bookandnovel Chapter 132 Was he doing it on purpose?
Chapter 132 Was he doing it on purpose?
Chapter 132 Was he doing it on purpose?
After Alvin was wheeled into the medical room by the on-duty officer, Green squatted in a corner of the lobby, numbly lighting a cigarette.
Smoke rose, carrying the pungent spice of nicotine.
A strict nurse hurried past, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she finally spoke: "Don't worry, Mr. Alvin is often injured, but it's never fatal. I think this time will be the same. Also, I've already notified Miss Seagull, and I believe she'll be here soon."
After saying that, the nurse left in a hurry.
This wasn't the first time the staff at St. George's Hospice had encountered such a situation.
Night watchmen enjoy high incomes, good benefits, and high social status, but this comes with very high risks.
No one knows whether death or tomorrow will come first.
As the cigarette burned to its last bit, the burning sensation pulled Green from his numb thoughts.
He stubbed out his cigarette and had just stood up when he saw a familiar figure walking briskly towards him from the end of the corridor.
Clarice Astrea wasn't wearing her signature navy blue casual jacket; she was only wearing a white shirt with a thick cardigan casually draped over it. Her long blonde hair was a little loose, indicating that she had rushed over after receiving the news.
Her face was expressionless, but her blue eyes looked particularly sharp in the dim light of the corridor.
"Green".
She stopped in front of Green, her gaze quickly sweeping over his dusty coat with suspicious dark stains. "How's Alvin?"
"The nurse said there were no fatal injuries and they are treating the wounds."
Green's voice was a little hoarse. "He was ambushed from behind and stabbed, but luckily the knife was avoided in a vital area."
Clarisse nodded, her gaze falling on his face. "And you?"
"I'm fine," Green replied briefly.
"Come with me."
Clarisse turned and walked toward her office. "I need to know what happened. Now."
The office door closed behind me, shutting out the smell of disinfectant and the faint noise from the corridor.
Clarisse didn't sit behind her desk; instead, she leaned against the edge, arms crossed, and cut straight to the point: "Let's start from the beginning. From when you left Leah Horne."
"How did you know we went to see Leah?" Green asked.
"That kid Elwin always goes to her for a fortune telling before every mission, but Leah's abilities are still pretty good."
Green took a deep breath, forced himself to organize his thoughts, and described the whole process in the clearest and most objective language possible.
The information Lisa provided about her "nephew" and the man with the mark on the back of his hand led to her journey to "Rat's Tail" alley, where she discovered Alvin's attack, the confrontation and fight with the assassin, the assassin's final loss of control, and the badge and nautical log fragments found on the corpse.
Green didn't hide any details of the operation, including how he used his "Apprentice" ability to blend into the wall for the surprise attack. But he paused when mentioning the "Silent Ones."
"I hit him in the back of the head with it."
Green unbuckled the oddly shaped revolver from his waist and placed it on the table in front of Clarice. "Then—he started to lose control. Something was writhing under his skin, and half of his body and face became deformed. I finished him off with a shot."
Clarice's gaze remained fixed on the "Silent Messenger," and she didn't immediately reach for it. The air in the office seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
"Directly caused it to spiral out of control —"
She repeated in a low, serious voice, "This can't be explained by simply interfering with spirituality. It's more like—"
It directly attacked the stable anchor points of the opponent's spirit and body, or triggered a deep-seated outbreak of mental pollution.
"I had only heard about the capabilities of this gun before, but no one had ever said that it could cause things to go out of control."
She finally reached out, but instead of touching the gun, she traced the dim runes on the barrel with her fingertips.
Have you used it before?
"no."
Green shook his head. "When I was a private agent, I mostly took on pet-finding missions. At most, it was when someone suspected their partner of cheating and asked me to gather evidence."
"This is the first time we've used it against humans," Green added, his gaze also falling on the Silent Messenger. "The effect—was unexpected."
Clarice finally picked up the "Silent Messenger," and the heavy, cool touch made her frown slightly.
She examined the gun closely, especially the muzzle and cylinder, as if trying to see through the metal to the rules contained within.
"It went out of control in its first real battle—" she muttered to herself, then looked up. "This gun is even more special than those described in the documents."
"Or rather, in your hands, it exhibits characteristics not recorded in the literature." Clarice gently placed the gun back on the table and pushed it back in front of Green.
"Keep the matter of this gun causing the loss of control confined to this room," she said softly, frowning. "Don't mention it to anyone, including Eliza and Rick. As for Alvin, I'll tell him to keep quiet."
Green holstered the revolver again and looked up at Clarice. "I understand. Reporting a gun that could cause things to go out of control will only bring special attention from headquarters, endless scrutiny, and they might even try to take it from me under the guise of 'research' or 'safekeeping,' even though it's my private property."
A hint of approval flashed in Clarice's eyes; Green's reaction was more direct and clear-headed than she had expected.
"That's right. Some people at headquarters have a love-hate relationship with uncontrolled anomalies and power."
They prefer to lock the danger away in a safe or place where they can see and touch it, rather than leave it for those on the front lines to use as a weapon.
She paused, then said, "The church today is not as pure as it used to be."
"Alright, it's getting late." Clarisse rubbed her temples, a look of helplessness and habitual weariness on her face. "You should go and rest too. Everything will be fine here. Alvin has the little nurse he's been talking about with him, so he probably won't be lonely tonight."
Green was taken aback, almost thinking he'd misheard: "Little nurse? Won't you be lonely tonight?"
He looked at Clarice with disbelief. In his memory, the nurses at the sanatorium, though diverse in personality, were all quite professional, especially those in charge of the Night Watch medical ward, who were known for their rigor and even strictness.
Clarisse seemed to read his mind, a slight smile playing on her lips, her eyes seeming to say, "You're still too young."
"Don't be so surprised, Green. This is Alvin. Sometimes we even suspect that he deliberately injures himself so he can come here periodically for comfort."
Clarisse paused, as if recalling something, then named three people: "Ella, Jenny, and—well, lately she seems quite attentive to that new intern nurse, Misha. Of course, the 'little nurse' she's referring to might change at any time."
Green:
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