When Palr awoke, two days had passed since that night, the echoes of the battle still lingered in his ears, and the soft, warm bed pulled Palr back to reality.
Before Palr could enjoy the comfort, a strange sensation spread from his body, a pain like needle pricks spread all over, and he couldn’t help but move his body, trying to lessen the impact of the pain.
It wasn’t the first ti Palr had been injured like this, and over ti, he had started to get used to it. After alleviating the pain, he followed the procedure he had developed and first observed his surroundings to confirm where he was.
If Palr was not mistaken, he was in his room, in the Fortress of the Morning Wind. The familiar room had undergone so changes, with dical apparatus parked to one side, and so trays carrying dication placed not far away.
Palr tried to move his body, only to find himself wrapped up like a precious package with white bandages.
There was a layer of plaster on his right hand and left foot. In the corner of his eye, he noticed sothing on the plaster. Palr struggled to raise his right hand and saw so scribbled handwriting on the surface of the plaster, which read.
"From father’s love."
And it was signed with a crooked heart and Fuen’s na.
Damn it...
Palr’s blood pressure shot up instantly, the heart monitor beeped wildly, and he struggled to get up, making the hospital bed sway. The dical staff outside the door noticed the disturbance and rushed in.
Before Palr could explain anything, they skillfully injected various dications into him, and in an instant, the pain that wrapped around his body vanished, along with Palr’s consciousness.
"Truly worthy of the Clarks’ heir!"
"Slaying traitors!"
"For the family’s honor, even daring to confront a Defender, he really is..."
The dical staff pointed at Palr and gossiped, Palr extended a finger, mouth slightly open, ready to curse, but he fell back into unconsciousness before uttering a syllable.
Palr slept until the evening, and after such a long saturation of sleep, his ntal state was excellent.
This ti, Palr didn’t react violently, instead, he began to contemplate the current situation.
Obviously, the attack incident by the Night Race was over. Now was a familiar phase of recovery, possibly due to his Blessing, Palr always survived life-threatening battles...and then lay in the hospital for a few weeks.
"I am lucky, I am lucky..."
Palr muttered to himself, applying psychological hints, unwilling to believe he was an unlucky fellow.
In fact, Palr’s performance in this incident was extrely fortunate.
According to the doctors, Ralph was bound by an oath and couldn’t kill Palr directly, but that didn’t an he couldn’t indirectly cause Palr’s death.
No matter how strict the oath, there were exploitable loopholes. Ralph had evidently realized this early on. Under his assault, Palr was severely injured, his body covered with hideous wounds, and he would die of excessive bleeding if given enough ti.
Doctors struggled to extract Palr from the ruins, using various Alchemy Potions to keep him alive along the way. When they got him to the operating table, they realized that Palr rely looked miserable, but he was actually alive and well.
Secret Energy·Wind Source.
In this era of Alchemy Matrix Technology’s explosion, this Secret Energy was just a First Stage manifestation of the Clarks’, but in Ralph’s era, the Secret Energy·Wind Source was an Alchemy Matrix created after years of research by the Clarks.
Even with the power of a Defender, Ralph was limited by the tis and by the Secret Energy·Wind Source.
The Ether conversion efficiency of the Secret Energy·Wind Source was not high, and the command directives were rather vague, making precise operations impossible.
As a result, Ralph’s deadly Wind Blade, like a chaotic flurry of blades, looked fierce, full of killing intent, but each blade avoided critical areas.
Even the attending physician couldn’t help but sigh at Palr’s dumb luck. If any of the Wind Blades had been misplaced, causing Palr to bleed out and die indirectly, then the Clarks might consider appointing a new heir.
"Damn it... I always feel sothing is off about all this..."
Once his emotions stabilized, Palr began to reconsider.
The fatal bullet from Church hidden in the shadows, the swapped oath docunt, the sudden appearance of Fuen, even Palr now realized that this was a conspiracy, one that he had been dragged into.
Palr raised his right hand, looking at the words on the plaster, yelling, "You even trick your own son!"
After venting, Palr felt relieved again. It wasn’t the first ti Fuen had done sothing like this.
A glimr rose in Palr’s eyes, calling out to the Ether. His body was bound, yet the Ether still listened to Palr’s command.
Under the doctors’ treatnt, the venom from Zefirin had been completely cleansed from Palr’s body. He easily summoned a gentle breeze, cautiously using the Wind Blades to cut through the straps that bound him.
Once his limbs were free, Palr shifted his body, experinting to see if he could have the wind lift him, allowing him to move around temporarily without a wheelchair.
Yet before Palr could take the next step, the door was forcefully pushed open again. Palr feared the doctors had detected sothing unusual and were coming to treat him, and he shouted.
"I’m awake! There’s no problem!"
Palr guessed this "enthusiasm" from the doctors was instructed by his damned father. Palr could even imagine the words Fuen spoke at that ti.
"This is the renowned Palr Clarks! He’s the heir of the Clarks family! He absolutely cannot die at the Fortress of the Morning Wind! That would make us look very incompetent!"
Fuen must have said that, Palr swore.
Often, Palr felt his relationship with Fuen wasn’t like father and son, more like friends who couldn’t see eye to eye.
It wasn’t the dical staff standing at the doorway, but a familiar figure. Even though her back was to the light, leaving only a dark silhouette, Palr could still recognize her.
Vasilina quickly walked to the bedside, easily pressing Palr back down.
"You look like you’re in good spirits."
"Anyone who sleeps this long would be full of energy."
Palr gave Vasilina a once-over. She was injured as well but far less so than Palr, covered in nurous bruises and abrasions, with bandages wrapped around her elbow.
Vasilina sat by the bedside, while Palr obediently lay still, turning his head. Vasilina kept her gaze on Palr, occasionally lowering her head and smoothing her hair at her temples.
Palr asked, "What happened afterwards?"
Vasilina recounted to Palr the events after he lost consciousness. Fuen had killed Ralph, and the Night Race’s attack was thwarted... along with the conspiracy and deception parts, all of which were orchestrated by Fuen in conjunction with the Order Bureau.
"Your forr partner, Church, was part of this operation. You guys were just incidentally swept into it, coincidentally ’improvising’."
After hearing Vasilina’s words, Palr let out a long sigh, covering his face with his still functional hand. mories of his encounter with Church at the start surfaced in his mind.
It wasn’t a chance eting but a preditated encounter.
Vasilina asked, "How does it feel to be deceived by Church?"
"No feeling, just work, and besides..." Thinking back on Church’s conduct throughout, Palr hadn’t noticed any oddities. He sighed again, "That’s very typical of Church’s style. Despite his unremarkable appearance, I believe he can be considered an expert."
Since hanging out with Bologue, "expert" had taken on a distinctive aning.
"Not the murderous expert like Bologue, but Church is truly gifted in intelligence infiltration and assassination, a genuine expert."
Palr rarely spoke of the days he worked with Church; back then, he was employed at the Crow’s Nest, as a part of the intelligence agency, confidentiality was the top priority.
Just as now Bologue led Palr in most tasks, back then, most of the work was also completed by Church, with Palr assisting on the side.
"Church? He doesn’t seem as special as you describe."
Vasilina shook her head, Church was too ordinary, so ordinary that Vasilina found it difficult to recall his appearance when she tried thinking about him now.
Palr sighed again, "Yes, that’s why Church is a professional."
Vasilina pondered for a few seconds before she understood Palr’s point.
Church was unremarkable, inconspicuous; unless you deliberately tried to recall, you could hardly rember his presence. From an intelligence operative’s perspective, Church’s professional skills were evident.
Palr bowed his head. Despite partnering with Church for such a long ti, he still didn’t know Church’s true face. Recalling the shot from Chekov’s Gun, he couldn’t fathom how Church had gotten so close.
Did Ralph not notice anything at all?
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