0129 Escaping Goodbye

Waking from a state of lethargic darkness, Moumou shielded her eyes from the intensifying sunlight streaming through the window. The world blurred with her movement, yet the sounds from outside pierced through, crystal clear.

The insistent urging of the Beast-man, the weary surrender of Andy and the veteran General Girod, and the fanatical roars of the beasts supporting Lancelot—these three cacophonous sounds combined to trigger a splitting headache in the already disoriented woman. She longed to drop a large-scale atomic bomb on the plaza of Ecasia just to end it all, but considering the safety of the soldiers gathered there, she could only clench her fists and hold back.

However, when she mustered her strength to crawl to the window and saw Lance holding the scepter with an expression of supreme dominion, the last thread of her sanity finally snapped under the mounting pressure of sheer irritation.

"You plotted against me, against Huanluo, against Ecasia. I suppose I can blame my own stupidity, my short-sightedness, my blindness, and my sheer lack of exposure to men for trusting you. But did you really have to manipulate these defeated soldiers as well? Was it truly necessary to force them onto the largest plaza in Ecasia, facing the direction of the White Tower Kingdom’s palace, just to brandish that unsightly black scepter of yours? Don’t you know how much weight their nation and royal authority hold in their hearts?"

*Snap!*

Moumou felt as if her "plateau of reason" was being trampled by a stampede of alpacas, each sporting Lancelot’s face. Their rhythmic hoofbeats were neither heralds of return nor passing travelers; they were a specialized tour group visiting her, the pathetic and brainless fool. The dust kicked up by these alpacas formed a natural curtain in her mind, repeatedly projecting past scenes of her time with Lance. In the background, the virtual faces of spectators—acquaintances, strangers, and those she had merely brushed shoulders with—all wore arrogant, mocking smiles. Their deafening laughter grew louder, goading her: "Go ahead, lose your mind!"

*Crack.* Veins bulged on Moumou’s hand. A surge of fury rushed to her head. Her left hand reflexively traced a medium-sized wind-elemental magic circle in the air. The abundant magical energy within her provided the perfect fuel, and the rich, unused wind elements in the atmosphere rushed eagerly into the summoning. Moments later, a pale, medium-sized wind circle materialized under her hand.

Moumou’s gaze locked onto the girl outside—who possessed silver hair and red eyes but was currently striking a Lelouch-esque pose. Her lips curled into a subtle arc. At her command, the magic circle birthed a miniature, swirling vortex. The nearly transparent wind elements spun with rapid, rhythmic precision. Soon, her hair and clothes fluttered in the gale, and pale, swirling currents danced around her like ribbons of success. With a flick of her left hand, the high-speed vortex shot through the window pane, hurtling straight toward Lance.

As the vortex struck, the alpacas in her mind finally quieted. They still bore Lancelot’s face, but they shrank until they were tiny, and the dust they kicked up was no longer dense enough to project memories. Moumou, holding a giant broom with a haughty air, emerged from the side and grinned viciously at the diminishing Lancelot-alpacas.

"Die, you liar!"

*Boom!* A gust of wind, carrying the essence of alpacas, swept through her mind, leaving a single, sparkling star in the distance.

Gazing through the pale, swirling wind one last time, Moumou glared at Lancelot. Her palm remained clenched, veins throbbing, and her eyes were still red with rage. Yet, the trajectory of the vortex already began to shift slightly. Gritting her teeth, she reignited the magic circle in the air. The white wind currents surrounding her grew as lush as seaweed, and with a graceful, decisive turn, she abandoned the room that was about to be discarded.

*That’s right, I am the legendary scene-transition sprite.*

The city was gone, but the people survived.

Accelerated by the wind, Moumou escaped the room before the beasts could strike. Lancelot seemed to honor the surrender agreement made with General Girod, refraining from slaughtering the defeated soldiers still within Ecasia, merely stipulating that they would be permitted to enter the Qilin Pass Gorge in a week.

Ecasia, contested for hundreds of years, had finally fallen into the hands of the beasts.

Moumou, like all those who fled, was currently recuperating at Qilin Pass Gorge. Unlike the others, however, she was denied a tent and stripped of her freedom of movement. As the friend of a traitor, she had been under house arrest in Huanluo’s infirmary for a full week. This soft confinement was only achieved through the persistent lobbying of Huanluo and Sangqing; otherwise, she would surely have been thrown into a prison or an interrogation room.

Today was no different. At dawn, Moumou was jolted awake by the footsteps of the maids coming to change Huanluo’s dressings. These were the same maids who had served Huanluo before. Having received Moumou’s help, they did not treat her with coldness, yet the former warmth was gone. Every encounter was as awkward as meeting a misunderstood first love after marriage. Moumou would stare at the sky, and the maids would stare at the floor, both sides terrified that a stray interaction might bring disaster upon them.

Huanluo’s physical health was improving, but the psychological trauma caused by her parents and friends had left her in a state of half-consciousness. When the officials of Qilin Pass Gorge tried to take Moumou away, Huanluo’s rare moment of lucidity—where she argued her case with great fervor—had delighted those who worried for her. Yet, once the matter was temporarily resolved, Huanluo had slipped back into her half-waking, half-dreaming state, lying in bed in a state of despair, much like Andy had been after his own trauma.