Early that morning, a servant saw the doctor out.
Miston, who had just finished receiving treatment, reclined against the sofa. As he felt the dull ache in his shoulder, fury blazed in his heart.
He could hardly believe he had been treated like this.
"An ordinary soldier actually dared to beat me!"
"Damn him!"
Overcome with resentment, Miston slapped the armrest hard.
Immediately, however, he sucked in a sharp breath.
The movement had aggravated his injury.
"You have a fracture!"
"You need to rest for a while. And to avoid any lasting complications, you should have a servant attend to you at all times for the first few days!"
The doctor's instructions echoed in his ears.
Like oil poured onto a fire, they instantly made Miston's breathing grow heavy and rapid.
"Damn it! Damn it!"
"I'll make him pay!"
"I... huh?!"
Miston growled. But when he stood up, intending to do something, he suddenly noticed a letter on the small tea table beside the sofa. He had no idea when it had appeared.
Curious, Miston picked it up.
There was no name on the envelope.
But the paper inside was covered in dense lines of familiar handwriting.
As he read, Miston's eyes widened involuntarily, and tiny beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
Then he fixed his gaze on the address written at the end of the letter, conflict showing on his face.
Miston was not the only one wrestling with a decision.
Many others wore the same expression.
Among them was Ratt, who had written those letters.
"Will this really work?"
Harold paced around the room, then looked up and asked Qin Ran yet again.
"It will."
Qin Ran gave him the same answer.
"We're wanted because of Sir Herbert. They all know that, and they're not stupid. It'll