The eccentric doctor never makes a misdiagnosis!

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However, this trait manifests in a completely different way than Melvis, who assimilated the Abyss Palace. It is far from strong; rather, it can be described as weak, like a casting with inherent material defects, forever unable to escape the limitations of a flawed product.

"A banquet hall for the gods, or... a tomb?"

Exploring and delving into such an obviously unusual place without any prior knowledge would undoubtedly be irrational, and Sigrid was not without her concerns and reservations.

But she could sense that the source of the crying was getting closer and closer to her.

As Sigrid walked, she could feel the gazes of the humanoid giants around her subtly focusing on her. But they remained silent, as if they had only been distracted by a passing ant.

With each step she took, Sigrid could feel the surreal atmosphere around her deepening, almost to the point of being intense.

She was already bored with the constant changing scenes. Suddenly, golden-red flames burst forth from her body, no longer concealing the fiery spirituality of a primordial sun fragment, an alchemical life form.

The invisible gaze that had been fixed on her finally shifted from calm to astonishment.

At that very moment, Sigrid finally met the person she had been searching for all along, Dr. Fran, in a corner of the banquet hall.

She was seen squatting in the shadows, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried between her legs, making it impossible to see her expression.

Although I couldn't see their face, identifying them by their hair color, voice, and the stitches on their neck and wrists wasn't a problem.

Fran was wearing a Stola-style grey-white robe, with a classic and dignified Roman style. However, she was barefoot, and her originally fair toes were slightly red from prolonged contact with the cold ground, and seemed to have stepped on some dust.

“呼哎￡□寺◎※令&∩思⌒￠san◆※露:♂4SoUsuO:.”

The moment Sigrid saw Fran, she could clearly feel her breathing become easier. After the heat in the furnace subsided, her highly manifested alchemical state instantly returned to normal.

This doctor probably possesses a unique charm, or perhaps an infectious quality. It seems that just being around her, even in dangerous environments, brings a sense of security.

The only thing to note is that her current state seems a bit off.

Sigrid approached lightly and slowly, carefully observing Fran, who was currently burying her head and occasionally sobbing. Fran seemed to have become smaller again, and her original rational and mature professional demeanor was nowhere to be seen; she looked more like a young girl.

But she wasn't as young as she was when she transformed into the White Priestess during her last house call.

"Dr. Fran?"

Once she was close enough, Sigrid leaned down and called out softly.

"..."

Fran did not respond, a lingering sob in her throat. After a few breaths, she slowly lifted her head from between her legs.

The faint redness at the corners of her eyes was still visible, glistening with a watery sheen. Two clear tear tracks ran down her cheeks, her long eyelashes were stuck together from her earlier sobs, and her deep amber eyes no longer seemed to sparkle as usual.

Sigrid parted her lips slightly, momentarily forgetting what to say next.

This was an expression she had never seen on Fran's face before.

For this doctor, the most common expression should be a warm and intriguing smile. Sometimes, she will also naturally reveal fatigue, languor, playfulness, or the calm that remains undisturbed when deep in thought.

Now, she is shedding tears of grief like any ordinary young girl, revealing her vulnerability almost without any attempt to hide it.

Like some kind of small animal, pitiful to the point of being touching.

Suddenly, Fran's lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something.

Her voice was hoarse and indistinct until her cheek was completely close to Sigrid's ear, and every breath she exhaled was clearly audible, at which point the latter could hear the specific content of the short sentence.

"It's so cold..."

Almost instantly upon hearing those words, Sigrid instinctively placed her hand on Fran's hand.

The instant the two sides made contact, the intense, almost tangible, illusory atmosphere of the entire banquet hall receded like a tide, as if the only source of light had been extinguished. The surrounding scenery also vanished in an instant into the deep darkness.

Like the heart-pounding sensation of falling from the heavens, this is the feeling of consciousness returning to reality.

"Click-click-click-click".

The sound of train wheels rolling over the rails.

Sigrid opened her eyes and found herself back in her leather seat on the train.

These sudden scene transitions, without any warning or logical connection, felt like a tasteless and low-class joke. Finally, she couldn't suppress her anger.

But soon, she noticed something different.

At this moment, on the inner seat next to Sigrid by the window, a girl was curled up in a light sleep. The tear stains at the corners of her eyes had not yet dried, her breathing was quiet and silent, and she occasionally frowned slightly; her sleeping face was not peaceful.

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Business trip followed by annual leave! Tsuruko, revived!

Chapter Forty-Five: Compassion for the Nameless [The Last Sacrifice]

Looking at Fran, who was lying unguarded on the leather seats of the train, Sigrid felt a strange sense of relief, but also some confusion about what she should do next.

Because of the doctor's unusual behavior, she didn't think he could demonstrate the rationality and problem-solving judgment that transcended limitations as usual... It just so happened that Sister Heda wasn't present, otherwise she would have found the scene familiar.

The eerie setting, the dangerous environment, and the young Fran—it's hard not to feel a connection to these elements. ≮★

Hmm...should we wake her up?

Sigrid pondered the question with some difficulty.

Dr. Fran is now drowsy and weak, like a human girl with nothing special about her.

If she could, the craftswoman would indeed like to give her more time to sleep a little longer. But at this moment, the train was still traveling to an unknown destination, and she was completely unaware of all the possible situations she might encounter on this journey.

However, she still remembered the only words Fran uttered in that banquet hall.

So cold.

This is a pure statement without any interactive objects, like the unconscious whispers of a dreamer.

With that in mind, Sigrid slowly reached out and pulled her into her arms as quietly as possible without disturbing her, then carefully wrapped her soft, slender body in her maid's robe.

Sure enough, Dr. Fran was much smaller than when he was at the Fog Street clinic. You could only see a little bit of the difference by looking at it with the naked eye. Only by handling it yourself could you truly feel the many changes.

Her current body is only a year or two older than when she was the White Priestess, and she is still in an undeveloped state.

Perhaps sensing the warmth from the outside, Fran's expression relaxed slightly as she slept, her tightly furrowed brows no longer shrouded in melancholy and worry. She quickly and instinctively reached out and wrapped her arms around Sigrid's waist, greedily absorbing the warmth like a feline.

This was probably a somewhat ambiguous gesture, but to Sigrid it was like taking care of a child, thus revealing a sense of entitlement.

Sigrid felt calm.

Compared to humans who experience backaches, leg numbness, and an increased risk of cervical spondylosis from sitting for even a short time, she can maintain her current posture like a plaster sculpture for an extended period of time, which can be measured in years, provided she doesn't get tired of it.

Children generally sleep very deeply, but they will wake up energetically when their biological clock strikes. Sigrid ultimately suppressed the urge to wake Fran and decided to use her as a human-shaped body pillow for a few hours first.

The lack of someone she could trust to hug, someone to share warmth with in the cold, all of this made her feel needed. If this train hadn't been dangerous and unknown, she wouldn't even have had the thought of waking Fran.

Seventh Sigrid could hardly resist reaching out and gently stroking Fran's hair, its texture delicate and soft, befitting a young individual.

Just as she was about to remain quiet until Fran woke up, an unexpected metallic hum, accompanied by a whistle, suddenly rang out.

Lu "Sha—"

The sound of the umbrella was sharp yet steady, indicating that the train was gradually coming to a stop.

This was better than the worst-case scenario Sigrid had anticipated. She had been worried that the driverless train might derail on a sharp bend and had prepared contingency plans for such an event.

As the sound of the steam turbine gradually faded away, the scenery outside also stopped changing, and the entire train finally came to a complete stop.

Sigrid turned her gaze to the windowsill. Outside, a thick, gray fog shrouded the forest, obscuring any city or town. But it lacked the vibrant energy of the wild; everything she saw was gloomy and unpleasant.

The weather here is worse than in Norlington.

As long as it's daytime with plenty of natural light, Sigrid can restore her depleted spirit, even on overcast days. However, this doesn't stop her from disliking the current weather where there's no direct sunlight.

Setting a fire here might alleviate this unpleasant feeling.

...To be honest, Sigrid rarely felt such inexplicable negative emotions towards a place. She quickly realized this, then reached out and rubbed her temples to ease the lingering, dark desire.

"cough."

Just then, Fran, who was in her arms, twitched his eyelids and slowly and somewhat laboriously opened his eyes.

"You're awake? Dr. Fran."

Sigrid opened her eyes slightly and asked with a hint of surprise.

"Fran?"

Upon hearing the name, Fran seemed somewhat confused and lowered his gaze.

The girl's bewilderment was unmistakable, but more importantly, it was the look in her eyes when she saw Sigrid.

Even without the talent for profiling and the keen intuition of a hunter, Sigrid could easily sense that she seemed to be a stranger in the other person's eyes.

Not disgusted, but with a polite wariness and distance.

“Sister, I don’t know why you call me by that name. But if you’d like, please call me Flamel.”

Fran's voice still carried a hint of weakness, as if he had exhausted all his remaining energy just by saying those words.

"Flamemer... okay."

Sigrid nodded obediently, not getting hung up on the issue of address.

At the same time, she noticed that the girl's eyelashes seemed to be stuck together with dried, congealed tears, so she gently rubbed the solidified matter away with her fingertips. She was always patient with children, and this situation made her truly feel like a waitress.

Although Sigrid usually takes care of Fran's daily life at the Fog Street Clinic, the latter is, after all, an adult with rich life experience and independent behavior, so often it is Fran who takes care of herself.

"So, Flamel, can you tell me why you're here?"

Looking at Fran, who was curled up slightly, she raised her question.

Upon hearing this, the other person lowered their head, seemingly lost in thought, before responding after a moment.

"……I have no idea."

"It's like a dream. I know my name, but I don't know who I am, where I came from, or where I'm going."

Although his voice was weak, Fran's words were still coherent and his pronunciation was clear.

Hmm... rational, weary, with a touch of philosophical contemplation, and the wording is consistent with this doctor's usual speaking style. Is it memory loss, or has she returned to a certain period of her life? Both seem possible.

Sigrid quickly made a judgment based on these words.

She actually hoped it was just a joke by Dr. Fran.

Unfortunately, this doctor never seems to waste time on such things during working hours. He might sometimes devise ingenious ways to fool others, but he would never allow it to affect his efficiency in seeing patients.

"Please allow me to raise another question."

As she spoke, Sigrid looked at Fran with a solemn expression.

Why are you crying?

She knew that if the person in front of her had no recollection of her, it would be somewhat impolite for a stranger to bombard her with questions upon first meeting. But unlike Sister Heda, she wasn't adept at gleaning information from subtle clues…

Therefore, Sigrid decided to seek communication in the most direct way possible.

She will ask any questions she can think of, and will not hide her own secrets from the other person. Honest, sincere, and straightforward... warm and unpretentious, this is her consistent style in dealing with people.

Why...are you crying?

Sifredo slowly savored Sigrid's question, and illusory yet real memories floated up in her mind like bubbles.

The roars and howls on the vast battlefield, the withered bones and corpses on the desolate plains, and the dying and waiting to die in the trenches... Is it the falling twilight that turns the earth golden and red, or the crimson wind that dyes the sky red?

2. Pain will not cease for a moment due to numbness; the torment will never end.

4. Emptiness will not be satisfied even a fraction by achievements, and the arduous journey will continue.

Death will not be slowed by healing; all is meaningless.

Through countless cycles of day and night, she gave countless people suffering from serious illnesses a new lease on life, but in the end, after facing her inevitable end, she soothed their eyes that could not close.

In a pot of boiling oily soup, even if a fish's scald is healed, it will only cook a little slower, or perhaps it won't even cook a little slower.

Kofran was once a pure mortal, possessing complete humanity; for her, compassion and pity were not absent.

How can someone who has never witnessed life being taken from their body understand the shock of burying countless living beings, numbering in the hundreds of thousands?

Although she remained steadfast at that time, she could not suppress the growing sense of emptiness that had been building up over the long years.

The salmon's migration is solely for spawning and then death, as is that of the velvet moth. The flower bud's bloom is only for pollination and then it withers; ultimately, it will fade all its color and be swallowed by the darkness beneath the soil and mud…

It goes on and on, in a never-ending cycle.

The meaning of life may lie in existence itself, but does existence itself truly have meaning?

This is a proposition with countless possible conclusions. Some are negative, some are positive, some are absurd, and some are presented with absolute certainty. Who can determine the truth or falsehood, right or wrong?