Captivated by the Ruler of the Underworld
Chapter 172 Only She Can Seek Vengeance

Lela pursed her lips, her reddening eyes beginning to mist as she gazed at Sylvester.

She briefly lowered her eyes, a gentle shake of her head as she spoke calmly, "Sylvester, I can't." Flora was her dear sister.

In the Holy Light Tribe, she reveled in landscapes unseen by the modern world-a profound love for the tribe's crystal-clear springs, the large blooming flowers, the beautiful butterflies that always lingered near her, the towering trees, and the dappling sunlight.

Her mother loved most to walk deep into the forest and sit on the golden sands of the beach, gazing at the sunset's afterglow.

As a child, Lela never understood why her mother was so fond of the sunset; all she knew was to snuggle into her mother's embrace and ask for kisses.

Her mother would hold her, softly kissing her forehead and telling her stories.

Her mother said she once had a home, but it was far away, and she might never be able to return.

Mother once said, "Cecily, you have a sister just as beautiful as you, but she's out there in the modern world, a world I might never get to see in my lifetime."

The Holy Light Tribe forest lay hidden at the edge of the sea, near the border of some distant F state, perpetually untouched by the passage of ships-a secret world unto itself.

At the time, she didn't understand why-if her mother so longed to see Flora-she didn't just go to her.

What exactly was this modern world like?

And why did her mother love the seaside so much?

She hadn't understood back then, but now it was clear to her. Whenever her mother visited the shore, it wasn't merely to bask in the afterglow of the sunset; it was an expression of hope a yearning to come back and see Flora. For Flora was the one her mother missed dearly.

But those from the tainted modern world, with their vile, ugly, and contemptible ways, had cruelly harmed Flora.

How could she possibly lay down her knife?

When Lela refused, Sylvester didn't get angry. His demeanor remained gentle and indulgent. Clasping Lela's knife-bearing right hand firmly, he spoke softly, "Sweetheart, let me take revenge for you, okay?"

He couldn't bear to see Lela like this and didn't care why or what she wanted to do now he would do it for her.

Lela kept her gaze lowered, her voice soft, "Sylvester, you can't."

It was the same phrase unyielding.

In her calm tone, there was a depth of guilt and self-reproach.

Flora was her only family in this world, and this vengeance could only be exacted by her hand.

If she couldn't, then who else in this world could deliver justice for Flora?

Even her beloved Sylvester couldn't stop her now.

This was the first time Lela ever openly defied him, and yet, Sylvester wasn't angry, only left heartbroken. He had never seen Lela like this before defiant, fierce, drenched in blood, yet so deeply vulnerable.

It was so different from her usual self.

As Sylvester pondered how to wrest the kitchen knife from Lela's hand, she seized the moment. With a swift twist of her delicate wrist, she freed herself and brought down the knife.

Blood surged, spraying from the carotid artery across both Lela and Sylvester, drenching them, while John's head rolled away, one eye gazing vacantly at the ceiling.