The next morning.
Bossia, who had cut off the long hair at the back of her neck and put on the golden key again, tried hard to recall what had just happened as she walked down the mountain. How much of it was inevitable? And how much was coincidental? If Kegira's death was a coincidence, then her temporary restoration of her Paladin identity to bless and guide Kegira was inevitable.
However, she did not know where her guidance would lead Kegira.
She was tired, sleepy, with dust that had not been wiped away in her eyes. When the figure of Father Angelo appeared in her vision, she thought it was just a dying tree. The priest's thin body was the trunk, and his outstretched hands were the branches separated on either side of the trunk.
"Praise the Holy Light! Bossia, I finally found you. My feet have started to bleed. Look at you, your hair, your hands! Here, let me help you. Holy Light, this must not be your blood..."
Though unwilling, Bossia had to temporarily hold onto one of Angelo's arms to catch her breath.
"You did well, Bossia. The Archbishop will be proud of you."
She shook off his hand and walked on alone.
"Bossia, can you walk by yourself? Don't force yourself. Are you injured anywhere? Please tell me."
Without turning her head, she said, "I'm sorry, Angelo. I'm not hurt, so I can't grant your wish. I'm not going back. I'm not going back..."
A moment later, she heard hurried footsteps and turned to see Angelo colliding with her. She fell to the ground on her back and saw Angelo draw a dagger and stab towards her shoulder. There was no time to think about what was happening; she grabbed his wrist.
"Let go, Bossia," Angelo said. "For the Archbishop, just let me stab you once, on the shoulder, just once. Or on the leg if you prefer. You need to be injured, or how can you go back? After this achievement, that ungrateful Captain will never let you go..."
In Bossia's eyes appeared a face more hideous than that of a gravedigger. It was just a human, a man whose features were in fact handsome, but at this moment, something crucial had been forever stripped from his face.
"The Archbishop needs your light, Bossia. Selfishness is a vice; there should be only virtue in you... Listen to me, let go! I won't stab too deep, trust me."
Though she was exhausted, it was not too difficult to escape from such a man's attack. She kneed him hard in the abdomen. Angelo curled up, clutching his stomach, then received another kick that sent him tumbling onto a slanted rock wall, sliding down towards the edge of a cliff.
Bossia stood up and ran to the cliff edge. Angelo clung desperately to a rock, his body dangling, but he had no strength left to pull himself up. Even though he didn't cry out for help, she still lay down and grabbed his hand.
"Bossia," Angelo said, looking up at her, "return to the embrace of the Holy Light."
It was a strange, unsettling smile.
As soon as he finished speaking, the rock cracked, and Bossia quickly withdrew her hand. Angelo's body quickly disappeared into the valley below. The intermittent sound of wind rose from below.
Bossia knelt for a long time. What had just happened? It was like a nightmare forcibly squeezed into her mind, without reason, offering no time for thought. Her mind was now blank.
She stood up and kicked Angelo's fallen dagger off the cliff. A madman. What drove him to madness? In any case, this madman, clad in high priestly robes and wielding a sacred text, was the first human she had ever killed with her own hands.
At the foot of the mountain, before she could see the broken bridge of Menethil, Bossia stopped. Joining the army, becoming an ordinary soldier, was supposed to free her from the past. But would this really work? She had a name, a number; everything she did in the army would be recorded. As long as they wished, Benedictus and his followers, like the second, third, or fifth Angelo, could find her at any time unless she died in battle. Or disappeared.
She hid herself and didn't reappear until the troops left Menethil. When she sold her armor at a low price in exchange for a civilian ship ticket, she couldn't help but recall her lost set of cathedral Paladin plate armor and didn't deny the irony of it in her heart. However, the sword must stay. On the day of departure, she donned a linen cloak that covered her entire body, like a true wanderer of the Eastern Continent, and boarded the ship.
She remembered Jorgen's advice: marry a miner, or become a troglodyte in Stranglethorn Vale, and you'll surely avoid all trouble. But living as a person without identity isn't so bad, is it? From now on, Jorgen has no way to find her, and she has no way to find Jorgen. But she wasn't really worried: she now understood that some things could only be left to chance.
The ship cut through the waves. Two weeks later, it docked at Theramore.