Mr. Hoffen lay on the floor, and Kallen stood before him.
At that moment, if Kallen wanted, he could send Mr. Hoffen on his way a little early.
Mr. Hoffen's earlier expression and words had put him under immense pressure.
Being reborn into this world had already left him deeply insecure. So far, he had survived by relying on "this identity." Once that disguise was stripped away, who knew what unknown depths his life might plunge into?
And this involved more than just "life" in the ordinary sense. There were clearly other factors beyond Kallen's understanding.
If it were merely a matter of "leaving home," Kallen would not have felt so much pressure. What frightened him was that it might not be as simple as being "kicked out of the family"-and there was no way it could be that simple!
Kallen now understood the terror that medieval witches had felt.
Step forward,
bend down,
reach out a hand.
He only needed to squeeze that neck again,
or lift Mr. Hoffen's head, pretending to wake him, then slam it against the tiles once more to finish the job.
Then,
this sudden vortex of danger could dissolve before it swallowed him.
So,
should he do it?
Such thoughts were hardly unusual. Even the most ordinary, normal, gentle people experienced sudden surges of emotion and flashes of malice in their daily lives.
But in the end,
Kallen stayed where he was, without moving.
Only after Mina came downstairs and began calling for help, after Aunt Mary came up from the basement, and after Paul ran over to pick Mr. Hoffen up,
did Aunt Mary's shouting bring Kallen back to his senses. He stepped forward to help support Mr. Hoffen and carry him into the Immerlis Family's hearse.
Paul started the engine, while Kallen stayed in the rear compartment with Mr. Hoffen.
This modified Nut Shell vehicle was essentially a stretched version of an ordinary sedan. The front passenger seat had long since been removed to make more room, leaving ample space for a coffin.
Mr. Hoffen lay there without moving.
He was lucky. Ambulances were far from widespread in this era, yet he already had a vehicle to take him straight to the nearest hospital.
Luckier still... even if they failed to save him, he would have a ride back, in a vehicle specifically suited to the occasion.
They might even give him a ridiculously steep discount on the funeral out of respect for his friendship with Grandfather. The only one who would suffer was Aunt Mary.
"Heh..."
Kallen suddenly chuckled and gently rubbed his face.
Just then, the golden retriever that had followed his owner into the vehicle approached Mr. Hoffen and licked his fingers.
After lingering beside his owner for a while, he slowly walked over to Kallen.
Kallen reached out. The golden retriever did not shy away, letting Kallen stroke his head.
Apparently enjoying the petting, he simply lay down against Kallen's legs. When Kallen stopped, he nudged Kallen's hand with his nose, asking him to continue.
"Ah..."
Kallen looked at Mr. Hoffen lying there again and could not help sighing.
He leaned his back against the side of the vehicle,
ruffled the dog's head a couple of times,
and said, "Whatever."
The vehicle pulled into the hospital, and Mr. Hoffen was taken into the emergency room.
Paul bustled around handling the paperwork,
while Kallen sat on a bench beside a flower bed, holding the golden retriever's leash.
After about half an hour, Paul jogged over with a smile.
"Young Master Kallen, the doctor said that although Mr. Hoffen is still unconscious, he's out of danger now."
Kallen let out a long breath, feeling a little relieved, but also a little disappointed.
The old man really was tough. All that blood... and he still pulled through.
"The bills have all been charged to the family's account," Paul added.
The Immerlis Family ran a funeral society, so they naturally had excellent relations with the nearby hospitals.
How excellent?
Aunt Winnie, who managed the family's accounts, could even get lists of the hospitals' critically ill patients.
Sometimes, while the doctors were still trying to save you, Uncle Mason would already be outside in the parking lot, smoking as he waited.
Wherever there was profit, there would inevitably be a chain of connections.
With those connections, handling a little paperwork was naturally very quick.
"Does he need someone to stay with him?" Kallen asked.
"Uh... we could hire a caregiver."
"Then hire one."
"Mm... yes, young master. I'll arrange it."
"Oh, Paul, do you have any cigarettes?"
"I do... young master, would you like one?"
"Yes."
Paul took a half-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket and handed it to Kallen along with a lighter.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. I'll go hire a caregiver."
"All right."
Kallen pulled out a cigarette and held it between his lips. Smoking restrictions were lax in this era. Even here in the hospital courtyard, he could see quite a few people with cigarettes in their mouths, and the nurses passing by did not scold them.
He lit it and took a drag.
His brain once again sounded an alarm at the invasion of "toxins," and his body reacted with rejection. Nausea and the urge to retch immediately rose within him.
But Kallen ignored it.
He felt that he was just as stupid as someone learning to smoke.
Habitual smokers had stubbornly fought through their physical discomfort to learn a vice that would keep damaging their bodies.
And he,
had actually allowed Mr. Hoffen to be brought to the hospital and saved, sitting by as he himself slid step by step into an unknown abyss.
He was reproaching himself, but not very strongly.
He regretted it too, but again, not very strongly.
He thought he was an idiot. Yes, that feeling was extremely strong.
"Whew..."
Holding the burning cigarette between his fingers,
Kallen leaned back against the bench.
Just then,
a shadow suddenly fell across him. Kallen froze as he felt the cigarette being taken from his fingers.
"You... Grandfather?"
Dis stood before Kallen.
Dis still wore the clothes he had left home in, but Kallen noticed obvious stains on his trouser legs. The hand holding his cigarette seemed to have black marks on it too.
Was that mud?
Dis dropped the cigarette on the ground and asked,
"When did you learn?"
"I..." Kallen hesitated. A moment ago, he had actually felt an urge to tell "Grandfather" the "truth." Instinctively linking today's "dream" with Mr. Hoffen's "interrogation" and the other events, he had sensed something distinctly unusual.
After all, Grandfather Dis and Mr. Hoffen were old friends.
It was not that he feared Mr. Hoffen would tell Grandfather something after waking up. Rather, compared with a retired philosophy teacher who merely loved "divination," or perhaps "mysticism," Grandfather, who ran a funeral society and moonlighted as a priest, seemed... no, ought to be the most mysterious of them all.
If Mr. Hoffen could tell, could Grandfather really have noticed nothing?
So, if resistance meant harsh punishment, could a confession earn leniency?
But looking at Grandfather's face,
Kallen swallowed the "honest words" that had risen to his throat,
and said,
"Uncle Mason taught me."
Dis frowned slightly at that.
"Mr. Hoffen is inside. The doctor said he's out of danger," Kallen reported.
Dis nodded and asked, "Mary told me what happened. Were you frightened?"
"No... um... yes, I was."
Kallen's answer was somewhat incoherent, but he did not think that was his fault.
"I'll go see him. Wait here."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Dis went inside.
About fifteen minutes later, Dis returned with Paul. Kallen stood and followed them to the parking lot.
"When did you learn to drive?" Dis asked Paul.
"Not long ago. I watched enough times and picked it up," Paul answered a little shyly.
"Did you get your license?"
"Yes," Paul answered at once.
"Starting next month, your monthly pay will increase by one thousand Lu Coins."
"Thank you, Mr. Dis. Thank you, Mr. Dis."
Paul and Ron were stark opposites in temperament. Ron liked drinking and playing cards. Today, he had clocked out and slipped away as soon as he finished his work in the basement, and was probably hanging around some tavern by now. Paul, meanwhile, had stayed behind to clean the vehicle.
"Let's go back." Dis glanced at Kallen and repeated, "Home."
Paul drove again, while Kallen and Dis rode in the back. Since there were no seats, they sat facing each other on cushions.
"Do we need to notify Mr. Hoffen's family, Grandfather?"
"No. His children cut ties with him long ago, and they don't live in Rojia City. Remember to come back in a few days and check on him."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Once their brief exchange ended,
Kallen saw Dis extend his hand and roll up his sleeve.
To Kallen's shock, a third of Grandfather's left hand and arm was charred black, as though it had been rolled over burning coals.
"Pliers," Dis said.
"Hm?" Kallen froze, then quickly understood. He leaned forward and opened the black case beside Grandfather. Inside was a set of small surgical instruments, along with several things that clearly had no ordinary use,
such as bottles of strangely colored liquids, translucent beads, oddly shaped iron plaques, a whip made from some unknown material... and, most striking of all, a sword hilt with a hollow center.
The hilt had two intricate carvings, one on either side: a distorted skull on the left, and a kindly holy maiden on the right.
Although the hilt had no blade, Kallen carefully avoided it as he fetched the tools, as though an invisible edge might truly slice off his fingers.
Kallen handed Grandfather the pliers.
Grandfather took them in his right hand, gripped a corner of his charred skin, and slowly peeled it away.
Even with the vehicle moving, Kallen clearly heard a thin, crisp sound like tearing paper.
The golden retriever, who had come back with them, stared wide-eyed, curled up in a corner and trembling.
Grandfather peeled off two pieces of charred skin with the pliers as though no one else were there, then said,
"Tweezers."
"Oh, right." Kallen offered him the tweezers.
But Grandfather did not take them. Instead, he held his left hand out before Kallen and passed him the pliers with his right.
Nothing like this had ever appeared in "Kallen's" memories.
Still, after pressing his lips together, Kallen took the pliers in his right hand and the tweezers in his left. He first used the tweezers to lift an edge of the charred skin, then pulled the whole piece off with the pliers.
Beneath the charred skin lay bright red, tender flesh, faintly seeping blood.
Throughout it all,
Dis never cried out in pain.
His expression did not even change.
By the time all the charred skin had been removed, Dis's left arm looked as though it had just been boiled in water.
"Done," Kallen said.
"Mm."
Dis reached out, picked up a bottle of purple liquid, flicked the stopper off with his fingertip, and poured its entire contents over his left arm.
"Hiss..."
It was Kallen who sucked in that breath.
He saw white smoke rising from Dis's left arm, accompanied by the crackling sound of hot oil in a pan.
After a long while,
Dis let out a long breath and lowered his sleeve.
"Doesn't it need bandaging?" Kallen asked with concern.
Dis shook his head.
Kallen said nothing more and continued sitting upright.
The car came to a stop just then. They were home.
Kallen got out with Mr. Hoffen's Golden Retriever on a leash, while Paul pulled over beside the courtyard gate.
"Mr. Dis, Young Master Kallen, I'll head home now. I'll come early tomorrow to set up the mourning hall."
"All right." Dis nodded.
Delighted by his raise, Paul ran off toward his home.
Kallen remained at the gate, in no hurry to go inside, because Dis had not gone in.
Two people and a dog,
stood there at the courtyard gate.
On the third-floor windowsill of the villa, Puer rose to her feet, her feline eyes fixed on them.
For some inexplicable reason,
it was as though the background music of a stage play had suddenly changed styles,
so abruptly,
yet so unmistakably;
Kallen felt his lips begin to tremble, his breathing growing rapid.
The Golden Retriever on Kallen's leash looked up at him in confusion, having noticed that the leash was shaking... because the hand of the person holding it was shaking.
People had a sixth sense,
and the wind could speak to it, or the sunlight, or even the flowers and grass behind a fence;
Kallen did not know whether that sixth sense grew stronger after someone "died" once and came back to life. In truth, he had no room in his mind for such idle speculation now.
He felt like an egg freshly taken from a chicken coop, being tossed back and forth between a mischievous child's hands;
Run?
Kallen turned his neck as far as he could and looked to the side. There was the road, where he could break into a sprint and run all the way to the end...
Then Kallen began turning his neck the other way, but halfway through, he unconsciously lowered his head instead.
Once he lowered his head,
he saw his trouser legs,
and his grandfather's left arm,
and, most clearly of all, the sword hilt in his grandfather's left hand-the very one he had put back into the black case, now held in that hand again;
For a moment,
Kallen felt tears beginning to gather in his eyes. His nose stung, as though it were about to run, and his facial muscles twitched faintly;
Before his eyes,
it seemed that the Immerlis Family's villa at 13 Mingke Street was no longer there,
replaced by tier after tier of descending ground,
while he,
stood in the center of a raised platform, beside a gallows prepared for him.
"Kallen."
Dis's voice sounded like a thunderclap beside his ear.
"Grand... pa..."
Kallen's teeth chattered.
Yet in stark contrast, his mind was utterly calm. It felt as though his mind and body had been torn apart.
"Kallen, where are we?"
Kallen opened his mouth,
and out of the corner of his eye,
he noticed that his grandfather's left arm had risen and was reaching around behind him.
At that critical instant,
Kallen abruptly straightened his back,
and in a hoarse, low voice... almost roared:
"Home!"
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