Forcing down the heaviness in his heart, Hewitt placed the dicine box he had been carrying on his shoulder on the bedside cabinet.
He spoke, "Sir, I will now proceed with your dication treatnt!"
Just as Hewitt was about to open the dicine box, Donovan struggled to open his mouth, his words halting and intermittent.
"Hewitt... no need, there’s no need anymore..."
Listening to Donovan’s words, Hewitt hurriedly replied.
"Sir, what nonsense are you talking about?"
"With your injuries, it’s vital to change the dicine at a fixed ti weekly, or else the injuries will worsen!"
Donovan smiled faintly, his voice still weak.
"Hewitt, my body... I know it well myself."
"There’s no need for any more treatnt..."
"Instead of spending money on a dying man like , it’s better to..."
"It’s better to forge an extra set of armor, an additional weapon, for the Ducas Clan, for Mark..."
Hewitt fell silent.
After a mont.
Hewitt asked, "Sir, is there anything else you need to do?"
Lying on the bed, Donovan stared straight at the pitch-black ceiling above him.
He repeated Hewitt’s words, "Do sothing?"
As his voice fell.
The entire bedroom plunged into silence.
So quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Until a few minutes later.
Donovan finally spoke again, "Hewitt, there are so words I need you to pass on to Mark, alright?"
Hewitt raised an eyebrow, "Sir, you still have ti; you can tell them yourself, can’t you?"
Donovan shook his head, "There are things I’m willing to say, but it doesn’t an they are willing to listen."
"Besides, in front of them, there are things I cannot say..."
"But facing you, I can speak."
Hewitt nodded.
He said nothing more, waiting for Donovan’s narrative to continue.
Donovan began, "Help convey to Mark that he is now Marquis Ducas, the head of the Ducas Clan!"
"The rise or fall of the Ducas Clan, this heavy burden fell upon his shoulders the day he inherited the marquis title."
"I’ve, Donovan, carried this burden for decades, struggling for the whole clan."
"Tell him that I apologize for previously mocking and scorning his unrealistic ambition to influence Imperial Authority."
"Mark’s ideas and actions are correct."
"As a Great Lord, he must climb upwards at any cost, remove all resistance around him at any cost."
"Even if that resistance cos from his blood kin."
"Only this way can the Ducas Clan be elevated to a higher level."
Upon hearing this.
Hewitt’s body suddenly trembled.
He looked at Donovan on the bed, eyes full of tension and fear.
He understood.
The Donovan before him already knew everything Mark had him do!
Donovan, as if seeing through his heart, reassured him.
"No need to be nervous, no need to be afraid."
"My existence holds no more value."
"And you, as a doctor, must continue to contribute to the Ducas Clan."
Despite Donovan’s reassurance, Hewitt’s body continued to shake like a sieve.
Donovan did not care for Hewitt’s expression and continued speaking.
"Mark’s way is correct!"
"The only regret I have is that compared to , he’s still too naive."
"You see, when I was young, to obtain this title, I personally slaughtered my father, my brothers!"
"Before obtaining the title from , he could do nothing else."
"After acquiring the marquis title, he still let live this long..."
Half an hour later.
Hewitt walked out of Donovan’s bedroom.
However.
He hadn’t gone far.
A tall, slender figure entered his sight.
Hewitt naturally recognized that the figure was Marquis Mark Ducas.
He quickly quickened his pace towards Mark.
Coming to Mark’s side, he followed behind him towards the distant open balcony.
Mark’s voice reached Hewitt’s ears.
"Doctor Hewitt, tell , how is Donovan’s condition?"
Hewitt dared not hesitate, quickly responding.
"Marquis, Lord Donovan refused my dication treatnt..."
Mark, walking in front, instantly halted his steps.
He suddenly turned, looking at Hewitt, almost interrogatively.
"Refused?"
Feeling the shift in Mark’s deanor, Hewitt naturally understood its aning.
He promptly explained, "Marquis, Lord Donovan said he knows his body very well, requires no further treatnt."
"Moreover, Lord Donovan had a ssage for to relay to you, Marquis."
Mark furrowed his brow, hesitated for a few seconds.
"Speak!"
...
Early the next morning.
Lynn awoke from his dream, slowly opening his eyes.
Next to him, nestled in his embrace, Janet appeared before his eyes without reservation.
On her exquisite and fair cheeks was a faint blush.
Despite a night of rest.
The flush had yet to fade.
At the corner of her eyes with curled eyelashes, there was even a noticeable trace of tears...
At this mont, Janet breathed evenly.
Her side-lying figure perfectly ford a curvy shape.
The slender waist, an inch graspable, with a snow-white fullness.
Atop the whiteness, there was a hint of red left from playful teasing.
Lynn’s lips curved upwards, his gaze tracing down her body.
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