Inside the residence, Inchworm lay sprawled on the floor, breathing weakly.
Even though the sticky plasma on the floor had already pooled into a small puddle of blood, he still hadn't stopped contorting his body in that bizarre posture, just reducing the amplitude somewhat.
He had to ensure [Cicada-Form Dance] was constantly active, affecting that strange enemy as much as possible. If he stopped resisting and became completely helpless... that guy might come back to take his life.
Now Inchworm was severely wounded; any movement would tear at his wounds. But he had no other choice; he could only do his utmost to maintain the cicada's dance steps.
Cough... What exactly was that guy just now? How did he get so close so suddenly? I clearly saw him outside the door...
Could he have had an accomplice, one feigning an attack from the front, the other ambushing from behind? No, that's not right either... I saw the person outside the door disappear with my own eyes, like a shadow losing its light source.
Even though he was in a desperate situation, Inchworm still struggled to keep thinking. The intense physical pain had instead awakened a deep-seated alertness in his consciousness, making his thoughts clearer.
But this was just a state fueled by adrenaline and a burst of psychic perception, difficult to maintain for long. As blood loss progressed, his bodily functions would further weaken, and he would lose his remaining lucidity and what little ability to resist he had left.
Huff... The left eye socket feels empty, and I can't feel the eyeball moving. Probably already been taken.
At this moment, Inchworm's left eyeball along with most of the skin on that side of his face had been torn off, vaguely revealing the crimson, fierce muscle fibers, and exposed white bone.
About half a minute later, he felt his psychic energy nearing depletion, his mental state plummeting to its lowest. The intense sense of vertigo brought on by hemorrhagic shock also manifested in his mind.
"Must... stop the bleeding..."
Inchworm forced himself to try and stand up, but before he could straighten his back, he slumped to the floor again.
His body was even more weak and limp than he'd imagined, and after this failed attempt to muster his remaining strength, he had exhausted the last of his reserves.
Just as his consciousness was about to plunge completely into darkness, he heard a light, unhurried footstep, and saw the thin gray gauze cast in the light of the waning moon.
"Still maintaining self-awareness, how tenacious."
Fran observed the Inchworm in the room who could still barely manage to react to her arrival with a watchful eye, sighing with a touch of novelty.
The ancestors of Gormouth were accustomed to struggling for survival in darkness and despair, and this trait from the olden days seemed to remain in their bloodline. Therefore, secret art practitioners from Gormouth generally possessed a stronger will to survive than ordinary people.
If unable to resist, they bow humbly; if plunged into a hopeless situation, they struggle desperately. Until the last breath dissipates from their chests.
"Planning to pass out just like that? That won't do. If you sleep it off and forget about the assailant, it would be quite troublesome for me..."
Before entering this residence, Fran had briefly checked the surrounding alleys and courtyard, finding no one else present. The perpetrator had likely already fled.
She picked up her medical kit and gradually stepped forward, intending to first carefully observe the type of injuries Inchworm had sustained.
Hmm... Large area laceration on the face, visually estimated wound area around 100 cm², extending from the left eye area to the neck. The epidermis along with the dermis layer at the wound site has been stripped away; the left eyeball is confirmed lost.
Neither internal organs were injured, nor was there much physical damage otherwise. His current weakness is mainly due to psychic exhaustion and acute blood loss.
Considering this, Fran activated her hemispherical field of [Drive Away Dust and Filth], purging the dust and lint scattered throughout the living room. Then she extended her index finger, dipped it into the crimson pool of blood on the floor, and slowly let it dissolve in her mouth.
"Oh, common Type A blood. And not a subtype."
After confirming the blood type, she took out a bag of Type A plasma and a transfusion needle to begin emergency blood transfusion.
In fact, Fran had incidentally solved the issue of autologous rejection several years ago while researching lifespan problems. Even if the patient's blood type couldn't be determined, she could use "universal plasma" for fluid replacement.
Of course, the universal blood in this concept didn't refer to Type O. It was a special type of medicine that truly wouldn't cause hemolytic reactions regardless of the recipient's blood type...
While administering the transfusion and fluid replacement, she also used the bio-alchemy program [Dissolve and Reconstruct Bone and Blood] to partially regenerate the facial skin Inchworm was missing. Although the newly grown skin was thin and fragile, it was still better than having subcutaneous tissue like muscles and blood vessels exposed.
The surging crimson substance in the transfusion tube seemed less like blood and more like the embodiment of life. Moments later, Inchworm's condition visibly improved.
After confirming Inchworm's vital signs had stabilized, Fran inserted a green capsule into his mouth.
Antibacterial, antiviral, promoting self-healing, stabilizing the mind. So many superior medicinal effects combined into one; it's really hard not to abuse it...
About half an hour later, Inchworm, who had been in shock-induced coma, struggled to open his eyes, his consciousness gradually returning.
Fran had also put away the medical equipment used earlier and was sitting upright on a square chair in his house, calmly watching this Moth cult disciple regain consciousness.
"Mr. Inchworm, how does it feel to be on the brink of death?"
"...Terrible."
Seeing Fran, Inchworm wanted to put on that polite, respectful smile. But he accidentally tugged at the wound near his eye, causing him to grimace in pain momentarily.
Although most of the missing skin had been recreated through the alchemy program, the wound inside the eye socket still existed, transmitting intermittent tearing-like pain.
"My deepest apologies, Madam Hermit. For you to see me in such a pathetic state. And even to trouble you to intervene and save me... I am endlessly grateful."
"No need for thanks. Saving you was just incidental."
Maintaining the "Hermit" persona's usual aloof indifference, Fran showed no emotion in response to Inchworm's thanks.
"I've been tracking the one who attacked you recently."
"His designation on the Secrets-Hunter Burial Court's wanted list is 'Nightmare Guest'; the Six-Eyed Crows classify him as a 'Renegade Raven'. Beyond that, his real name is Lyons..."
"He has mastered some forbidden arts that should not have been spread. Tell me, did you notice any characteristics of his?"
Hearing this, Inchworm roughly understood why the Hermit Madam had suddenly appeared near his residence. She was pursuing that man, thus following the trail to him... Very logical.
Although her tone and demeanor were cold and detached, not accepting the thanks, Inchworm still found it hard to suppress his feeling of gratitude... After all, the vast majority of high-ranking priests of the Veiled Assembly didn't much care about the lives of subordinates or even colleagues when pursuing mission targets.
For Madam Hermit to stop and treat him was already undoubtable "mercy."
Inchworm organized his chaotic thoughts, forced himself to focus, and recalled the recent scene.
"He was relatively tall, wearing a black woolen overcoat, his face hidden in the shadow of a fedora."
"Get to the point."
Faced with information she already knew, Fran appropriately displayed a hint of displeasure.
"Yes, Madam Hermit. My apologies, my mind is still somewhat muddled..."
Inchworm promptly and earnestly admitted his fault, then began to focus on describing what he considered important.
"That guy might master secret arts for creating illusions or manipulating shadows. His figure was originally outside the door but suddenly attacked me from inside the room. Meanwhile, the figure outside the door dissipated like an illusion."
"Also, this 'Nightmare Guest's' psychic aura is very strange. It's not that it can't be recognized, but that the spirit and secret arts simply don't match. What emanated from him... was the aura of the Lamp-phase. The moment I turned around, I saw his right eye glowing with lamplight."
"Besides that, that guy's body seemed only at an ordinary person's level. He only watched the [Cicada-Form Dance] for a few seconds before showing slight bodily confusion; normally this art shouldn't take effect so quickly."
After saying this, Inchworm couldn't help but frown slightly. Enumerating these bizarre inconsistencies made even him feel puzzled.
"Good, I know."
Fran did not resolve his doubts, merely giving a slight nod to indicate she understood.
However, she had already reached her own conclusion internally.
The Nightmare Guest was injured by [S-066 Faded to Pure White], unable to arouse his own psychic energy, so he could only forcibly utilize the Lamp-phase psychic elements within Dorothy's eyeball. And what he took from Dorothy was the right eye... so naturally, what he took from Inchworm here was the left eye.
And it was precisely based on this that she judged the assailant to be the Nightmare Guest.
"Ash Scar also said the Nightmare Guest had already fled to the fallen city Morien, yet today he appears in Foy without warning... It seems he truly is an expert at counter-tracking and laying false trails, playing the 'hiding in plain sight' trick to perfection."
Fran commented with a touch of approval.
To achieve this level while not even being a High Priest, the Nightmare Guest truly deserved praise. If he really completed his ascension ritual, the Six-Eyed Crow cult would probably have a headache...
And Fran was actually somewhat interested to see how far he could go.
After completing the routine inquiry, she glanced at the empty eye socket on Inchworm's face where there was no eyeball. She tilted her head slightly, pondering.
"Alright, Mr. Inchworm. Let's see about fixing your eye..."
"Madam Hermit, being able to survive is already an immense fortune. Losing one eye is nothing; how could I dare trouble you to go to the trouble?"
Inchworm's expression visibly showed apprehension, seemingly unwilling to cause her any burden because of his own affairs.
"Oh?"
In response to his statement, Fran simply smiled ambiguously, her tone also taking on a somewhat meaningful quality.
"So, you intend to refuse my goodwill?"
"No, how could I? I just... want to share your burdens."
As he said this, Inchworm's demeanor was very humble, and his phrasing was interesting.
Besides showing goodwill, this statement concealed the implication of allegiance and seeking service. It seemed this fellow really had had enough of the Veiled Assembly's exploitation and intended to find a new superior for himself...
"Now is not yet the time."
"But in light of your candor, I can give you some opportunities. Recently, there are some minor matters I can't quite spare the hands for, yet I'm somewhat concerned about them... They're related to the Stellar Abyss Society's Sands of Slumber Bell Tower."
"Please leave it to me." Inchworm promptly agreed.
For any secret art practitioner, acting for an Apostle represented immense honor, because those existences were walking oracles themselves. Even being their claws, hounds, or lapdogs... countless people would clamor for it.
Seeing his expression, Fran gave a slight nod with her eyes, accepting this Night-Moth disciple's offer of service.
"After finding relevant information, attempt to dream; my messenger will come find you."
As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly and placed her gloved hand over the pool of not-yet-coagulated crimson blood on the floor.
With the activation of the alchemy program [Dissolve and Reconstruct Bone and Blood], the blood on the floor quickly intertwined and converged, taking the shape of an eyeball.
"Hmm, [Dissolve and Reconstruct Bone and Blood] can't directly shape blood into human tissue... Still lacks some special psychic elements as a catalyst."
Fran muttered to herself softly, then seemed to remember something.
She then reached towards her own eye with her other hand, extracting a wisp of Karmion's icy crimson psychic element.
As Karmion's power flowed into that mass of blood, eyeball tissue and nerve strands proliferated and grew at a visible to the naked eye rate, until they took form.
Inchworm, watching the entire process with his remaining eye, felt an indescribable sense of bewilderment and awe.
Among the Night-Moth disciples of the Veiled Assembly, he was the more erudite type, having dabbled in mystical knowledge from all fields. But at this moment, he felt no different from those ignorant fools.
I don't understand.
Within Inchworm's understanding, no secret art or ritual could explain the specific principles of the scene before him. His current state was like that of an elementary school honors student trying to comprehend advanced mathematics.
"Remember, my gifts are not without cost."
While Inchworm was stunned, Fran had already installed this freshly crafted eyeball into his eye socket.
The doctor had prior experience shaping a material body for Luyala, so this time crafting an eyeball seemed quite skillful. The whole process went smoothly, not taking too much time.
"Yes, as you will..."
The empty eye socket was filled again. Inchworm endured the throbbing pain and itching deep in his brain, trying to respond to Fran as clearly as possible.
[The missing eyeball of 'Inchworm' Tiyel Humphrey has been healed. The April monthly house call has been completed. Completion: S. Your next monthly house call will be randomly triggered next month.]
[This consultation's fee: Unknown item x1 (Unappraised).]
This house call was over, and Fran didn't intend to stay any longer. However, out of habit, she still asked the patient about his current feelings.
"How does the new eye feel? Oh, it might not count as 'new' since it was made from your own blood."
"Excellent, no different from the original, such harmonious integration... The tricks of Cup followers are completely incomparable."
Inchworm felt his left eye, lost and regained, his body trembling slightly with excitement.
At this moment, Fran really wanted to say something like "Patient satisfaction is my highest principle," or "Welcome next time," or similar stock phrases.
But because she had to maintain the Hermit's fixed image, she merely pursed her lips and held it back.
However, before leaving, she did remind Inchworm of one thing.
"Mr. Tiyel Humphrey, be more careful next time. You won't be this lucky every time."
Having said that, Fran didn't look back, stepping into the unmanned alley illuminated by the waning moon.
Hearing her words, Inchworm abruptly snapped out of his immense joy, momentarily even slowing his breath.
The Hermit Madam knows my real name? All my information is sealed in the Veiled Assembly's archives; theoretically it shouldn't be leaked. And the direct superiors who could access those materials, I remember them all.
But, if she truly is one of the Assembly's ancient priests who conceals her name, possessing unrestricted authority, then it would also be logical...
+++
T/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter and want to support my work, I have a Patreon!
[email protected]/PeakTL