"Your Excellency Castorice, I wanted to ask—you said before that you were a 'Servant of Death.' What does that mean?"
As they walked through the jungle, Castorice suddenly heard Shalin's curious voice inquiring.
"Shalin, do not ask about others' private matters so casually. It is rather impolite," Nimue said somewhat anxiously, tugging gently at the corner of Shalin's clothes before Castorice could even open her mouth.
"It is fine. I do not mind."
Castorice's pace did not falter; she simply shook her head slightly.
"That was... my past duty."
Her voice was low yet gentle, like a breeze brushing through the forest.
Next, she raised her hand, and a butterfly radiating purple light condensed out of thin air. It landed lightly on her fingertip, its wings fluttering slightly and shedding fine motes of light.
"When life reaches the shadows of the end, all living beings adopt different postures. Some convulse and curl up in agonizing pain, while others exhaust their strength screaming within unresolved obsessions... and my existence," her gaze followed the butterfly on her fingertip, her voice carrying a calm that bordered on pity, "was to gently push away that final, tightly locked furrow between their brows."
She paused there, then Castorice blew softly toward her fingertip. The purple butterfly dissipated into the forest night like a dream. "'Servant' is merely a term for guiding lost souls, holding up a farewell candle for them so that final slumber may descend in peace."
"Pushing away the final furrow between the brows..."
Hearing Castorice's words, Shalin repeated them softly.
She lowered her head, her gaze falling on her clasped hands as she fell into a brief contemplation.
A moment later, she looked up, her eyes sparkling with an understanding born of reflection, and asked tentatively:
"I... think I understand. Then, was your past mission to help those destined to pass away, yet suffering in agony at the end of their lives... to end their torment early?"
Shalin's question momentarily plunged Castorice into silence.
After several breaths, she finally nodded, the movement so slight it was nearly imperceptible.
"I believe I mentioned it to you before." As she spoke, she lowered her eyelids, her gaze falling on her own fair, slender, and seemingly flawless hands. Her voice carried a profound sense of detachment. "Every living being touched by these hands... shall be cast into the embrace of the river Styx."
"Yes..." Shalin responded in a low voice, her gaze then involuntarily drawn to Castorice's open palms.
Those hands were indeed exceptionally exquisite, the skin delicate without any traces of labor or scars. But beyond that, Shalin felt no other special sensation.
"In my homeland," Castorice began to speak, her voice sounding as if it drifted from a distant place, tinged with the melancholy of reminiscence.
"Death was not an end but regarded as a sacred journey of 'returning to the embrace of the river of souls.' And these hands..." She stared at her palms, the corners of her mouth pulling into a bitter arc. "In the eyes of my people, they were a unique grace granted by the Styx."
She paused, as if long-buried images were resurfacing, making her gaze become blurred and sorrowful.
"And so... the terminally ill, the maimed warriors, the elderly whose lamps were running dry... they came with devout faith and a longing for liberation, reaching out their hands to me in supplication. They yearned to step onto that 'sacred' return journey through my touch..." Castorice's voice grew lower and lower, as if every word carried a heavy burden. "I obeyed the destiny of this 'grace,' using these hands to stroke one withered life after another... watching them, one by one, close their eyes and cease their breathing beneath my palms..."
Suddenly, she stopped abruptly, as if choked by a thorn formed of memory. It eventually turned into a heavy sigh that dissipated into the darkening night of the forest. "...Apologies. I have said too much."
"No," Shalin shook her head immediately, her tone carrying sincere regret. "It is I who should apologize. It was my presumptuous questioning that made you recall such... a sad past."
"It was a very, very long time ago."
Castorice shook her head gently, attempting to use those words to dispel the sorrowful atmosphere.
For a time, the air fell into an eerie silence.
'Clearly, I am not the real Castorice.'
Watching the silent group, Castorice ceased speaking and began to silently sense the power within her body.
'And yet, I can feel her sorrow.'
At this thought, she silently called up the system panel.
'System, what exactly is going on?'
In her narration just now, the reason she could speak so specifically and feel that sorrow was purely because, for some reason, when Shalin mentioned the 'Servant of Death,' fragments of memory had inexplicably flashed through her mind.
Although these memory fragments had no real effect on her—acting like she was watching videos from a first-person perspective—this seemed to be something she had never encountered before!
[The host need not panic.]
This time the system did not play dead but appeared before Castorice in a timely manner.
[Attempting to fully master the power of the Styx is not something that can be achieved through a simple, casual action.]
[You need to personally experience death and feel the dissipation of life; only then can you better understand death and master the power from the Styx.]
[Experiencing and browsing Castorice's memories is an excellent, convenient, and safe way to do so.]