441: Chapter 438 Another Perspective.

In the coffee shop, Cynthia sat by the window, holding a cup of cold coffee in one hand while scrolling through her phone screen with the other.

"I'm going to Antarctica next," she whispered, her head bowed.

The people at the neighboring tables couldn't understand what she was saying, and no one cared.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure."

She paused, as if listening to someone's response, or perhaps waiting for her own next words.

"I really do want to meet him. I want to know what he's actually like."

Silence again. The sunlight outside the window shone on her silver-white hair, appearing a bit dazzling.

"Though I don't know what the point is. Perhaps I'm just looking for a reason to keep moving forward."

She stopped for a few seconds, her finger swiping across the screen once more.

"I support you."

The voice was as soft as a sigh.

"I will definitely support you. No matter what you do, I won't stop you. I have always been supporting you. Go on, I will protect you."

She placed her phone face down on the table, picked up the cold coffee, and drained it in one gulp.

The game was over.

She stood up, pushed open the coffee shop door, and stepped into the afternoon sunlight.

Cynthia walked down the street at a moderate pace, her mind wandering through idle thoughts.

Maybe join a tour group. But it seemed like she didn't have much money left. She was almost broke.

She thought about it and scanned the surrounding streets. Being abroad, there were always some dark alleys. If she hung around there, someone would surely try to rob her soon. Then she could just rob them back, and she'd have money.

Just as she was thinking this, a figure suddenly blocked her path.

Cynthia stopped and looked up.

It was a strange man, dressed plainly, with a standard, overly enthusiastic smile on his face.

"Young Miss, would you like to join our Cult?"

Cynthia looked at him expressionlessly.

"A Cult?"

The man nodded and began to talk incessantly.

"Yes, yes, yes. Our Cult is very inclusive and loving. We believe that all living beings are one family. No matter where you're from or what you've done in the past, once you join us, we are all brothers and sisters. We advocate peace, no fighting or arguing, unity and kindness, and mutual help. Look at how chaotic the world is, with war and hatred everywhere. We just want to give everyone a warm home, a place where you can make friends with peace of mind. If you come to us, I guarantee you'll feel love and warmth..."

He spoke quite sincerely, even getting a little excited.

After listening, Cynthia replied flatly.

"I'm not religious."

The man was stunned for a moment, but he didn't persist. He simply smiled and took a step back.

"Alright then, Young Miss. Goodbye then." He paused and added, "I felt you were a perfect fit for us the moment I saw you, but if you're unwilling, we won't force you. Goodbye."

Cynthia nodded.

"Goodbye."

The man turned and left, vanishing into the crowd.

Cynthia continued walking. As she passed an alleyway, she caught a glimpse of a small figure—a little girl being pulled along by her parents. She was muttering something, her expression reluctant. The parents were pulling her, seemingly trying to persuade or coax her.

The little girl didn't want to join that Cult.

Cynthia just took a glance and didn't stop, walking right past them.

The little girl was pulled by her parents, step by step, into that church.

The door closed behind them with a dull thud. The light dimmed, and only the candlelight on both sides of the pulpit ahead flickered, casting long shadows across the pews.

There were many people sitting in the church. Men, women, young and old—all sat there quietly, looking up at the person on the pulpit. Their expressions were peaceful, but unnervingly so—as if all emotions had been smoothed away, leaving only a uniform, hollow tranquility.

A person stood on the pulpit, wearing dark robes and a kind smile. The Bishop.

The little girl's parents pressed her down onto a pew and sat down themselves, their eyes fixed on the pulpit.

The Bishop began to speak in a gentle tone, like one used to lull a child to sleep.

"Dear children, today we gather here once again to feel love and beauty." He spread his arms as if embracing everyone. "We are of the same kind, children of this world. The wars, hatred, and pain in history, in the end, are only because our consciousnesses are different. You cannot understand me, and I cannot understand you, so there is conflict."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.

"But, as long as everyone's consciousness is unified, all of this will disappear. The Lord God we believe in will lead us to that paradise of ultimate bliss. There, everyone's consciousness will blend together; I will be in you, and you will be in me. No misunderstandings, no barriers, no wars. Everyone will feel the ultimate joy and happiness."

The people below nodded gently, some even showing a yearning smile.

The little girl shrank into her seat, biting her lip, her eyes red. She sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking, but no one paid her any mind. Her parents sat right next to her, staring straight at the pulpit with the same hollow peace as those around them.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't want to join!"

She stood up abruptly, her voice high and thin, laced with a sob.

"I don't want any unified consciousness! I don't! Let me go!"

Everyone turned their heads to look at her.

The movement was slow. And synchronized.

Her parents also turned their heads. They looked at her with that same peaceful smile, but there was nothing in their eyes. They stood up, reached out, and slowly walked toward her.

The little girl took a step back.

"Dad? Mom?"

No one answered.

Everyone around also stood up and slowly closed in on her. No one spoke; only the sound of footsteps echoed in the vast church. Thud, thud, thud.

The little girl was backed into a corner, trembling all over.

"Help..." her voice was as small as a mosquito's buzz, "Help me..."

No one stopped.

Just then—

Boom!

A Wooden Thorn fell from the sky, stabbing fiercely into the stone floor in front of the little girl, causing a web of cracks to explode outward.

The crowd closing in stopped in unison.

The church door had been burst open at some point. Sunlight flooded in from outside, illuminating a slender figure.

Cynthia stood at the door, still in a throwing posture. She looked at the frozen crowd, then at the little girl huddled in the corner, and let out a soft sigh.

"As expected," she said, her voice not loud but exceptionally clear in the silent church, "I still can't just stand by and watch."

Cynthia stepped aside, clearing a path for the little girl behind her.

"Go on out," she said, her gaze sweeping over those still struggling to push forward. "The guys outside have already been taken care of by me. Find the police and bring them here. As for the people here... I'll try my best to leave them alive."

The little girl was stunned for a moment, then nodded frantically and rushed past Cynthia, the sound of her footsteps fading outside the church.

Cynthia turned back and raised her hand.

Beneath the feet of those closing in, tender shoots began to sprout from the cracks in the stone floor. They grew rapidly, coiling like living vines, wrapping around their ankles, calves, and knees layer by layer. Some fell, others still tried to push forward, but more branches surged from all directions, binding them all tightly.

Struggling. Roaring. Those sounds didn't seem human; they were more like trapped beasts.

Cynthia stood at the door, watching the scene with an expressionless face.

—

Not long after, the sound of sirens approached from the distance.

Several police cars pulled up at the church entrance. Uniformed officers rushed in, their flashlight beams sweeping through the dim church. Then they saw it—dozens of people lying haphazardly on the ground, all bound by wood. Some were still squirming, while others had stopped moving.

The little girl ran in behind the police, stumbling toward a middle-aged couple who were bound.

"Dad! Mom!"

The two looked up and glanced at her. But their eyes were hollow, showing no sign of recognition. They only struggled in vain, muffled growls coming from their throats, like two beasts caught in a trap.

The little girl froze, her voice caught in her throat.

A nearby officer knelt to check the couple's condition, then looked at the others who were similarly bound, frowning.

"This isn't right," he stood up and said to his colleague. "These people are not in a normal state. We can't hand the child back to them."

Another officer came out from a circuit of the church, holding an empty donation box.

"I've checked," he shook the box. "The only thing missing here is the donation money. Not a single cent is left."