The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

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"After obtaining a young ancient banyan tree, the progress of the 'Biostatic Field' project has accelerated significantly. However, it will still be at least a few more months before we can get the first-generation finished product... We need to clear out a space in the collection room specifically for storing the captured heads, otherwise this place will look like a specimen room."

As she spoke, she began to methodically connect Solomon's head to the instrument, extracting his personality and memories.

In fact, the medicine kit Fran carried with him was also a relic with a stasis effect, ensuring that the various preparations stored inside would not expire. It also ensured that the biological samples obtained remained in an active state, preventing them from completely dying due to prolonged lack of oxygen.

Otherwise, within just four or five minutes, the brain inside this skull would die at the cellular level, losing its living characteristics. Then, inserting it into the bio-conversion device would require a series of processes including cultivation, activation, and soul extraction, significantly increasing the time cost of medical procedures…

With the light thud of her hunting boots, Haida had arrived behind Fran.

The nun probably wouldn't have been so interested in other kinds of secrets, and she wouldn't have asked if Dr. Fran hadn't intended to tell her. But Thoros's memories were related to the traitors and the chaos in the North, and she had to understand them.

Clearly, Fran had anticipated this; the reason she hadn't closed the operating room door was to wait for her to come in.

After completing the connection and debugging, she reached out her hand to Haida.

"Same as always, Haida. Put your hand on mine and let's begin to empathize."

"Ah."

Heda nodded gently in agreement, then placed her hand over Fran's palm.

Because of her previous intense confrontations with Orne, the nun had a slight laceration on the web between her thumb and index finger, with a little blood seeping out. However, this type of injury would heal on its own in a short time and did not require additional bandaging.

…澆‖≡tumor《”group∮：夿▲』伍×?∧《si四$￠粫…

As his thoughts gradually drifted into unfamiliar memories, scenes from the past began to emerge in Thoros's mind from a first-person perspective.

The biting north wind howled, and the endless snowflakes fell like goose feathers, leaving everything in sight as pure white. With each breath, it felt as if life was draining away with the body, followed by the inhalation of a bone-chilling cold of death.

In a pine forest where a makeshift campfire burned, several people dressed in the winter attire of hunters were silently engaged in tasks. Some were checking ammunition, while others were sharpening their knives.

They reeked of blood, and the atmosphere was filled with a suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere.

“Director Thoros, is this really a good idea? We’ve already stained our hands with the blood of our colleagues; there’s no going back. You know all too well how ruthless those true fanatics at Norrington are when it comes to dealing with traitors…”

Finally, one of them spoke up.

His question was like pouring cold water into boiling oil, instantly igniting Thoros's long-suppressed anger.

"Damn it! Now you're scared? When the Saffold's council guards held a knife to your neck, why didn't you ask questions? When you accepted their bribes, why didn't you refuse like those dead men? When you fired at your captured comrades at the Hanging Blade Training Ground, why didn't you hesitate?"

"Also, don't call me supervisor anymore. I'm no longer a supervisor."

Although Thoros was angry, he did not seem to intend to punish the man.

After all, they have now become henchmen of the Northern nobles, traitors who have harmed their colleagues, and will inevitably be relentlessly hunted by the Hunters. There is nowhere else to truly belong except in those chaotic war-torn lands.

"We'll rest for another five minutes and then set off. That guy who's still running away ahead is a real problem. The manager of these two training grounds had been successfully turned against us, but that unknown young hunter chopped off his head and smashed it into a pile of minced meat."

"He has now gathered the remaining Hunter squad and is still breaking through, tearing apart several outer defense lines."

After giving the mission objectives a second reminder, Thoros let out a long, somber sigh and began to mentally prepare his companions.

"Remember! Don't carry too much of a burden. Everything is just for survival. And it wasn't us who betrayed the Hunters first; it was the Funeral Chief who betrayed us first!"

"If he hadn't killed that highly respected, fully-formed Holy Heir of the Saffold Council, how could our stronghold have suffered such violent suppression and slaughter at the hands of the Imperial Guard?"

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soup!

Chapter 146 Ant-eating Boa

After a brief rest, Solous continued leading his team in the pursuit.

Perhaps driven by some kind of "convert fanaticism," these former hunters showed no mercy to their former comrades after becoming traitors. Once they made their move, they were ruthless and merciless, prioritizing direct casualties above all else, showing no restraint whatsoever.

Moreover, the hunters of the Funeral Court lived under a harsh and oppressive environment for many years, strictly adhering to the commandments and order, which were not to be disobeyed. This led to their extraordinary depravity after abandoning everything from their past and becoming traitors, throwing themselves into the embrace of desire in an almost intoxicated state.

Snowstorm, twilight. The former hunter has become the prey, and his former colleagues have turned into vicious dogs with collars, relentlessly pursuing him.

Most of the hunters who eventually left Loretown remembered that long, cold night that felt like a nightmare. Some had lingering pains from gunshot wounds, some had silently brewing sorrow, and some had a burning, smoldering hatred, all longing to return to the distant North.

With their target nearing the border between Loreton and Philanes, and the purgers urgently dispatched by the Funeral Court nearly in place, Thoros was unable to catch the group of survivors who had broken through. He chose to retreat, half with regret and half with pity.

Memories after that... are just the same old, unoriginal clichés.

The Broken Blades, nominally, became the private army of certain powerful figures in the Saffor Council, changing their former name.

For example, Thoros's "Snow Country Edge," or "Winter Fang"... Despite their resounding names, everyone, including themselves, knew they were merely blades used for dirty work. Once dull and rusted, they would be discarded without hesitation.

However, the council leaders of Loretown did not personally purge them; instead, they rewarded them with substantial compensation. After all, these traitors had indeed served them, and as former hunters, they retained considerable combat skills, making them quite easy to use.

As for the fear of the Broken Blade rebelling again… ha. Who else can they turn to? The Funeral Court is enraged and will certainly not allow them to continue their sanctimonious existence. And the only one who can offer them refuge is Loreton.

Hedonism, alcoholism, and debauchery. After squandering the money the Blades received as rewards, they were forced to turn to occupations that suited them and satisfied their inflated desires. Three

Hired as bodyguards for the powerful, or as bounty hunters, assassins, or slave traders.

……road

"Ugly and repulsive."

After examining Thoros's past, Heda gave her assessment.

This guy was even more despicable in both character and personality than she had imagined, not even worth further evaluation. But through the experiences in Thoros's memories, she was able to gain a clearer understanding of the true situation of the chaos in the North.

"So, Black Rong and Bartley were the ones who retreated back to Norrington through the border of Ferranes. They should have been among the survivors that Thoros was chasing."

"However, what that guy said when he was comforting the team members, 'It was the Undertaker who betrayed us'... is indeed worth thinking about."

Of course, this doesn't mean Haida doubts her father. After all, the chief hunter of the Funeral Court could never rebel. No one loathed or hated those filthy creatures who had succumbed to depravity more than him.

She was simply curious about the specifics of the situation.

According to Solous's memories, Aheng single-handedly killed one of Loreton's Holy Heirs. As was his usual practice, his whereabouts were unpredictable, and everyone would only know that he had been there after the head of a certain being fell to the ground.

Fran knew some of the inside story about this.

After a moment's consideration, she pursed her lips and began to recount the past in a gentle, conversational manner.

"In fact, I treated Yaheng once a few years ago. It was around the time of the Northern Kingdom's chaos. His injuries were very serious, probably from a fierce battle. As a result, the residual winter essence in his blood was so concentrated that it would freeze as soon as it left his body, and I could only suppress it by force."

“If I hadn’t used some of the special medicines I had treasured in the ‘Second Pharmacy,’ he would have been bedridden in the medical ward for at least three or four years.”

Generally, to protect patient privacy, this doctor will not disclose detailed treatment cases. Although it seems unnecessary, she sometimes stubbornly insists on some strange and inexplicable behaviors.

However, Sister Heda could be considered a patient's family member, so there were no such concerns...

Upon hearing this secret, Haida's gray-chestnut eyes flickered slightly, revealing a hint of surprise.

"Has he ever suffered such a serious injury before?"

“Of course. Yaheng is the chief hunter, the funeral minister, and the ‘sword wielder’ of all the heretical hunters who use weapons. But that doesn’t mean he won’t get hurt, won’t bleed… or won’t grieve.”

"The lone red wolf, stained with the blood of Meredith, can only lick his wounds alone in the shadows. This is the path he chose."

Fran spoke slowly, then gently stretched his arms, like a feline yawning.

"However, that battle was also the final step for Yaheng to reach the Apostle level. After severing the head of that Holy Heir and surviving, his spirit experienced an unprecedented sublimation, completely breaking free from the shackles of his mortal body."

"But he himself doesn't seem very happy about it."

Upon hearing this, Haida fell into deep thought.

It turns out that my father had been in contact with Dr. Fran after the Great Plague. This is not surprising, as both of them had experienced the Great Plague of Norrington caused by lysozyme... in a sense, they were "old acquaintances".

However, Viola, the only link connecting the two, has died, which is why the two have had almost no contact anymore.

Even though Heda only saw Viola once in her old memories of annual house calls... the lady's gentle and friendly smile left a very deep and unforgettable impression on her.

Just like the beginning of late spring, the winter snow melts and peach petals bloom like red rain.

"So... Dr. Fran, what did you charge as consultation fees?"

Haida was somewhat curious about this.

Generally, she doesn't proactively charge payment for patients she sees monthly or quarterly. However, she'll usually try to extract some acceptable compensation from them in some way. This is her consistent standard of medical practice.

So how much does she charge Yaheng?

"Oh, this..."

听到2这个9问题，弗兰伸4出纤长的食0指挠4了挠脸颊3，似乎陷5入了6回忆4。

"My initial suggestion was to ask Yaheng to lend me the Judgment Throne for a month, and to my surprise, he actually agreed. He almost fought me when I secretly went to get it before, he's really hard to understand."

Upon hearing this, Haida narrowed her eyes slightly.

This is probably not the father's fault... After all, "lending" and "stealing" are two completely different concepts, and it also involves the principles of the Hunter of Secrets.

"So, Dr. Fran, you've studied the Headhunting Throne?"

"Do not."

Fran tilted his head slightly, then shook his index finger.

"That scythe doesn't like me. Its rejection is unusually strong; I can't even try to hold it. Further attempts to control it might even lead to it getting out of control... so I just gave up."

"After that, Yaheng offered to pay me by taking someone's head. However, according to the hunter's code, a hunter does not draw his blade on the innocent and virtuous, those who follow the order of the world. Therefore, there needs to be a reason why the target 'should not exist'."

“I agree. Although nothing is more ethereal and unreal than a ‘promise’... it is, after all, made by the chief hunter, and it may actually come in handy.”

"I see."

Haida lowered her gaze slightly upon hearing this, indicating that she was aware of it.

As the Funeral Court's top hunter of this generation, taking the lives of evil beings or fallen ones is undoubtedly what Aheng excels at. And this promise... carries immeasurable weight. After all, he never breaks his word.

However, to some extent, Yaheng was indeed directly related to the chaos in the Northern Kingdom. But he was a deep and meticulous man, far from being a reckless and fanatical fool, and it was impossible for him not to know the consequences of this sudden decapitation operation.

The hunters entrusted their lives to Yaheng, and he would make the most of them without hesitation. At the same time, he would also try his best to avoid unnecessary casualties, ensuring that his subordinates could save their lives for more valuable moments.

If the assassination of the Northern Kingdom's Holy Heir was planned, then the relevant cult strongholds should have begun their covert evacuation a week ago. Lin

Therefore, it was most likely an unexpected encounter...

"This worthless head has absolutely no value for collection. Once we return to Norrington, please have Sister Heda take Solous's head back to the Funeral Court. That should please those paranoid old men for a while."

"Ok."

Although Heda had no intention of flaunting her so-called achievements, the news of Broken Blade's gruesome death would keep her colleagues at Funeral Home in high spirits for a month. She herself was quite happy to share in the joy of her victory.

As he spoke, Fran quickly backed up Solos's memories before placing the head into another life support device. The reason he didn't return it to Haida was primarily for preservation purposes.

It's June, and the dog days of summer are approaching; the weather in Modwell is getting increasingly hot.

Although the temperature in Fog Street remained slightly cool, if the head wasn't made into a specimen... it would probably start to decompose overnight, and the entire clinic would be filled with the nauseating stench of protein degradation.

After Haida left the operating room, Fran retrieved the head of Orne, the "Candle-Drinking Viper."

However, she didn't put it into the life support system; she simply placed it on the counter. After a moment of stillness, she poured a bottle of Heil's Tears extract, obtained from the secret chamber of Gunther's mansion, over his head.

"Ho-"

The sudden replenishment of spiritual energy caused Ernie to abruptly open his eyes. After a few slow, gurgling movements of his throat, he let out a hoarse whimper. He was using his own spiritual energy to mimic the breathing of his lungs, and gradually began to regain his ability to speak.

"Why did you awaken me after letting Hyel keep my head? If you want my memories, just use your beak to pry open my skull and then [sip from the skull cup]. There's no need to humiliate me. I admit I failed to see through your disguise, and I have no regrets about dying for it."

"I have been tormented by this body full of ants for too long. If I cannot get rid of this chronic illness, there is no point in prolonging my life... I might as well end this torment quickly."

Although this snake-serpent disciple was arrogant and violent, he resigned himself to his fate and restrained his temper because the person in front of him might be an unknown apostle.

“Very good, given your current state... I think we can have a calm and peaceful talk.”

As they were talking, Fran moved over a small chair with a backrest, then gently tucked in the long hem of his doctor's coat and sat down.

"Obtaining your memories is not difficult, but it would cause irreversible damage to your consciousness and soul. I myself am not actually keen on taking other people's lives. Your condition is a special type of contamination, which is worth studying in depth."

"After all, it is quite difficult to find such highly active 'worm ant' contaminants, and it would be a pity to directly render them harmless at the physical level."

Ernie frowned slightly, as if he wanted to ask something, but in the end he only uttered a sigh.

"'Research 2'... Hey, the language you use is like that of an old pedant whose glasses inexplicably gleam. Bound by others and ending up like this, I suppose I have no right to refuse. So, what do you want to 'talk' about?"

Fran was quite satisfied with his cooperation.

“Let’s start with the breaking of the ‘Ant Scale Gate.’ What kind of upheaval led to the decline of your cult, ultimately resulting in its complete split? You can also tell us some stories about that deity at the same time.”

Upon hearing this, Ernie seemed to want to nod. But now that he only had a head left, he couldn't make any other movements.

"This isn't something that needs to be kept secret. If you're one of those guys who survived the cataclysmic disaster of the lost era, you should know some of the secrets of the 'War of Death'."

"The sole swordsman began his mad hunt. He gouged out the eye that the raven treasured, stole the scepter of the ant queen, 'Ruler of the Rags,' and finally ripped open the flesh of the Crimson Cup, releasing the indescribable liquid within."

"As the price for this grand destruction, the God of Hunting crushed himself beforehand to awaken an irresistible power. Perhaps out of pity, or perhaps as a bargain, the Sun was forged in the furnace to reforge Him from His shattered state. At the same time, His authority over the realm of forging was taken away."