The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

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Of course, the trip was not entirely fruitless.

The scroll that once depicted the image of Eve was now in her possession; she could take it back for authentication as a relic. Fran was quite interested in this small object that could transform ordinary humans into a surreal state.

However, this matter will have to be postponed a bit, as the first batch of finished products from the protocloning laboratory is about to be harvested, and it is inconvenient to be distracted by other matters.

"I've basically been in the lab for the past two weeks and haven't left. I need to go back and catch up on my sleep."

"Vivian, I'll leave the cleanup to you."

As he spoke, Fran had already knocked on the "mist within the door" at the entrance of the studio, and, without a trace of regret, prepared to leave, slipping on his velvet slippers.

"Dr. Fran, please wait!"

Vivian quickly stepped forward and mustered her courage to tug at the doctor's sleeve.

"Um, how should I write the mission report for the Secret Service this time... Should I just state the facts?"

"let me see."

Fran scratched his cheek with his slender index finger and quickly made a decision.

"Tonight, a brave and alert detective noticed something amiss at Dwyer's residence and acted swiftly to save a young nun from imminent death. After a fierce battle with two immortal figures in a painting, she realized that the painting was their weakness and shot them, destroying them and causing the monsters to vanish."

"A potential crisis was thus nipped in the bud, which is commendable."

Upon hearing this, Vivian narrowed her eyes slightly with a strange expression, her expression also paused for a moment, before slowly speaking.

"What about you?"

"Me? I've never been here before."

Before he finished speaking, Fran's figure, dressed in pajamas, had already disappeared into the pale mist.

Seeing the doctor leave, Vivian couldn't help but rub her temples, not hiding the distress in her eyes.

Despite feeling like he hadn't accomplished anything during his trip to Gormouth, his supervisor Alvin inexplicably recorded a remarkable achievement for him... Mr. Bartley from the Funeral Court even wrote him a letter of recommendation.

This raised two concerns for her. (The rest of the text appears to be unrelated and possibly machine-generated gibberish.)

Firstly, if the General Affairs Department decides to promote me, then a supervisor assessment will inevitably be conducted. With my current abilities, will I be able to pass?

She had serious doubts about this.

Secondly, if I get promoted, will I be separated from Sister Heda's executive group? This means that the wonderful time of being able to comfortably serve as a leg ornament will be over... It's really unsettling.

Just as Vivian was lost in her own wild thoughts, a faint moan quietly broke the silence.

Sister Eve has awakened.

She opened her eyes in a daze, her gaze flickering blankly before settling on Vivian beside her.

"Agent Vivian?"

Almost the instant her consciousness returned, the nun immediately propped herself up on her feet, like a frightened young falcon.

"Our residence in Dwyer? Senior Agent, this place is extremely dangerous. His paintings possess some unknown mystical or relic quality that can corrupt and infect the minds of others..."

Ife seemed to want to remind someone of something, but the words stopped abruptly when she tried to speak.

She noticed the horrific signs of battle in Lenormont's studio.

The tiles were peeling off, and the walls were cracked and damaged, as if struck by a heavy metal object. There were also two layers of human-shaped ashes on the floor, and still-warm black scorch marks... all indicating that a fierce battle had once taken place here.

Seeing Eve looking at her speechlessly, Vivian's gaze sharpened slightly.

Considering what Dr. Fran had said before he left, she sighed resignedly and finally forced herself to admit that she had done it all.

"Don't worry, Sister Ift, it's all taken care of."

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Hey!

Chapter Fourteen: The Unholy Ones

The Hunters Order, Funeral Court, and Hanging Blade Training Ground.

The deep corridors of the training ground were long and narrow, the dim, soft glow of kerosene lamps illuminating the statues of the funeral officials from past dynasties on either side. This was not Haida's first time in the lower levels of the training ground; she had also undergone her assessment here when she was promoted to supervisor.

However, today, she keenly noticed some changes.

One of the statues that were originally neatly arranged on the side is now missing, leaving a slightly awkward empty space.

Could this be some kind of hint?

Guhaida walked forward slowly and steadily, her gray-chestnut eyes calmly shimmering with thought.

The examination of "Signing Attendants" was divided into three categories according to the classification method of the secret ritual.

The third category is to accumulate amazing achievements and obtain a sufficient number of prey heads.

3. The second category involves hunting a powerful individual at a specific time and collecting its ashes and remains.

The first category involves stepping into the lower levels of Norrington's Suspended Blade Training Grounds to undergo an unknown trial that even senior managers are unwilling to undertake.

Hedda's achievements at Gormouth were sufficient for a third-class promotion. However, she was still relatively inexperienced, having served in the Funeral Court for less than ten years, so the entire process would take several more years.

However, this nun didn't actually care about the position.

She chose to participate in the Funeral Court's first-class trial simply because she wanted a more thorough and in-depth self-discipline that would allow her to glimpse death. The assessment at the Suspended Blade Training Ground was by no means a perfunctory formality… even among young hunters with the potential to become the chief, several perished within its walls.

Because the risk of losses is too uncontrollable, only a handful of hunters have been qualified and willing to participate in the trials in recent years.

Step, step, step.

The leather hunting boots felt slightly unsteady on the brick floor, a result of the fine dust that had accumulated from neglect. Haida passed through the secret chamber where she had last supervised her assessment and went straight to the end of the corridor.

What comes into view is a huge door made of cast brass.

Dense steel chains hung like curtains over the door, and the airflow blew in, like a north wind, bringing a sharp, piercing chill.

Even within the sealed-off state of "stillness and secrecy," this place still evokes a strong sense of unease.

Haida took out the court dagger she had previously seized from Prince Gunther's hidden residence from the portable scabbard of her nun's armor, then cut her left fingertip and smeared the overflowing crimson blood onto the lock.

At the same time, her lips moved as she recited the secret prayer used in the unsealing ceremony.

"Dragon Bloodwood. Dragons did not exist in the original history; the creatures that bear its name are merely scaled beings driven by hunger and thirst."

"Euphorbia fischeriana. Violence born from remains; destructive desires; inescapable pain; hatred tearing at nothingness."

"Dandelion. Bound to the ground, it sheds its wings in the sky, drifting aimlessly, relying on the breeze. If it wants to discard its old body, it must do so."

As the nun finished her final hymn, the steel chains on the doors shattered and melted, turning into dull metal scraps that crumbled away.

"Whoosh—"

Haida breathed a sigh of relief, then placed her hand on the hilt of the sword "Nirvana".

Is Liu nervous?

Lu may be right, or he may not be.

She had witnessed the rise and fall of many high-ranking, secretive beings, so her mind should have been stable enough. But most of the time, she was just assisting Dr. Fran as the head nurse, and rarely faced threats directly.

Has weakness arisen unnoticed? Has the blade become dull and rusty? Has dependence seeped into one's mind and body?

Fourth, she must constantly examine and reflect on herself.

After taking a few breaths to gather her thoughts, Haida pushed open the brass door and stepped into the deep, cold chamber. It was unsettlingly quiet; with each step, the crisp echo of her hunting boots on the stone bricks could be heard.

The first type of advancement trial has only one rule.

That is, "to survive for ten minutes. To survive by any means necessary, by all means, and by every possible means."

The candlelight in the ceiling lit up on its own, bringing some light and warmth to the dusty, sealed room, and also illuminating the dark figure bound by layers of ritual prayers.

He was dressed in ancient hunting attire from several generations ago, and was a robust and muscular man with gray hair and a long beard, surrounded by dust. Judging by conventional human features, he was an old man at least seventy years old, but his physique was still at the peak of his youth.

However, considering that he may have once enjoyed a hidden rank of the fifth tier or even higher, his true lifespan is probably not that long.

"A familiar yet unique aura. I smelled it on another trial participant, it seems to have been more than 20 years ago... Many people have come here, and many have died here. That scary crazy kid is the only one who left an impression on me."

"Perhaps I am really too old, because I was almost buried by him. Whenever I think about it, I can't help but feel regret."

"I was just a second or two away from dying."

The old man sighed wearily, shook the nearly three-meter-long bone spear in his hand, and the dust fell off.

"I hope you can bring me some surprises, or at least, don't die so quickly."

As the dark prayer inscriptions etched around him gradually dimmed, the glimmer of reason in his eyes quickly burned out.

A chilling obsession and madness permeated his being, accompanied by a deep-seated hatred that transformed into an almost pure bloodlust. The old man at this moment no longer possessed any trace of dying vitality; his strength made it difficult to even call him human.

"Ah, a dragon!"

"Decadent, base, ugly, deceitful thing! Let me tear your throat, and once again, once more—strangle you here!"

"when!"

Haida held her sword horizontally, blocking the opponent's thrust in an instant. The immense force transmitted from the hilt made it difficult for her to maintain her balance, and she had to take five steps back to barely dissipate the kinetic energy.

Before she could adjust her breathing and posture, the old man approached again, his bone spear moving like a snake, aiming for her neck at an extremely tricky angle.

Haida suddenly raised her head and retreated, but was still grazed on the cheek by the spear tip, leaving a shallow bloodstain.

Although she had suspected something before even glimpsing the missing stone statue, it wasn't until this moment that she was completely certain of her hypothesis. The old man before her, driven to madness, was none other than the chief hunter of a certain generation in the Funeral Court a thousand years in the future…

A person who once slaughtered dragons, bathed in dragon blood, and was infected with the dragon plague.

Pansassin Meredith, the "Impure God".

At this moment, Haida's body and mind seemed like two independently operating yet harmoniously coordinated programs. While maintaining the state of thinking about countermeasures, her hand movements remained fluid and natural, without showing the slightest hesitation or stagnation.

From a weaponry perspective, using a sword against a gun is undoubtedly a disadvantage.

But the power sword "Nirvana" in the nun's hand was not a ceremonial weapon that was only an arm's length long, but a heavy weapon that was as tall as a person. Even a casual, grazing slash was enough to tear an ordinary person apart along with their armor.

However, under Pansassin's relentless offensive pressure, she had no chance to take the initiative and was doing her best even in passive defense.

Fierce, cunning, decisive. Experienced, highly skilled, and exceptionally difficult to deal with...

However, it hasn't reached a point of despair yet.

In the Funeral Court's records, "The Unholy One" Pansassin was an apostle who had ascended to the sixth tier of the Blade-wielding class. However, the old man before him did not display the hidden power capable of easily crushing mortals.

"Qiang!"

Once again, swords and spears clashed.

Just as Haida's power sword was about to sever the bone gun barrel, the gun seemed to come alive, coiling to avoid the molten gold blade. She then switched to holding the sword with one hand, using the other to draw her standard-issue firearm from her waist and pull the trigger.

A series of intense flashes erupted from the muzzle, and brass cartridge cases were ejected one after another with a loud bang.

Previously, they had clashed so closely that they were only inches apart.

At that distance, the human body simply could not dodge the continuous fire of an empty magazine. And Pansassin made no attempt to retreat, meeting the whistling steel-core bullets with an almost contemptuous air.

The old man's thin skin was torn and pierced, revealing filthy scales and feathers stained with sticky blood and stuck together.

"Look at this disgusting body! Even if I crush and tear it apart again and again, rest is still a long way off... I am now just ashes devoid of warmth, a prisoner of a filthy life, my soul and humanity utterly gone."

"Night, oh, long night, never ending..."

"All of this is thanks to you!"

His low growl was fierce and violent, and his bone spear suddenly struck out, deflecting Haida's sword-wielding arm.

Perhaps resentful, the nun had to admit that the person before her was more skilled in wielding weapons than she was. Even though he displayed hysterical madness during his attack, his movements remained fluid and cautious, flawless and impeccable.

Haida's black nun's armor robes gradually became tattered, revealing bloodstains of varying depths on her skin.

The wounds covered her arms, abdomen, shoulder blades, and calves, but her movements seemed unaffected, instead becoming even lighter and swifter. Crimson blood evaporated and scabbed over at a visible speed, the wounds emitting a deep, silvery-white glow.

The second-tier intermediate secret technique, [Engraving Sacred Wounds], originates from the court ceremonial sword found in Prince Gunther's hidden palace. The accumulation of wounds will further revitalize the body, unleash potential, and enhance perception and spirituality.

The injury has stopped spreading, but blood is being lost rapidly.

A full-scale attack might not be effective and could even exacerbate the depletion of spirit, blood, and physical strength, making it impossible to hold out until the time limit expires. If one were to perish in this secret room as a result... that would truly be a darkly ironic situation.

Yes, I should hold back and maintain my position.

Yes, I should lie low and wait.

Yes, whether in terms of pure violence or the skill in manipulating weapons, I am currently far from matching this dragon hunter who once reached the rank of Apostle. I need to remain silent and follow the commandments and reason to make the choice most appropriate to the situation.