The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

Page 114

Elsa lay down on the bed, somewhat confused.

Judging from what Ms. Flamel said before she left, she was very knowledgeable about the Star Chart Institute.

But since she already knew everything about this secret gathering, why did she ask me those very basic questions?

eccentric.

The next moment, a rather bold conjecture flashed through Elsa's mind.

Could it be that... as long as she asks those questions, the answers will be known even if she doesn't respond? But how is that possible? According to Professor Terence, the divination of the Lamp Cult can only show very vague trends.

But Ms. Flamel did specify the exact time of the gathering. Rather than deducing from known information, this seemed more like receiving a revelation from fate out of thin air—a higher realm belonging to prophets and sages.

She's the high priest of the Lamp Cult? But she looks so young...

Confusing.

Even after giving up on further contemplation, Elsa did not focus the issue on "peeping thoughts."

Although some priests of the Lamp Cult also worship the nature of enlightenment and thus gain supernatural abilities in certain areas of thought... they are ultimately not as well-rounded as the White Cup in terms of a complete system of secret arts in terms of thought.

There's no way to get a discount through a proxy buyer; let's wait until the gathering in the middle of this month to see.

"Boom, boom, boom."

Just as Elsa was gathering her thoughts and preparing to rest for a while, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

After a polite knock, Eugene pushed open the door and cautiously walked in.

This haggard middle-aged man was afraid that making too much noise would disturb his daughter, so he was unusually careful with every movement, which even looked somewhat comical.

"Elsa, I'm coming in. Have some breakfast... you didn't eat much yesterday."

His face showed obvious signs of fatigue, as if he hadn't rested well, and his hair was also starting to thin.

If Fran were here, he would surely lament that even aristocratic families cannot escape a midlife crisis...

Eugene sat down beside Elsa's bed and took out a white porcelain plate. On it were freshly baked buttered bread, some cheese, and strips of fried egg and bacon.

He picked up a knife and chopped the bread into pieces, then scooped it up with a silver spoon and placed it in front of Elsa.

Eugene had considered having a maid feed Elsa, but Elsa had been unusually sensitive, vomiting at the sight of food and exhibiting aggression... one of the maids was even bitten.

Her condition only began to improve after the white cup debunker used "amnesia therapy." However, she still had to be fed by herself, otherwise she was at risk of stress.

Thinking about this, he felt somewhat depressed.

If the child's mother hadn't closed her eyes forever on that winter night of the great plague, and if she had listened to her family's advice and remarried... would everything have been different?

This daughter is the only thing he cares about, so why... did this happen again?

"dad?"

A call brought Eugene, who was somewhat dazed, back to his senses.

"Ah, Elsa?"

His hand, holding the silver spoon, hovered in mid-air for a moment before he recovered.

"How are you feeling right now? Is anything bothering you? I'm going to the White Cup Order to fetch the Exorcist..."

Eugene's tone was slightly excited as he immediately asked his daughter how she was feeling.

This man, who had spent almost his entire life battling misfortune, was now in disbelief at the sudden improvement in his daughter's condition.

He was more afraid that it was some kind of final burst of energy before death, like when his bedridden lover suddenly told him that she wanted to go to the balcony to watch the sunset... As the last rays of light faded, her life also came to an end.

Elsa didn't say anything more, but raised her arms and hugged her exhausted father.

He has indeed lost a lot of weight compared to a few months ago.

Putting aside speculation about Ms. Flamel's stance and intentions, at least for this moment, Elsa sincerely thanked her.

"Dad, I feel much better..."

-

Headquarters of the Hunters, Funeral Court.

After showing the brass ring on her index finger, which signified her authority, Haida entered the library of the Department of Secret Arts.

Compared to the spacious and grand Norlington Museum, this place is dark, secluded, and even somewhat cramped.

What one sees are all sorts of books and volumes, neatly categorized and stacked. Some contain esoteric texts with truly mystical knowledge, while others are ordinary fables and myths.

The occult is inherently chaotic and complex, and even a discerning collector like Fran inevitably has a few books on his shelf to fill out the space. For example, there's the book he gave Sigrid, "Hannibal Lecter's Secret Kitchen," to teach her cooking.

Heda's trip was certainly not to look up information, since the "Words of Wisdom" that Dr. Fran gave her had very detailed annotations, so there was basically no need to worry about errors in understanding.

She came to return the copy of "Raven Research Notes".

Following the ebony spiral staircase, Haida ascended step by step to the third floor of the library. Access here required supervisorial authority, and all materials were restricted to the library and could not be borrowed; they could only be browsed within the library.

Dr. Fran didn't insist on personally handing it back to Zoparos... This was somewhat unreasonable.

If he asks how Haida got this notebook, she can't just give up Fran, can she? Therefore, just put it in an empty space on the bookshelf; the librarian will organize the unlabeled books themselves.

As Haida placed the Raven Research Notes into an empty slot on the bookshelf, a feeling of guilt welled up inside her.

Good day, Sister Heda.

Just then, a slightly aged voice sounded behind her.

"Hey... or should I call you Supervisor Haida?"

Zoparos, dressed in a black academic robe, strolled over slowly, leaning on his cane.

His face was covered with deep wrinkles, and he looked much older than Professor Terence, seemingly the same age as Principal Grantham.

However, compared to the two very well-mannered white-cupped scholars, his figure was somewhat hunched. He looked like a grumpy little old man.

"Good day, Master Zoparos."

In that split second when she was almost caught red-handed, Haida displayed extraordinary composure. Her grey-chestnut eyes were calm and undisturbed, showing absolutely no sign of guilt.

"Please address me by my first name as before, without any suffixes."

Hearing Haida's response, Zoparos nodded with satisfaction.

"Not bad. I thought you'd get all cocky like that kid Hei Rong after you put on that cheap metal ring."

"I advised him against touching the Banyan Tree of Death from the start. None of the things Grantham recorded in the 'General Knowledge of Relics' with serial numbers are safe. Sure enough, he ended up playing with them and became my peer..."

“If it weren’t for that medical malpractice that turned Hei Rong back into a little kid, he probably would have died before me.”

After rambling on and on about how Hei Rong was hopeless, he sighed in disappointment.

"Haidah, don't laugh at him, you do too!"

"Don't think that being the 'youngest funeral director' is anything special. If you ask me, you shouldn't have been arguing with those heretical lunatics all the time. With your talent, if you had chosen to join the Mystic Arts Department earlier, how come you've only learned a second-class, lower-level [Tearing Ritual] now?"

"Thank you for your teachings, Master Zoparos."

Haida maintained her humility towards her two elders, responding respectfully without being arrogant or servile.

Seeing her almost impeccable attitude, Zoparos curled his lip, looking like he was about to puff out his beard and glare.

But considering that Haida was no longer a child, he held back.

"Forget it, you hunters are all stubborn, and this bad habit started with your father... I won't try to persuade you, but if you haven't learned the next secret technique within two years, don't say you know me when we meet again."

After saying that, Zoparos seemed to feel a little better and began to talk about the previous mission.

"Sister Haida, how was that 'hound' that I gave you to use last time?"

"This skill of carving prayers on the skin is something that those unimaginative mediocre people can't learn. At most, they can only carve words on bones and stones in their entire lives."

Without that hand, locating Byas would have been far more complicated and time-consuming. In that situation, any delay could have resulted in unnecessary casualties…

“That arm, which was ‘hound-like’, really helped us a lot.”

Haida gave a rather honest answer.

Zoparos waved his hand, showing no surprise. He always had complete confidence in the mystical creations he was responsible for handling.

"It's just a small thing I made on the spur of the moment, nothing to brag about."

Funeral home colleagues are known for their concise and to-the-point communication, but Zoparros is an exception.

This erudite old man was not only approachable, but also a chatterbox who loved to ramble on...

After exchanging pleasantries, Haida descended the spiral staircase to the third floor of the library. Although her steps remained steady, she seemed to be in a hurry.

The sound of hunting boots lightly treading the ground gradually fades into the distance.

Zhong□QuN：玖√;肆§√捌贰％肆?叁∽叁零伍Zopalos remained where he was, leaning on his cane as he approached the empty shelf.

With a flick of his wrist, he accurately retrieved the book "Raven Research Notes," then glanced at the title and his gaze sharpened.

"That's quite unusual."

"This notebook was lost a long time ago, so it couldn't have been Haida who took it. But why is she returning it? ...Could it be Yaheng? Would that crazy boy do something like this?"

The old man stroked his beard, looking somewhat puzzled.

Zoparos remembers that the research notebook was found several times after it was lost, but he always felt that it was just a way to trick himself into finishing the book, so he simply stopped writing.

Later, as if in a fit of pique, this notebook disappeared...

-

-

Transition in progress!

Chapter Eleven: Biochemical Alchemy

Time flies, like a fleeting moment.

As temperatures continue to drop in Norlington, mid-January is fast approaching.

Today is the regular meeting day for the Star Chart Study Group, and Fran should also continue to complete the final treatment for Elsa's "phobia of everything".

Generally speaking, to avoid any unforeseen complications, this doctor usually treats patients on the same day he sees them.

However, Elsa's mental illness is quite unique, and more effort is needed to find the right treatment... Rather than directly using a pendulum clock to invade her mind and erase her memories, Fran prefers to let the patient rely on her own strength to get out of the shadows.

Of course, this will make things more complicated. But the completion rate of house calls will also be higher.

Fran has become accustomed to dealing with such strange patients, and she has almost forgotten that her original profession was neurosurgery.

Fran has now become a nearly impeccable general practitioner.

In addition to all clinical medical disciplines, she also works in pharmacy, anesthesiology, forensic medicine, veterinary medicine, and even serves as a psychologist most of the time...

She yawned, picked up a glass of Golmouth "Winter Buds," blew away the lingering mist, and took a small sip.

Although it was a day for house calls, Fran had some other things to do beforehand. Anyway, the secret gathering wouldn't officially start until midnight, so there was still plenty of time. He could even go back to his bedroom, transform into Snorlax, and sleep for half a day without any problem.

Since it's called the "Star Chart Study Session," it's perfectly reasonable to choose a time when the stars are visible.

Fran put down the floral porcelain teacup and nodded to Sigrid beside her.

"Sigrid, we can begin."

She was sitting on a square chair in the operating room, lifting the sleeve of her right white coat to reveal her fair arm, which she then placed on the sterile drape on the operating table.

"it is good."

Sigrid let out a soft sigh, easing her tension.

He is young as a sun casting craftsman, but he has been immersed in casting and alchemy for many years. He can easily draw blueprints and engrave prayer texts.

This sense of urgency, like returning to the early days of learning... is something I haven't felt in a long time.

Noticing her current state, Fran smiled slightly and raised her other hand to pinch Sigrid's cheek.

"Why do you seem a little nervous? Relax, it's just one hand. If you mess it up, just use the other hand."

"Or should I take this hand apart first, and then put it back together after you've finished carving it?"

After a brief adjustment, Sigrid gradually calmed down, viewing the work before her as a pure casting, no longer feeling constrained by the fact that the object was Fran.

"That's good, Dr. Fran."

As she spoke, she pinched the black stitches on Fran's hand and slowly pulled them back from the center of his palm until they reached his elbow.

As Sigrid moved, a gash appeared in Fran's fair and smooth hand skin, revealing her arm bone, muscles, fascia, and arteries.