The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

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Clapham bit his lip, abandoning all thoughts, and launched another attack with his steel spikes. At that moment, another broken blade joined him, the two sides attacking each other from the front and back with perfect coordination, striking Utus, who was trapped in the middle.

The more hopeless the predicament, the more it forces humans to push their physical potential to the limit. It's an exhilarating feeling of adrenaline, where the increased blood pressure, carrying a surge of heat, rushes into the brain, causing it to cast aside all negative emotions.

The two broken blades were handled flawlessly, like tightly meshed mechanical gears.

However... a discordant and unnatural error quietly emerged in their actions.

Clapham wanted to step forward with his left foot, but his right index finger started twitching as his body commanded, while his right foot was already poised to take a step forward according to muscle memory.

Simply put, he drove his right leg twice in succession without moving his left leg at all.

His uncontrollable body caused him to fall suddenly, crashing heavily onto the cold, hard lower deck.

Qiutus naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity. He quickly closed in on Clapham and punched him in the back of the head.

As a sharp, unsettling cracking sound came from the atlantoaxial joint, the Northern Blademan immediately fainted and went into shock. Even if he survived, he would likely be paralyzed from the waist down.

Six. "You're the only one left."

Sanwutus raised his head and looked at the last person who had stopped moving due to astonishment and fear.

"If you choose to surrender, I can take you back to Norrington alive. Your fate will then be decided by the Hunters."

"No..."

Upon hearing his words, Broken Blade, who had almost lost the will to resist, trembled violently and then charged forward, brandishing his short dagger in a near-hysterical frenzy. However, his movements at this moment were completely unlike those of a well-trained blade wielder.

It's closer to the convulsions of a pathetic madman in a delirium.

"boom!"

Gunshots rang out, and wisps of gray smoke drifted out.

The last remaining blade fell with a thud, and the spherical wound, melted into mud, was faintly visible on its back.

After pulling the trigger, the inchworm, hidden behind cover, tossed the flintlock pistol back to Utus. It was a relic from a lost era; the lead bullets it fired could twist and mold the flesh of its target, making it extremely effective against single targets at medium range.

Its disadvantages are also obvious. Given the flintlock's ammunition capacity and reloading speed, it can be used as a stick after one shot.

"Pleasant to work with."

As he spoke, the inchworm slowly walked toward Utus, who was wiping blood from his hands.

"Pleasant to work with."

"...To be honest, I never imagined that a disciple of the Misty Society, the Night Moth, would say those words to me. But Mr. Inchworm really deserves a lot of credit for resolving this problem so easily."

Utus actually preferred to defeat the enemy head-on.

However, occasionally trying such a less-than-honorable little trick can be quite an interesting experience... He wouldn't refuse to be part of someone's tactical plan if it effectively reduces casualties and risks.

Coincidentally, as a moth priest who is close to becoming a high priest, the inchworm has a lot of experience in this area.

The first appearance of Utus was an illusion he created using the third type of arcane art, "Chasing Bewilderment." His purpose was to attract the attention of the three Northern Blades and subtly create a sense of oppression.

At the same time, it allowed the oceanography professor to make a sudden move from an unexpected location.

Judging from the actual results, this team of Northern Blades was even more mentally tense than expected, to the point that their mind-disrupting techniques were remarkably effective. They probably didn't even notice anything amiss until the very last moment.

Clapham's sudden fall was also the work of an inchworm.

By maintaining a fixed casting time, the [Dance of the Eight Cicadas] can confuse and alter all bodily commands of the affected individual, including subjective behavior, subconscious movements, and instinctive physiological reflexes.

Breathing becomes biting one's lip, raising one's hand becomes tilting one's head, the beating of one's heart becomes twitching of one's eyelids... As long as the immersion in this secret technique lasts long enough, the recipient will eventually become a grotesque and inferior puppet, slowly dying in the disordered operation of limbs and organs.

Those who worship the mottled moth are not good at, and may even despise, unprepared encounters.

They are more interested in setting up the stage, creating layers of illusions and traps, and then lying in wait behind the curtain... waiting for the unsuspecting target to step into this meticulously crafted, deep nightmare.

"Cough...cough cough...It was you?"

Clapham struggled to lift his head, his eyes wide open, staring at the inchworm with almost bloodshot eyes.

He had seen this guy with the silver-rimmed glasses before in the restaurant of the Leviathan. But there were many other passengers dining around at the time, so he didn't pay much attention to him and didn't have a very deep impression of him.

"He survived that blow? What incredible resilience!" The inchworm frowned and clicked its tongue in surprise.

If Professor Utus had landed that punch straight at the back of his head on him, he probably would have said goodbye to this world on the spot.

However, considering that this Northern Blade has two or three thick neck guards made of fat, so thick that you can't even see his neck... the current situation doesn't seem so unacceptable.

"Should we spare one of them?"

Looking at Clapham, who was trying to stand up but only managed a few weak tremors, the inchworm turned to ask Utus beside it. It wasn't out of pity, but rather because a living remnant of the Northern Blade would be more valuable.

"can."

Utus nodded, indicating his agreement with the idea.

"Their audacity to board the ship bound for Norrington suggests there must be some compelling order behind it. I think the Order of the Mystics will be very interested in the schemes of those behind it."

"As for safety... the Levia has several special compartments used to imprison large Abyssal Evils, enough to accommodate the evil offspring of the fourth tier. I usually use them to store more dangerous experimental subjects, so I can use them directly."

In fact, treating Clapham to this type of cell was far too cautious. He had completely lost sensation below the neck, and even with emergency treatment, he would most likely be left with a level one disability.

The content of their conversation caused Clapham's pupils to contract sharply; he immediately clenched his teeth, as if preparing to use some urgent phrase.

Before the action was fully completed, Utus reached out and dislocated the jaw of the Northern Blade. He then took out a syringe full of sedatives and injected him intravenously.

"This injection will keep him quiet for at least 24 hours. However, this medicine is generally used on small to medium-sized Abyssal Evil Creatures; strictly speaking, it's a veterinary medicine. What would happen if used on a human... I can't say for sure." — Liu

To be honest, he wasn't that concerned about the life or death of a Broken Blade. But since he was a prisoner who could provide intelligence, sparing his life wasn't out of the question. After all, he was going to be handed over to the Funeral Home anyway. Lu

The threat of infiltrating the lower decks has been eliminated; the remaining sentries on the upper decks will be dealt with one by one by the Exterminators.

With a series of rustling sounds, the arachnid-like left eye leaped onto the inchworm's hand. It first secreted a layer of colorless, transparent mucus on its body surface, then, after cleaning off any dust, it burrowed back into its eye socket.

"Now it's time to find that 'goods' the remnants were talking about that sneaked aboard." Si

The inchworm blinked, savoring the long-lost feeling of fullness in its eye sockets. Part Two

"To be honest, I'm very curious about what exactly it is that allows the Northern Blades to board the ship bound for Norrington."

As he spoke, he bent down and picked up the ivory compass that had rolled to the ground from Clapham's hands. Compared to a compass full of various markings, it was much smaller and simpler, with no other directional markings except for the ivory-colored pointer.

"30° north of west".

Following the guidance of the compass, the inchworm and Utus entered the cargo hold. They arrived at the hiding place of this uninvited guest... a leather suitcase with a barely perceptible cut visible on the outside.

"Did he somehow pry open the suitcase and crawl inside?"

Utus stroked his chin, examining the cut carefully.

The cut was clean and sharp, about two fingers long, like it was made by a razor blade. Judging from the size, what was hiding inside couldn't possibly be a person. It was probably some kind of small mammal.

Seemingly sensing the noise, the object in the box leaped out nimbly and quickly. Its back arched high, keeping a watchful eye on the situation.

"ha-"

A low hiss came from her throat.

That was a leopard cat.

She has a graceful and slender figure, with glossy and smooth fur, adorned with copper-brown markings that subtly reveal a metallic sheen.

However, the leopard cat had a deep, festering wound on its abdomen, so deep that the bone was visible. A faint, metallic, bloody odor emanated from it, and perhaps because of this, its steps were slightly unsteady, and its breathing short and weak.

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soup!

Chapter Seven: Blazing Purity

The Mirror of Enlightenment Club.

The flickering candlelight cast a dim and indistinct glow, reflecting off the quartz display cases adorned with various raw mineral crystals, creating a mesmerizing and enchanting scene.

Inside the calcite chamber, Fran, dressed in a priest's robe, sat upright at a table draped in dark gray velvet. She was silent and quiet, her hands, covered in black stitching, gently supporting her cheeks, as if deep in thought.

Compared to usual, the doctor kept his left eye squinted throughout the entire process, which gave him a slightly lazy look.

He seemed to have just gotten out of bed, still feeling tired and drowsy.

Of course, she wasn't really lacking rest... she was just taking advantage of the lull when no customers came for divination to share the view from the inchworm's left eye. It must be said that this follower from the Misty Society did bring her some unexpected surprises.

While it's true that leaving a "backdoor" in one's patient through blood and flesh techniques is somewhat unseemly and not in line with the ethical standards of a doctor... I suppose the inchworm itself wouldn't have any objections, since the medical services it provides are free.

Moreover, it's just sharing vision. Compared to the methods of the Bloodlings or the Orcish Pain Boys, this is undoubtedly quite mild, and could even be called merciful.

The former involves modifying the experimental subject's heart, lungs, and internal organs into living torture devices to absorb pain. The latter might implant high explosives in the patient's brain, allowing them to press a button when they are in a bad mood.

"Sabre-toothed creature?"

5 Fran gently stroked his cheek with the pad of his index finger, his long, pale eyelashes fluttering lightly, and his amber eyes shimmering with a hint of confusion.

"It seems that after the end of the era, no new saber-toothed creatures have emerged in this part of our history. So, could that little guy on the Levia be a remnant of the lost era?"

After a moment, she shook her head, dismissing the conjecture.

"Probably not."

"The saber-toothed creatures that survived the great war and have continued to exist to this day should at least be fifth-tier holy heirs, and it would not be surprising if they were even apostles. According to the documents I have, all the blade apostles and their prototypes were reduced to ashes in that war."

"Even the high-ranking celestial being Sichen cannot escape it."

If that little creature on the Levia was truly a saber-toothed creature that survived the end-of-era cataclysm, even if she was merely a remnant, she could never be so weak... After all, the Northern Blades that were chasing her didn't even have a proper high priest.

In addition, there is the issue of lifespan.

As the last surviving member of the Heil nobility, Lady Shitia is a pure, born mythical being. Therefore, even without becoming an Apostle, she is able to enjoy a long life sufficient to oversee history.

The essence of saber-toothed creatures is "casting".

Before they even reach the sixth step, they too will decay and rust with the passage of time and die. The whole process is indeed much longer than the lifespan of a human, but it is ultimately only a hundred or a thousand years.

The little guy hiding in the cargo hold looks to be only at the third tier level, or even overrated. Normally, it would begin to wither and decay in less than three hundred years. It's absolutely impossible for it to have lived from the beginning of the millennium until now.

Although she is now seriously injured, her fur is still glossy and her vitality is still strong.

Based on the information currently available, this little guy either enjoys some kind of special favor or is really young.

"We really need to meet in person to find out the answer."

Fran tapped the table rhythmically with his knuckles, making no attempt to conceal his quietly rising thirst for knowledge.

The inchworm and Utus have already contained the unfriendly saber-toothed creature and taken some emergency measures, so there's no need to continue paying attention to it.

It's currently mid-August, and the journey from Foy to Norrington takes about two weeks. If the Leviathan sails smoothly, it should arrive in Norrington by the end of the month, in time for its monthly outpatient visit in August.

Although Fran could use the inchworm as an anchor point to directly board the ship through the fog in the doorway... she had many things to do on her recent schedule and a lot of materials that needed to be categorized and organized, so there was no need for her to make a special trip to the field for this purpose.

Right now, she hasn't even gotten to the important business at the Mirror of Enlightenment Club.

The calcite room is filled with a faint, dreamlike fragrance, and the surrounding environment is quite quiet. Only when guests arrive will the wind chimes ring, otherwise there is no other noise, making it very suitable for resting, sitting quietly, and reading books.

The only thing to watch out for is that Dorothy will occasionally sneak a peek through the [Mirror Image].

This is actually harmless, since the book "Grosnik's Sewing and Unraveling" in Fran's hands is incomprehensible to most people. The Ork language is essentially hieroglyphic, mixed with a large number of loanwords, and on top of that, there are many self-created complex jargon and technical terms.

Even this doctor spent a lot of effort learning and collecting the complete set of orc languages.

Originally, Fran and Tongen agreed that Fran would stay at the shop on the first Sunday of every month. However, due to changes in his schedule and the Nightmare Guest attack, his arrival time became very unpredictable and almost unfixed.

However, Dorothy wasn't particularly concerned.

After all, Fran had saved Tong En and repaired her missing right eye, so she no longer harbored any wariness towards him. Or rather... she wasn't so wary anymore. She wouldn't refuse a visit even if he stayed permanently, let alone come over once a month.

"Ding--"

The glass wind chimes rang softly, their sound clear and light. Fran rubbed his eyes, then closed the book in his hands.

"Finally, we have guests."

She slightly raised her eyebrows and looked at the layers of gray gauze that concealed the door.

The figure approaching slowly was not an unfamiliar face; it was none other than Dorothy, the consort of the Mirror of Enlightenment Club. She flicked her fingertips, lifting a few stray strands of hair beneath her robe, revealing a pair of exotic eyes that shone with a deep green and a dark black hue.

Good day, Miss Fran.

"Good day."

Fran maintained his usual warm smile, showing no sign of surprise.

For her, it didn't matter who the customers came for divination were; she just happened to be quite interested in Ms. Si Zhu's little secret. Asking directly would be too abrupt, so she thought it better to let the other person find a way to tell her on their own initiative.

“Miss Dorothy, my divination fee is half Norrington silver per reading. Services include fortune telling, relationship counseling, psychological counseling, marriage divination, sports planning, muscle relaxation and orthopedic therapy... Medical-related services are charged separately.”