Vol3: An Unusual Tragedy

"Death is not a tragedy."

In Saladin's medical clinic, a surgeon who looked to be around thirty-five years old said this to the wounded.

"The real tragedy is that your life has been wasted."

White Lady's products and Universal Elixir were neatly arranged beside the operating table, and the shadowless lamp illuminated the doctor's sharply defined face.

He had handsome champagne-colored blond hair, making him a rare and dashing young man in Saladin town. He had red lips, white teeth, a beard, and a pair of eyes like tourmaline, with slightly dilated pupils, as if his brain was experiencing a strange stress response due to extreme excitement.

You can find out from a doctor's department work ID --

His name was Maquire, he was thirty-six years old, and he had no psychic abilities.

But a strange and inexplicable surge of psychic energy emanated from this ordinary person.

It was so hot that it flowed through Maquire's limbs and bones into the blade of the scalpel, making it scalding hot.

The wounded, after being anesthetized, were originally meant to have their bone fragments and rotten flesh removed before being completely healed by White Lady's products or Universal Elixir. However, in Maquire's eyes, the patient's strong body took on a special meaning.

"Let me have a bite."

As the knife sliced across his scarred right arm, Maquire removed a piece of the shoulder and neck scar, the wound quickly stopping bleeding under the heat of the blade.

He calmly took two small bottles from his medical toolbox, one containing chopped fennel roots and the other containing white pepper salt.

He carefully held the piece of meat, gently patting the plump fat with a scalpel. This was the patient's source of energy, and also the perfect moment when the fat fully released its sweet and cloying aroma.

His throat bobbed as he gently and meticulously coated the food with a little salt and spices until the blood was rendered out and the fishy smell was squeezed out along with the moisture. He then put the dish into his mouth and widened his eyes in surprise.

Transcending the boundaries of time and space--

--Maquire saw the memories of the wounded.

That was an old hunter from the Lynx Hunter Group in the Snow Peak Mountain region of the Elf Holy Land.

The hunter wielded his ice pick and struggled to climb the cliff face.

He could sense the patient's heavy breathing; in the oxygen-deprived environment on the side of the ice cliff, it seemed his strength wouldn't last until the next settlement.

The thick fur collar, damp with sweat, was whipped into frosty flakes by the cold north wind of the tundra, which clung to the clothes, making the body feel even heavier.

On the steep and precipitous slope, the wounded man, unable to overcome his fear, finally looked down and saw two of his hunting companions hanging on his safety rope. But that one glance was almost driven mad by the misty fog emanating from the dark abyss.

He won't live much longer. If he continues to carry these two burdens, he will die with his eyes wide open and his body torn apart.

The cries of raptors echoed from the deep canyon. The wounded man made up his mind, drew his hunting knife, and slashed fiercely at the rope around his waist.

Blow after blow, blow after blow.

Until the heavy ropes revealed flower petals and unfolded strands of hemp thread.

His body suddenly felt incredibly relaxed, and his heart seemed to lighten along with it.

There was no sound of their companions landing; the area below the canyon seemed to be a deathly silent place.

He had no time to worry about his companions' lives; all he wanted was to survive—that was all.

Then swing your ice axe and keep climbing!

Thinking this, he dragged his zombie-like limbs, and his strong will to survive led him to climb onto platform number twelve. However, he did not find his hunting party companions. Instead, what awaited him in the settlement were three adult Golden Eagle Gryphon.

These Chimera monsters with eagle heads, lion bodies, and snake tails spotted him almost instantly. Seemingly smelling the stench of regret he carried from abandoning his companions, he was struck by a tremendous force, his arm broken, his sternum and ribs shattered. Clinging tightly to the griffin's feathers, he was carried into the sky and then crashed back down to the second peak of the Snow Peak Mountains.

He tumbled and rolled, suffering countless injuries, crashing back and forth between solid ice and bare rock, before finally discovering that his ice axe had pierced one of the griffin's wings.

He fell back into a depression near a water well in Artemis Camp, not quite dead yet, and was eventually taken back to the infirmary by the hunters and brought before Maquire.

The injured patient now has multiple fractures and still retains a significant amount of the essence of the Golden Eagle Gryphon within his body.

"Alfons," Maquire murmured the wounded man's real name, "You were a member of the Lynx Hunter Group, a warrior who defeated the North Wind. Who would have thought that someone as fortunate, brave, and lucky as you would abandon two companions and throw them into the abyss of the Elf Holy Land?"

"I'm afraid no one but David Victor can judge you. They can't find any evidence to prove that you killed someone, that you killed your closest friends and family in the hunting party to protect yourself."

"Now you're a renowned and experienced hunter, returning to the infirmary covered in wounds, having even killed a Golden Eagle Gryphon. What will people tell your story, Alfons? If you're still conscious? If you can hear, then speak up! Say something! Defend yourself against your crimes! Find some excuse for your inhuman and despicable acts?"

Doctor Maguire toyed with the knife in his hand like a juggler, a look of excitement spreading across his face.

"It's a good thing you met me; what a coincidence!"

"May you, this wicked and treacherous villain, fall beneath the blade of my White God."

"I really want to know! I really want to try it!"

He lowered his head and crouched down to look at the wounded man's face. The dying man was still struggling, hovering between life and death.

What does your heart and liver taste like? Your kidneys, your stomach, your intestines—I really want to cut them open and savor them carefully.

"Gouge out the eyeballs? How about trying this dessert first? Maybe secretly take some home and turn it into candy?"

Maquire's knife drew closer and closer to the wounded man's face, gently lifting his supple eyelids with the back of the blade.

"Just hammer a nail down this path, and you'll forget everything. Even David Victor won't be able to find any fault in you."

"Alfons, what should I do? Spare your life? Help you get away with it?"

"The spirit of Berloberg resides within this scalpel; it seems to be urging me to continue slaying demons. A scumbag like you, who betrays his friends to save his own life, deserves to die a natural death by Berloberg's sword, doesn't he?"

Maquire licked the charred blood from the scalpel, his mind flooded with more memories of the wounded.

"You're a complete scumbag, Alfons."

"In the hunting party, you expect newcomers to wash your socks, you hogging the female colleagues' locker room while secretly smelling other people's clothes."

"You killed two people: a surveyor from the hunting party and a geologist from the Arcane Library. You discovered the Golden Eagle Gryphon, and driven by ambition, you ignored everyone's advice and insisted on climbing Snow Peak Mountain to find the Chimera cub. It's all your fault."

"Berloberg! You think so too? What if the gunsmith were here—"

"--This monster in human skin won't last a minute!"

Maquire brandished a knife, intending to commit murder and bypass the trial process, directly sentencing Alfons to death.

At that moment, a noisy commotion and strange shouts came from outside the operating room, which calmed Maquire down.

A young nurse burst through the door in a panic, screaming in terror, "Director! Director Maquire! Robbers are robbing the clinic! They're trying to rob the hospital!"

Maquire had fully stood up, his demeanor resembling that of a benevolent and compassionate physician, treating Alfons's wounds while cleaning the charred marks on his scalpel, intending to destroy the evidence of cannibalism.

"What's wrong?"

The nurse explained nervously, "There were four menacing thugs. They rushed through the front door and headed straight for the pharmacy. The tall one pointed a gun at the old Chinese medicine doctor's head, the other two ran to collect medicinal herbs, and the third one occupied the cash register, but they couldn't open the cash register without the password."

Maquire immediately realized these thugs were professionals.

--They have a clear division of labor and are experienced; they're after medicines and cash.

"You take care of Alfons's injury. Don't worry, I'm here."

The young nurse immediately asked with concern, "Director! Are you alright? Our medical facility depends entirely on you! If anything happens to you..."

Maquire immediately stepped forward, took off his gloves, rubbed the nurse's head and neck, hugged her waist, and pressed her scalp to calm her down.

The nurse was captivated by the warm and broad arms, feeling a deep sense of security.

Mr. Maquire said in a low voice, "I know what they want. These remnants of the War Gang are cowards who are afraid of death. Unless they drive me to the brink, they won't take my life. Don't worry, some problems don't need guns and psionic powers; they can be solved with words."

"Hmm," the nurse said, breaking free from Mr. Maquire's embrace. Her face was flushed, and she squeezed herself toward the side of the operating table.

Before leaving, Maquire glanced at the injured Alfons, his expression unchanged.

"Dannie, disinfect first."

The nurse headed towards the sink, her mind preoccupied with the robbers, completely unprepared.

Maquire took most of the White Lady's products, but left behind a special bottle of Universal Elixir. This bottle contained some fluoride waste liquid, a poison he had collected during his work as an anesthesiologist.

He had no moral burden, no concept of law or conscience.

Maquire knew that Dannie was about to become an accomplice; they were going to bypass procedural justice and send Alfons to hell together. He didn't care if the little nurse killed someone herself—that's what he thought.

For more than three months, the spirit of Berloberg, who was working on the scalpel, has been constantly influencing his thinking. He believes it is a kind of inheritance, a divinely bestowed gift.

Before news of the gunsmith's death reached Saladin, at the moment Berloberg was defeated and destroyed in the Shinto City, many living elves returned to the Holy Land. They wandered among the deep valleys, carried by various mediums, and eventually fell into Maquire's hands.

He could vaguely sense that there were many other brothers and sisters like him, possessing the spirit of Berloberg, who had also been influenced by the gunsmith—

--When holding such spiritual medium props, it's similar to the state of Xiao Qi wearing the Steel Heart.

However, Berloberg's sword spirit is more like a one-way output, transmitting the spirit and will of the gunsmith when fighting with his sword to these people.

Berloberg has tasted the blood of countless cultists; the Blood-giving Monster that have died by this sword number at least eight hundred, if not a thousand, all formidable enemies with full armor, high attack, and high health. Targets that bullets cannot eliminate require this gleaming blade to rip open their flesh.

During this time, Maquire's personality changed drastically. His observational skills became more acute, and he developed a cannibalistic fetish, able to reconstruct the traumatic experiences of his victims by tasting their sores. A strange, inexplicable hunger dominated him.

As he walked back into the hall, he bumped into the four brothers of the Zhan Gang.

Holding a gun, Andro took the elderly woman at the front desk of the cashier hostage and threatened her sternly, "Is your manager here? Tell him to open the cash register! Behave yourself!"

On the other side, Big B and A Jie were very well-behaved. They split up on either side of the waiting chairs to rummage through the money in the hands of the patients' families, demanding that these relatives obediently hand over their life-saving money.

Their choice to target the hospital was both ruthless and shrewd.

Most of the armed personnel here are wounded and unable to form a fighting force in a short time. Many physically weak patients will also become hostages. The armed employees stationed at Saladin Station and Guangling Zhixi will certainly not dare to break down the door violently. Once the hospital is cut off from water and electricity and turns into a CQB battlefield, they cannot bear the responsibility for the deaths of the wounded and sick.

"I am the director of the clinic. You want money, right?"

Maquire remained calm and composed, raising his hands and heading towards the cashier.

"Be good!" Andro exclaimed excitedly. "Yes! Be a good boy/girl!"

The situation was brought under control in an instant. Many patients' families were originally prepared to fight to the death—their loved ones were still lying in the wards, needing to buy White Lady's products and Universal Elixir to save their lives. These robbers weren't stealing money, but the lives of their dear ones.

Maquire shouted, "Don't harm ordinary people! All the cash in the vault is yours!"

Andro breathed a sigh of relief. Of the three brothers, Big B's Red Jack Circus was the worst. He was a greedy gangster clown who would usually turn a burglary into a murder of the whole family. Now that the Madness Butterfly Sect had been crushed by the nameless man, Big B seemed to have lost his former ferocity. When he heard that the director wanted to settle things with money, he immediately returned the wallets of the patients' relatives. This was a very good thing.

There was just a minor issue on the other side--

--Maquire withdrew the cash and handed stacks of banknotes to A Jie and Big B's bags.

Taking advantage of this moment, Schopenhauer, who was in his forties, grabbed a seventeen or eighteen-year-old intern nurse and tried to lead the young girl into the registration room.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Maquire roared. "You're here to steal my money, not to kill me, are you?!"

For a moment, Andro was dazed. The gun barrel left the old woman's head and involuntarily pointed at his companion. "What are you doing?!"

Schopenhauer was startled, feeling his eyes dry and his lips and teeth burning.

"I just want to have some fun and rob someone of their virtue?"

Andro rolled his eyes and pointed the gun at his companion's crotch. "Don't cause any trouble! Are you out of your mind? Are you waiting for Qingjin to collect your DNA sample and chase you to the ends of the earth? Let me tell you! A criminal like you, once caught, will be castrated first and then executed!"

"I... I just wanted to rob someone of their virtue! I just wanted to rob someone of their virtue!" Schopenhauer was quite honest, hugging the intern nurse, suddenly bursting into tears, even feeling somewhat aggrieved. "I'm a virgin in my forties! I just wanted to rob someone of their virtue! What did I do wrong!"

In that instant, Maquire was overcome with murderous intent.

He knew he had no psychic talent, but the spirit of Berloberg might be able to help him.

"Damn it. You all fucking deserve to die."

With the situation on the verge of spiraling out of control, only Andro among the four brothers of the War Gang had a gun. If a fight broke out in the hospital, countless wounded would suffer as a result.

At that moment, a kind-looking and amiable priest squeezed in through the half-open door.

He held the Bible and the cross, as if in a gesture of surrender, and spoke with a smile.

"Hey! Hey! Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Guys, don't get so worked up."

This moment--

--Maquire smelled an unusually sweet aroma, his heart nearly leaped out of his throat, and the spirit of Berloberg attached to him became unusually restless, experiencing a momentary, intense urge to cannibalize.

They wanted to taste the priest's flesh, lick his skin, drink his blood, and chew his sinews!

Andro immediately turned his gun on the intruder.

Jiang Xueming was so frightened that her face turned deathly pale, and she appeared to be weak and about to faint.

"Ouch! Ouch! I'm dizzy, I'm dizzy, I'm dizzy."

He leaned against the wall, his legs twitching weakly as he stumbled forward, eventually reaching Schopenhauer's side. With a quick movement, he fell into Schopenhauer's arms.

Schopenhauer, with a nurse on one arm and this strange priest on the other, didn't know what to say.

Big B laughed so hard he bent over, "Hahahaha!"

After the previous crisis of trust, Andro dared not point a gun at his comrades.

Xue Ming simply thrust his hips forward, squeezing the nurse out of Schopenhauer's embrace, pulled a poster from his pocket, and whispered with one eye open and the other closed.

"Brother, trust me, once you get the money, Saladin will have plenty of women he likes."

Schopenhauer was still angry. First, he was held at gunpoint by the brothers of the War Gang, and then this crazy priest ran in and fell into his arms without saying a word.

He looked closely—

--The voluptuous, hybrid monster girl on the poster, this alluring cover girl, immediately awakened his bloodlust, reminding him that he was also a blood donor.

"Oh! You're right! Father! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! If I had money, why would I need to rob women!"

Schopenhauer pressed down on Jiang Xueming's shoulders, looking as if he had suddenly realized something.

"I almost made a mistake!"