Cameraman Never Dies-Chapter 191: Divine Forgiveness: Limited Time Offer

Questions churned in Judge's mind like a witch's cauldron bubbling with all the wrong ingredients — half a frog, a questionable toe, and absolutely no seasoning.

His mind was an alchemist's nightmare, the potion of understanding failing spectacularly due to two missing elements: the ingredient called answers and the flame called clues. Without these, his pondering fizzled out like a dud firework, leaving only the lingering smell of confusion. freēnovelkiss.com

He scanned through all the recordings and willed the stories he selected to be sent to Clio, and from the open theater in his mind, they all vanished — he refocused, sweeping his gaze across the room with the dramatic intensity of a playwright deciding whether to kill off a beloved character.

The six servants before him were under his control due to the promise of strength, and he achieved this via his mask's ability — sharing their powers, occasionally mixing his into the batch like a chef casually tossing in an extra pinch of salt. It was a great save that it could be replicated, of course, it would have been useless otherwise.

It was a divine buffet, all thanks to the replicated copies of the original mask Clio had so generously provided, allowing them to borrow from each other like students copying homework before an exam.

They revered him — almost excessively. To them, he was the celestial CEO of divine operations, the omnipresent manager of fate, the slightly terrifying but undeniably stylish entity standing beside a god.

A god who, for better or worse, was also him. The irony would've been hilarious if it weren't so absurd. Regardless, life was proceeding smoothly — like a carriage with wobbly wheels, hurtling toward an inevitable disaster, but at least maintaining an illusion of control.

Then, with the measured weight of a judge delivering a final verdict, he spoke.

"Barachiel."

The single utterance sent a shudder through the recorders. The room temperature plummeted. The recorders stiffened like poorly-stuffed mannequins before all eyes snapped toward Barachiel as though hoping she would absorb the impact of whatever was about to happen.

Barachiel, to her credit, did not spontaneously combust. She stood, bowed with practiced precision, and responded, "Yes, Lord Observer."

Judge shifted slightly on his throne, resting his arm against his jaw with the grace of a monarch who had just been handed a particularly amusing petition. His gaze did not waver, nor did his voice rise, yet the weight of his words was enough to make the recorders collectively wonder if they should start writing their wills.

"Do tell me, why did I call your name?"

It was a deceptively simple question, yet it carried the weight of a divine tribunal. Barachiel did not panic. No, she was above that. What she did do, however, was lower her head in the universal gesture of 'I have made an egregious mistake and am about to face divine wrath.'

"I let an outsider know of my identity..."

Silence. A silence so heavy it could have been bottled and sold as a gravity-enhancing potion.

The other recorders, excluding Lucifer, collectively experienced a delayed shock. Their expressions screamed, She did what?! But none of them dared to voice their thoughts, for they valued their continued existence.

Lucifer, on the other hand, remained entirely unbothered, likely making an internal note about how this entire exchange could serve as excellent material for future manipulations. He had a hunch on what to expect, it was unlikely that the lord would hurt Barachiel just to prove his rules are absolute and must be followed.

Barachiel, sensing the judgment radiating from every direction, lifted her head in an attempt to explain. "But my lord, I had no choice t — "

She was swiftly cut off by a single raised hand.

Judge's voice remained calm, but the weight of authority was undeniable. "Excuses are a child's weapon, Barachiel. Acknowledging your mistake is what you should be doing."

Barachiel's head dipped lower. "Understood, my lord."

A pause. A deliberate, drawn-out pause that allowed for maximum tension buildup. Somewhere in the metaphysical distance, a dramatic drum roll played in the void.

Then, with a small, knowing smile hidden beneath his ever-present mask, Judge spoke again. "Should I not punish your misconduct?"

Barachiel inhaled sharply before responding, "I will accept any punishment for my wrongdoing, Lord Observer."

Judge's unseen smile widened. "It is enough that you have acknowledged. The god has forgiven your act. Be grateful for his generosity. Although, I would suggest everyone avoid any further transgression."

"Yes, my lord." The chorus of voices rang in unison, a perfect harmony of relieved servitude. Barachiel, having survived her brush with doom, returned to her seat, subtly readjusting herself as though the weight of her soul had just been lightened by an entire ton.

Of course, Judge's decision wasn't without reason. In fact, it had two very specific purposes.

One, it was quite literally his own writing that had forced Isadora's actions, and punishing Barachiel for following a script he had penned would have been like a playwright sentencing his actors to exile for performing too well.

Two, he was acutely aware that while fear was an excellent motivator, too much of it could turn into resentment. And resentment had a nasty habit of growing like an unsupervised magical experiment — starting with harmless sparks before inevitably turning into a catastrophic explosion. Respect, on the other hand, was a much more stable foundation — of course, a balance of both was the way for a stable rule.

For now, all was well. The recorders were loyal, the world continued its descent into chaos at a perfectly acceptable pace, and Judge remained in control of the unfolding narrative.

At least until someone inevitably did something stupid again.

The reason why Judge had written the script for Isadora to reveal her identity as an observer was for the world to know of their existence. That was also why he did not kill the detective — and also the fact that he could use the detective to eradicate the assassins.

The informants of the assassins were supposed to send a letter every morning and evening to the headquarters. Judge had made Lucifer record the cipher text from the headquarters — he studied it using enhanced cognition — and made fake letters from the beginning and had replaced the informant's letters.

This way, they could still send messages and not be suspected due to differences in handwriting.

Not making the enemy know about your existence is the best move to hide from them, until it is too late for them. Tomorrow, the assassins will be eradicated by law enforcers and the world will know about recorders.