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In a way, what happened was simple. The angry people expressed their anger, and the one who owed an apology offered one. Those who felt they had no right to comment on the world remained silent, feeling as though they had no right to add their opinion.
“Fuck,” the Assistant Writer muttered.
In front of the drawbridge, the Gray Spider remained kneeling, her forehead pressed against the ground. The Anti-Magic-Tower Alliance followers threw rotten fruit and scraps at her, vomiting out their emotions. A black lump collided with the Gray Spider’s back and slid off.
“Ah.” The Assistant Writer, who had been furrowing her brow, parted her lips. At the end of her gaze, a sharp dagger sliced through the air. “Wait, that—”
However, the dagger made a clear clang mid-flight and bounced away; I had fired aura the size of a go stone, knocking it down. The dagger landed helplessly on the ground, four meters away from the Gray Spider.
Someone in the crowd of thousands clicked their tongue. The Assistant Writer seemed to have heard the sound as well.
She shouted, “You there! What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t stop them.” Mahos’ apostle grabbed the Assistant Writer’s arm to restrain her. “If you stop them, they’ll just get angrier. I’ve dealt with something like this on the battlefield many times. I know from experience.”
The Assistant Writer looked at the apostle, then turned to me. I said nothing. Even before I had shot down the dagger and even after I dropped it, I just stood there with my arms crossed, watching. Though no one else could see it, the Guardian mimicked my posture.
Seeing my lack of response, the Assistant Writer looked back at the apostle. Her glasses slanted up sharply like a frown. “Still, how can one strike someone...
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