"Hurry! Hurry!"
"A soft bed! A soft bed!"
The Upper Evil Spirit's sudden collapse threw the Mist camp into chaos.
Xiwalka shouted at the top of his lungs, while the old Demon Hunter darted straight to the Upper Evil Spirit's side. Only after seeing that its face was merely pale, its breathing was fairly steady, and it had no fever did the old Demon Hunter breathe a sigh of relief.
He had truly feared that this benevolent bishop had chosen some misguided method.
Fortunately, it was not the worst-case scenario.
Watching the Upper Evil Spirit being carefully lifted onto a soft bed, the old Demon Hunter looked at the young knight, who had fallen into a daze again, and could not help sighing. "A plague isn't so easily cured."
Not so easily cured?
The young knight froze.
He stared blankly at the Upper Evil Spirit as it was carried away and could not help asking, "Sir Edson, what do you mean?"
"A plague doesn't appear out of thin air, nor does it vanish into thin air."
"It merely passes from one body into another."
"He's bearing your suffering for you."
"Just as he said."
"He's willing to shoulder everything for you, including..."
"Death!"
The old Demon Hunter could not help drawing a deep breath.
His voice grew low despite himself.
"What a fool."
"I thought I'd never see another like him."
With that, the old Demon Hunter walked straight toward the watchtower.
With one powerful fighter out of commission, the camp's defenses had become thin.
Until that fellow woke up, he had decided to protect this place for him.
A unilateral decision.
Nothing else had entered into it.
Only the fact that there were fewer and fewer such fools in the world.
The young knight stood there in a daze.