More than half a month had passed since the last battle. Mulan remained in Sorens City, but he no longer stayed at the inn, having moved to a more private residence with better amenities.
Evening came. The last rays of the setting sun had vanished from Mulan's room, leaving only a faint blush of sunset in the distance outside his window. Mulan, who had been lying in bed all this time, opened his eyes.
Another night and another day of insomnia and nightmares. Though Mulan's mental state was still fairly decent, prolonged sleeplessness had inevitably left deeper hollows beneath his eyes. They were not quite dark circles, but they made him look more somber.
Mulan threw back the covers and sat up, looking at his left shoulder. A faint trace of blood showed through his pajamas. The wound, which had been healing well, had begun to relapse over the past few days.
"Knock, knock."
"Lord Jonester, may I come in?"
A voice that had become familiar lately came from outside the door. Mulan knew it belonged to the doctor Her Majesty the Queen had sent. He kept a close watch on Mulan's condition and had arrived early this time, timing his visit to wait for him to wake.
"Come in."
At Mulan's words, the door opened, and a tall, thin, middle-aged man entered carrying a medical bag. Farolynch was also there, leaning against the doorframe.
The doctor first lit the gaslight in the room, then looked at Mulan's left shoulder and frowned.
"Lord Jonester, how have you been feeling mentally?"
"Though I keep suffering from insomnia, fortunately I spend enough time sleeping that I'm not doing too badly."
The doctor carefully assessed Mulan's condition, examined his wound, listened to his heartbeat, and finally changed his bandages.
"The Werewolf's toxin may