He walked into the living room,
closed his umbrella,
fastened it,
then gripped the handle and flicked it diagonally backward three times:
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
Grandfather and grandson moved in perfect unison.
Dis headed up the stairs. Behind him, Kallen's lips moved, but he said nothing and watched Dis go upstairs.
"Meow..."
Puer's voice came from the living room sofa.
Kallen went over and sat down, lifting Puer onto his lap with practiced ease.
"Let me ask you something."
"Go ahead."
"Alfred once said he fought Dis, but they tied. Of course, he said Dis only used spells below the Inquisitor level."
"Oh, that's perfectly normal. It means Dis never intended to toy with that radio sprite to death."
"So, is it possible that, while deliberately holding back to play with Alfred, Dis still got himself injured? Say, a very serious injury on his arm."
Puer's eyes widened as she looked at Kallen.
"What is it?"
"Kallen, would you accidentally let an ant's pincers cut a huge gash in your arm while playing with it?
"Or rather,
"even if that ant really did cut a huge gash in your arm, would you still be generous enough to let it go instead of stepping on it and crushing it to death?"
"I understand."
"Why would you ask such a strange question? When Dis fought that radio sprite, he probably had to control his strength very carefully. Meow, meow, meow, afraid he might accidentally crush him."
Kallen leaned back against the sofa.
So, when they rode the Hearse home from the hospital where Mr. Hoffen was staying that day, the wounds he had treated for Dis-the patches of charred skin on his arm-had not been caused by Alfred?
Previously, Kallen had always thought Dis's injury that time had something to do with