten, and couldn't even make a sound when crying.

Those two figures were like two transparent film strips, repeatedly overlapping, separating, and overlapping again before her eyes, stinging her heart with a dull pain.

Her lips were still trembling, and there were too many words stuck in her throat.

She wanted to tell Sister Superior Ludmilla what she had just seen; she wanted to tell everyone that this little girl, who was as chubby as a piglet, had once been as thin as a kitten that might stop breathing at any moment; she wanted to tell the whole world that the child who licked rust was still alive, she was actually still alive.

But she couldn't make any sound, couldn't even squeeze out a trace of a weak breath.

Just at this moment—

The surface of the lake moved.

Vera clearly perceived the emotions surging from all directions, like a rushing torrent, gathering endlessly.

That was determination, the hope of rebirth, and a budding longing for the future.

There was an even greater power she had never seen before, deep and solemn, carrying a sincerity of willingness to die, flowing out from the hearts of every ordinary person, overflowing into the air.

They were no longer numb ants under the feet of the nobles, no longer expendable items to be slaughtered at will and without value.

In desperate straits, they straightened their bent spines, and above the ruins, they raised high the spark called faith.

Thousands upon thousands of faint but firm lights gathered into a scalding long river, carrying the resolve of sacrifice and the obsession to protect, pouring without hesitation into that azure lake water.

This was neither blind fanaticism nor ignorant conformity.

But a group of people who had been trampled for a lifetime and oppressed for generations had truly awakened for the first time.

With flesh and blood as a levee, with life as an oath, for the sake of their home, for the sake of hope, and so they would no longer live on their knees, they would rather die than retreat, and would never bow their heads.

Sister Superior Ludmilla also clearly felt this power.

Her mechanical prosthetic limb began to vibrate again; that vibration was like the earth's crust slowly shifting, or like some existence that had been sleeping for tens of thousands of years turning over, surging with an unprecedented, majestic power.

A touch of red slowly bloomed from the azure lake water; it was a hot, solemn, and incomparably sincere red, like an inextinguishable flame, quietly spreading across the lake surface.

"Vera," she heard her own voice, trembling with the feeling of facing something truly great, "what happened?"

Vera did not answer; her gaze crossed over the crowd and landed firmly on one person—Elena.

Elena had been standing at the very back of the crowd, almost not saying a single word throughout the entire time.

The action of hanging the melta cannon back behind her shoulder was her final statement, after which she fell into complete silence.

She was as silent as a cold stone, like a wall isolating everything, like an outsider who had actively detached herself from this confrontation.

But at this moment, she moved, taking steps, walking slowly forward.

The crowd seemed to be led by an invisible force, automatically making way to open a narrow gap, like a blade slicing through a calm water surface.

She walked step by step to the lake side, standing in a position where everyone could see her.

Sister Superior Ludmilla wanted to call out to her, but her throat felt as if it were being tightly choked by something, unable to make a sound, and she could only watch helplessly as she walked toward the lakeshore.

Elena slowly unslung the melta cannon and set it down, then gently took off the heavy nun power armor and placed it on the ground at her feet; she knelt on one knee at the lakeshore.

Her palm reached out toward the water surface, level with the water, hovering quietly in mid-air, as if feeling something.

Then, she spoke.

"Rise."

Only two words.

The voice was not loud, one could even say it was gentle, like someone who had been groping in the darkness for too long, finally touching a wall, hearing a faint sound of breathing from the other side of the wall, and thus cautiously, gently knocking once.

But these two words fell solidly onto the lake surface without dissipating.

They slowly sank down and then slowly floated up, carrying circle after circle of fine ripples.

Circle, circle, and circle again.

The lake surface began to ripple with fine waves, a tremor rising from deep within the center of the lake—that tremor was like countless strings being plucked at the same time, colliding, overlapping, and resonating with each other, spreading layers of echoes in the air.

Elena closed her eyes, tears seeping out from under her tightly shut eyelids, slowly trickling down her cheeks and dripping onto the gravel.

Her lips moved slightly, as if following some sound that only she could hear, yet which could not be translated into language.

The ripples on the lake surface became denser and denser, surging out in layers from the deep center of the lake, still that fine tremor like the resonance of strings, spreading, colliding, and overlapping in circles, finally weaving into the first wave.

The wave gently lapped against the buildings on the shore, and a strange frequency vibrated in the air, even the chests of the people resonated with it, and a certain sleeping corner in the bottom of their hearts was quietly awakened.

The crowd began to stir, their bodies reacting before their brains.

They raised their heads one after another, leaving the nuns behind, their eyes looking in unison toward that changing lake water, something flickering in the depths of their eyes—it was the spark of hope, the light of awakening.