"Reverend Abbot, forgive my boldness, but may I ask whether the Lord has prepared any grace for His servant? Even the faintest glimmer of hope?" The doctor's silence made Benny increasingly anxious, and he couldn't help pressing for an answer.
For a few seconds, Kraft gave up thinking.
The words "pituitary tumor" rolled through his crashed brain like Sisyphus's Boulder. Anyone with even a shred of sense knew that under current conditions, no matter what they tried, even if they could temporarily ease the symptoms, the outcome would ultimately be futile.
In short, this was the Heavenly Father calling someone home. The transfer paperwork had already been sent down, so they could start preparing Dominic's personal file in advance and burn it along with him when the time came.
As for the unfortunate boy who'd been caught up in this, if his condition progressed similarly, Kraft could only consult Brother Raymond and see whether the fact that he was the abbot of the Monastery would be enough to get him an Indulgence and send him upstairs.
Rationally speaking, there was no point in making any more futile efforts.
But after working so hard to pry these people away from The Church, losing one before the work had even officially begun left Feld with no idea how he could explain it to him. And how could he face Green?
Not to mention, who knew how long it would take to find another top-quality recruit like this?
Kraft tried one last time, forcing himself to search for a way out beyond the bounds of conventional knowledge. After all, even the treatment with the lowest survival rate couldn't have a survival rate below zero.
On closer inspection, pituitary tumor surgery had surely appeared before minimally invasive techniques.
The concept of pituitary tumors had