Chapter 207: A Different Outcome
Mora covered her mouth tightly.
Her gaze shifted back and forth between her husband and the priest, and an unexpected thought surfaced in her mind—
Can priests get married?
Even though her own wedding had been disrupted, Mora felt not the slightest anger.
Instead, she felt an unprecedented sense of relief.
On the other side, Gideon spoke again.
"From today onward, household chores must be divided fairly between men and women. During busy farming seasons, women may take on more fieldwork…"
"Smiles and praise are the secrets to maintaining harmony in a family. Come—let's practice smiling now."
After a moment of hesitation, the villagers below awkwardly forced smiles onto their faces.
Their eyes were filled with resistance, yet the corners of their mouths had no choice but to lift.
The scene was undeniably absurd.
"Pfft—"
Mora couldn't help but laugh. She quickly pressed her lips together, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't suppress the smile tugging at her face.
"Very good."
Gideon nodded.
"Remember today's rules carefully. Otherwise—"
He picked up the wooden doll and crushed it into splinters with a single squeeze.
"I believe you understand the consequences."
Gideon smiled faintly.
The formation of customs within a region is shaped by many factors—politics, culture, belief.
Forcefully changing them like this might work for a while.
But once the threat disappears, those vile traditions would likely resurface—perhaps even worse than before.
That was why Gideon had never intended to truly change this place.
Not to mention—this was merely a world of memories.
From beginning to end, his goal had been only one thing—
to change Mora's fate at that crucial moment.
And the result unfolded exactly as he had expected.
---
As the wooden doll shattered, the scene shifted once more.
Outside a wooden house, families were celebrating a bountiful harvest.
Ivo downed a full mug of malt ale, his face flushed red as he stared at the distance—
where Mora was nestled in Antonius's arms.
He spat on the ground and strode into the center of the crowd.
"Hey! Mora has a secret none of you know!"
His shout quickly drew attention.
"Antonius once told me that before their wedding, he and Mora had already—"
Before he could finish, a bottle flew out of the crowd.
Crash!
Blood immediately streamed down Ivo's head.
The crowd screamed and scattered, revealing a priest standing at the center.
Gideon picked up another bottle and slowly crouched before Ivo.
"Exposing others' secrets for attention is a despicable act," he said calmly.
"For example, if I were to reveal your preference for men, I imagine you'd have objections as well."
He deliberately raised his voice on the word men.
Eyes widened all around.
"You motherf—" Ivo snarled, struggling to stand.
In the next instant, his face was slammed into the dirt.
"And spitting on someone else's land is also rude. I hope you remember that."
Ivo's face was completely misshapen, his nose nearly crushed.
Unable to speak, he could only flail his arms desperately, signaling surrender.
Nearby, Mora patted her chest, shaken.
Though Ivo hadn't finished speaking, she already understood his intent.
Thankfully, the priest had intervened.
At that moment, Ivo's "friends" finally reacted, grabbing tools from the corners and charging toward Gideon—
—
But the scene abruptly shifted.
"What a pity."
Gideon shook his head.
"If they'd run a bit faster, I could've beaten them properly."
He lifted his head again.
Before him stood a building with gray-white walls.
"House of Mercy."
Gideon narrowed his eyes and stepped inside.
---
At the same time, inside a prayer room.
"Mora, only you can help those children."
Daryl held out a piece of parchment, her face full of pleading.
Mora was now middle-aged, time having carved deep lines into her face.
"Fine, I'll agree—but you must promise—"
Before she could finish, a male voice interrupted.
"No. You won't agree."
Mora looked stunned, turning toward the source of the voice.
Daryl also turned her head. A flash of viciousness crossed her eyes as she tried to see who had ruined her plans.
A priest stood at the doorway.
In the next instant, his figure vanished.
Using Holy Step, Gideon appeared beside Daryl and calmly took the parchment from her hands.
Only a full second later did the headmistress realize something was wrong.
"You—!"
Shock flashed through Daryl's eyes.
She hadn't seen how he moved at all.
There was only one possibility—
this man was a Church-certified cleric.
"This isn't an ordinary contract," Gideon said calmly, explaining the origin of the parchment to Mora.
"It's a demonic pact."
"From the very beginning, she only wanted to drain the last bit of value from you."
He exposed Daryl's scheme without mercy. She clenched her teeth in response.
Mora stared at the woman who had once helped her, disbelief and rage burning in her eyes.
"Hmph. You can't blame me," Daryl sneered. "A charity this large costs a fortune just to feed everyone—"
"Spare me the meaningless excuses."
Gideon cut her off coldly.
"You're nothing more than a black glove used by certain people to launder money. All you've given those mothers and children is suffering."
"So what if I am?" Daryl narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps you're a priest with a Mark."
Then her tone shifted.
"But let me offer you a friendly warning—the Archbishop Saul of the Vatican has always kept his eye on this institution."
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
He hadn't expected to hear news from the Vatican here.
"Saul… that name sounds familiar."
He quickly recalled it.
The Saul family had been the first to establish a kingdom on holy ground. Their lineage stretched back over a thousand years—an extraordinarily noble house.
The headmistress was clearly trying to protect herself by invoking a Holy Bloodline.
But Gideon merely smiled.
This wasn't the real world.
Such threats were as meaningless to him as air.
Seeing the priest pause, Daryl thought her strategy had worked.
She was about to demand the parchment back—
when her neck suddenly tightened.
At the same time, Mora felt herself lifted by the collar.
The world spun violently.
When Mora could see clearly again, she was standing outdoors.
"Where… is this—ugh!"
The stench hit her instantly. She covered her nose in horror.
Gideon dragged Daryl to the edge of a septic pit, forcing her head down over the foul liquid.
"Tell Miss Mora what you've done here," he said coldly.
Daryl held her breath, straining backward.
But the crushing force at the back of her neck left her unable to move.
Left with no choice, she tried to speak.
"If you do this, aren't you afraid of Archbishop Saul—mmph!"
Before she could finish, her face plunged straight into the pit.
"That's not the answer I'm looking for," Gideon said calmly.
Daryl screamed in absolute terror.
She couldn't believe he had actually done it.
The moment she felt those things fill her mouth, she completely broke.
"I'll talk! I'll talk! Please—stop!"
Only then did Gideon pull her back up.
"You have a few minutes."
Her body trembling, Daryl didn't even bother wiping the filth from her face as she confessed everything—
how she had drowned sick infants to death.
Mora's eyes widened. She was speechless for a long time.
She had never imagined they were even more cruel than she had feared.
They had thrown living babies into the septic pit—
just because they were weak, sick, and couldn't be sold for a good price.
"My… my Flora…"
Tears flooded Mora's eyes. Her heart felt like it was being torn apart as she imagined what her daughter might have endured.
"I kept records," Daryl blurted out. "They're hidden beneath the floor tiles in the west corner of my office."
"That was my insurance."
Gideon sneered.
"So even you never fully trusted Archbishop Saul."
Daryl fell silent, clinging to the hope that confession might spare her life.
"Don't you… don't you have children?" Mora sobbed.
Daryl turned her head away. "This world works like this—you eat others, or you get eaten."
"Since you've already accepted that," Gideon said coldly, "this becomes simple."
He looked to the side.
"Miss Mora."
Mora looked up, her face soaked with tears.
"Strong and upright people may possess the ability to 'consume others,' yet choose not to. That is one of the reasons humanity survives."
"But virtues should only be extended to those who respect them."
"As for scum like this—
they deserve to experience the suffering they inflicted on others."
With that, Gideon lifted Daryl by the collar and threw her into the center of the septic pit.
She flailed desperately, but there was nothing to grab onto—only more filth pouring into her mouth and stomach.
Several minutes later, the headmistress finally sank beneath the surface.
Mora looked away, unable to bear it.
But when she thought of her daughter—and the other children—she forced herself to keep her eyes open.
"I know you're in pain," Gideon said quietly,
"but the truth about the House of Mercy still needs you to reveal it to the world."
"Thank you, Father Gideon," Mora said suddenly, calling him by name.
The world shifted again.
When Gideon opened his eyes, he was back in the void.
Mora was gone.
In her place were two more souls, bound in chains.
"This is…?" Gideon raised an eyebrow.
---
Ireland — Galway Courthouse
A special case was being heard today.
A local historian, Catherine Corless, claimed that her sister had entered an institution called the House of Mercy after becoming pregnant.
Her sister's child later died under mysterious circumstances.
The institution claimed the infant had been too weak to survive.
But after extensive investigation, Catherine discovered that this was far from an isolated case.
She uncovered the diary of a former staff member of the House of Mercy—
a woman named Mora O'Toole, herself a victim.
According to the diary, the House of Mercy operated under the guise of aid, but in reality trafficked children.
They took in unmarried pregnant women, forcibly separated newborns from their mothers, and sold the infants to buyers.
Both the Irish government and the Church denied these accusations.
After years of stalemate, the court finally agreed to a public trial.
But they demanded that the diary's author—Mora—appear in court.
The problem was that Mora had lost consciousness years earlier.
Only her body remained, kept alive by machines.
In the waiting room, Catherine sat with a heavy expression.
She looked toward the hospital bed beside her.
Mora's aged face showed no change.
Catherine could hardly believe it—
that politicians and Church officials would truly drag a dying old woman into court.
Such an absurd trial, unfolding in reality.
But when Catherine turned her head—
Mora's fingers twitched.