At those words, silence fell over everyone.
They all stared at him in shock, then turned to look at the Eight-Rank Veteran he had shot in the head.
Even White Night's expression trembled, his face turning deathly pale in an instant.
"That's impossible! What kind of joke is this?!"
"Take a good look! He's an Eight-Rank Veteran of our City of Night, the commander of Camp Three! How could Mr. Saint possibly have anything to do with the Plague Doctors?!"
Everyone shouted, and several Night Doctors even tried to march over and furiously demand an explanation from Lynn.
But Lynn kept his eyes fixed on the Eight-Rank Veteran codenamed Saint, his gun's dark muzzle still pointed at the man's head.
"There's no need to pretend, Mr. Plague Doctor. You can't fool my eyes."
Drip-
Drip-
Drops of black blood fell from the Night Doctor's forehead to the ground.
Strands of thick white brain matter mixed with blood left crisscrossing trails across his Plague Doctor Mask.
Everyone held their breath at that moment.
Slowly.
Under everyone's gaze, he raised his leather-gloved fingers, gently collected a little blood flowing from the bullet hole in his forehead, and rubbed it between his fingertips. A hoarse voice sounded from behind his Plague Doctor Mask.
"As expected of someone capable of suppressing the Matriarch's Curse. You truly are... extraordinary."
Bzz-
White Night's mind went almost instantly blank.
He instinctively took a step back, staring fixedly at Saint before him, at the man who had once guided him. For a moment, he even felt his breathing grow labored.
"Senior Saint..."
Those words were practically an admission of his identity.
"Heh heh."
White Night's face, now filled with wariness and trembling, was reflected in the lenses as that hoarse voice sounded once more from beneath the Plague