novelraw Chapter 1263: Seraphs Were Here?
Chapter 1263: Seraphs Were Here?
Inside the clinic, the air was thick with the tension between the three experts. Isla, standing by the window with arms crossed, glared at the two men beside her. "Your tonic might have been a good supplement, Garrick, but it was my herbs that brought balance to the child’s qi. You should know better than to claim otherwise."
Garrick smirked, leaning against the wall. "Ah, Isla, so quick to take the glory. The herbs may have helped, but they wouldn’t have worked without the tonic. My concoction did the real work of nourishing the child’s body. You wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit you in the face."
Fenwick remained seated, calmly watching the bickering unfold. "Both of you are missing the point. The herbs and tonic may have played their part, but it was my acupuncture that restored the child’s life force. The meridians were blocked, and none of your treatments would’ve had a lasting effect without clearing those pathways."
The debate grew louder, their voices filling the room. Each physician, though brilliant in their own right, sought credit for the miraculous recovery. The parents, sitting by the bedside, exchanged glances, unsure whether to speak or let the argument play out. They were too grateful to care who was right, but the scene unfolding before them made them uneasy.
Meanwhile, the child, unaware of the commotion, sat up in bed, looking around with wide eyes and a bright smile. He giggled and played with the edge of the blanket, his energy seemingly endless, as if the illness that had once kept him bedridden was a distant memory.
Outside, the crowd gathered, whispering excitedly about the child’s miraculous recovery. Word had spread like wildfire, and the clinic was buzzing with anticipation.
A nurse cautiously stepped in, trying to quell the heated discussion. "Physicians, please, the patient is well. Shouldn’t that be the focus?"
Isla shot a sharp look at the nurse but said nothing, while Garrick muttered under his breath. Fenwick, however, gave a small nod, though the tension in the room refused to dissipate.
The door to the clinic suddenly opened with a creak, drawing everyone’s attention. Lyon stood at the threshold, his figure casting a long shadow into the room. He took a single step inside, his presence commanding the air as if time itself slowed for a brief moment.
The physicians turned to look at him, their debate temporarily paused. The crowd outside grew silent, sensing something different about the man who had just entered.
Lyon glanced at the bickering trio, then at the child who was still playing on the bed, his expression shifting into a faint smile. He walked closer, each step slow and deliberate, eyes observing the miracle before him.
"Looks like someone had a good night’s sleep," Lyon remarked casually, his voice cutting through the room like a calm breeze.
Lyon’s presence inside the clinic was like a thunderclap, silencing the three physicians as they stood in tense respect. Each of them knew that this man was not someone to trifle with. Their previous encounter had left a lasting impression—especially on Isla, who had come far too close to meeting her end under his hand. The very air around Lyon seemed to command authority, and with a simple glance, he reminded them of how easily he could decide their fates.
Raising his chin, Lyon spoke, his voice smooth yet firm. "I claim the cure of this child."
The physicians didn’t dare argue. Even though they had been squabbling moments earlier, none of them had the courage to challenge his claim now. The weight of his reputation alone was enough to silence any objections.
The parents, overjoyed yet trembling from the intensity of Lyon’s presence, quickly bowed their heads in gratitude. "T-Thank you!" they stammered, their voices filled with genuine relief.
Lyon, however, waved off their gratitude with a nonchalant shake of his head. "There is no need to thank me," he said, his tone casual yet carrying the gravity of command. "Just spread the word."
And with that, he turned and strode out of the clinic, leaving the air behind him still and heavy. The argument between the three physicians was left unresolved—silenced, for now, by the undeniable presence Lyon had cast over Aurora City. The three looked at one another, knowing full well that any further bickering would not go unnoticed in the wake of his command.
As Lyon stepped outside, the bright daylight of Aurora City greeted him. He took in a deep breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs. His eyes drifted toward the sky, where the shimmering auroras danced, their colors reflecting the flickering uncertainties of the day ahead.
"This is going to invite so much trouble," Lyon murmured to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. He could already sense the waves of unrest that his actions would stir across the city. Word would spread, and with it, so would curiosity—and possibly danger. "But at least, if the whole city mentions my name, there’s a greater chance of her hearing it."
His mind was set. Every ripple he caused in this city was another step toward reaching the legendary physician. He walked away from the clinic with purpose, knowing that from here, Aurora City would soon echo with the name Lyon Torga—the man who cured the incurable.
Lyon’s boots crunched against the gravel as he made his way outside the city. The bustling life of Aurora City was quickly left behind, replaced by the quiet, tranquil landscape stretching toward the distant horizon. A humble hut sat just beyond the treeline, isolated but peaceful, where the old hermit resided—a man who had once crossed paths with the person Lyon was searching for.
Shrugging his shoulders, Lyon chuckled to himself. "Might as well talk to the man again," he muttered. He had time to kill, and the hermit had valuable information. If anyone had seen the legendary physician recently, it was this old recluse.
As Lyon approached the small dwelling, he caught sight of the hermit sitting on the front porch, legs lazily crossed and a pipe in hand. The hermit spotted Lyon from afar and waved casually, a familiar gesture between two men who had already met not long ago.
"Let the water boil," Lyon called out with a smirk, closing the distance.
The old hermit took a long drag from his pipe, letting the smoke trail into the evening air before glancing over at Lyon. His brow furrowed with curiosity, the lines of age deepening around his eyes.
"Did you find her?" the hermit asked, his voice soft but probing.
Lyon shook his head, leaning back against the wooden railing of the porch. "No," he replied, his tone casual but with an edge of frustration. "She’s not in Aurora City. The bait wasn’t strong enough."
The hermit raised a brow. "The bait?"
Lyon’s eyes flicked to the horizon, his expression neutral. "The sickly child," he explained. "It was a ruse. A weak poison, nothing worthy of drawing her attention. Not enough to reach the apex."
The old man huffed, tapping his pipe against the porch to knock out the ash. "Hmm. Is that so? Seems like there’s more to it than just a child’s illness," he mused, his gaze thoughtful. "But I suppose you’ve always had a knack for sensing these things."
Lyon looked at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You, however..." He paused, studying the hermit. "Whatever it is you carry, it caught her interest. That’s why she came to you."
The old man chuckled, a sound that was equal parts wistful and proud. "She bought me decades—maybe even a hundred more years. A gift, but I reckon I’ll outlive most of the fools in this town now."
Lyon smirked, but there was a distant look in his eyes. The hermit noticed and tilted his head.
"Sad to hear you got nothing in return," the hermit added, his voice carrying a hint of sympathy.
Lyon merely smiled, his face softening as he sat beside the old man. "Who said I got nothing?" he said, shrugging. "The hunt itself is the reward."
Lyon’s curiosity piqued, he turned his full attention to the old hermit, his eyes narrowing with intent. "How did you get the disease?" he asked, his voice low and probing.
The old man raised his brows in surprise, momentarily puzzled by the question. "Hmm? Oh, well," he began, leaning back into his chair with a thoughtful look. "She didn’t give me many details, but I could sense when it began."
He puffed on his pipe, the smoke curling lazily into the air as he continued, "It happened not so long after a seraph from Paradise visited Fifth Heaven."
Lyon’s eyes widened in disbelief. He shifted in his seat, his gaze locked onto the hermit’s face, seeking further confirmation. "A seraph?" he repeated, his voice edged with incredulity. "You’re saying a seraph from Paradise visited Fifth Heaven?"
The old man nodded, his eyes reflecting the gravity of his words. "That’s right. A seraph."
Lyon’s mind raced, the revelation hitting him like a jolt. The significance of the seraph’s visit, combined with the timing of the disease, seemed to weave together a larger, more ominous tapestry. He glanced around the small porch, the serene setting contrasting sharply with the storm brewing in his mind.
"How did you know it was linked to the seraph?" Lyon asked, his voice tight with a mix of urgency and curiosity.
The old hermit sighed, his expression turning reflective. "The symptoms started shortly after their visit. I was never one to believe in coincidences, and the timing was too precise. Besides," he added, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice, "there’s always been something unsettling about those divine beings. They come, and they leave, but their presence often carries more weight than their visitations."
Lyon nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And you’re certain the seraph had something to do with it?"
The hermit gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I’m sure. Whatever happened, it’s tied to their presence here."