Inside the study, the light was mostly filtered out by the heavy curtains, leaving only the soft warm glow of a magic lamp on the desk.
“Since Madame wishes to confirm in person,” Ailiya said, her expression calm as ever, “I can take you there now. However, you have actually met that person once before, Madame.”
“Oh?” Elsa raised an eyebrow slightly, pausing as she held her teacup. “I’ve met quite a few people.”
“Mr. G,” Ailiya said the name.
A flicker of surprise passed through Elsa’s eyes.
She certainly remembered that third-level Adventurer from the Estate in Wind Moon City—the one wearing a silver half-face mask, carrying a long package, and radiating an aura that kept others at a distance.
Cedric had used him as a display of martial prowess back then.
“That private bodyguard of Cedric’s?” Elsa set down her teacup, her tone turning appraising. “What is he doing in the Royal capital? And how did he end up injured to the point where you need to ask me to treat him?”
“Former bodyguard,” Ailiya corrected. “As for why he’s in the Royal capital and how he got hurt, you can think of it as a rather unpleasant dispute.”
The words were spoken lightly. Elsa gave Ailiya a long look but did not press for details.
“Lead the way.”
Half an hour later.
In the Capital West District, inside a certain reeking Dead End Alley.
Elsa held a silk handkerchief soaked in cool mint juice, pressing it firmly over her nose and mouth.
Her delicately lined eyes stared incredulously ahead.
Ailiya bent down with practiced ease, hooked her hand under a rusty iron manhole cover, and with a slight effort, lifted it aside, revealing a dark, foul-smelling entrance to the Sewers below.
“The ‘sickroom’ you mentioned is down there?” Elsa’s voice came muffled through the handkerchief, tinged with undisguised protest and disgust.
“Secluded, free, and with access in all directions,” Ailiya stated flatly, listing three advantages. “For a wounded man being hunted, this is the most cost-effective option.”
“But for a seriously injured person prone to infection, this is a one-way ticket to hell,” Elsa said, her brow furrowed so deeply it could crush a fly.
As a Potion Master with strict standards for environmental hygiene, this was an insult to her professional ethics.
But she was already here.
She sighed, then lifted her skirt and reluctantly followed Ailiya down the rusty iron ladder.
Deep in the Sewers, on a stone slab in a corner.
Graves sat leaning against the cold, damp wall, resting with his eyes closed.
He had already treated the poison damage, but the gash on his right arm, combined with the weakness from forcing his magic to fire the magic gun, made even lifting his eyelids feel exhausting.
Hearing footsteps, he gripped the magic gun beside him warily.
But when he saw the black-and-white figure emerging from the dim light, he relaxed.
However, when he recognized the elegant noblewoman following behind Ailiya, his face stiffened beneath his mask.
“Madame Elsa?” Graves said hoarsely, clearly not expecting Ailiya to bring the Mistress of Castian Manor all the way down to this “rat hole.”
“Mr. G, it seems your recent days have not been particularly dignified.”
Elsa walked up to him and, by the light of Ailiya’s magic lamp, looked him over from above.
Graves’s right arm was haphazardly wrapped in several layers of blood-soaked bandages, and he exuded a beaten-down aura as if he had rolled through mud three times.
“Remove the bandages.”
Elsa wasted no words and opened her medical kit directly.
Graves glanced at Ailiya. Seeing her nod, he silently unwound the cloth strips from his arm.
A pungent smell of blood mixed with some kind of herbal medicine wafted out.
The skin around the wound had taken on an abnormal, ashen hue.
Elsa put on her special gloves, examined it carefully, and her brow eased slightly.
“Good judgment. You treated it in time. The ‘Withering Kiss’ toxin has been neutralized by the specific antidote; the poison hasn’t spread.”
Elsa took out a bottle of thick green liquid from the medical kit.
“However, you’ve overexerted your magic power, so your body’s self-healing functions are almost stagnant. Add the infection from this environment—without better treatment, even if you save this arm, it’ll be useless in the future.”
“Bear with it.”
Elsa uncorked the bottle and poured the green healing potion directly onto Graves’s wound.
“Hiss—!”
Graves sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle in his body tensing instantly.
It felt like someone had poured a basin of boiling acid onto his bones.
But after just a few seconds, the intense pain transformed into a maddening itch, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at him.
Visibly, the edges of the deep wound began to sprout new flesh at an unnatural speed, writhing and intertwining. The dead, ashen tissue was rapidly replaced by fresh red tissue.
“Recovery potion. Market price at least one hundred gold coins per bottle, and it’s not easy to find.”
Elsa spoke calmly as she expertly reapplied the gauze.
“For Ailiya’s sake, this bottle is free.”
“Many… thanks.”
Graves panted heavily, feeling the renewed strength in his right arm, inwardly shocked.
“Done.”
Elsa stood up, removed her gloves, and tossed them into the waste liquid bucket.
She looked around at the dripping, moss-covered walls and a fat rat poking its head out not far away. Her well-maintained face finally showed an expression of utter intolerance.
“Damp, cold, utterly unhygienic. If conditions allow, move to a clean place.”
She pointed at Graves on the ground.
With that, Elsa hurriedly packed her medical kit, didn’t even say goodbye—just nodded at Ailiya—then lifted her skirt and quickly left the Sewers.
Ailiya watched Graves, who was now able to stand and move, and gave a flat order.
“You won’t die now. Go contact Sid.”
“What do you want with that lying woman?” Graves frowned, clearly reluctant.
“Since she managed to con Balke into coming to the Royal capital as a bodyguard, that proves she definitely has a safe place to stay and connections here,” Ailiya said matter-of-factly.
“Tell her to arrange a clean, safe hideout. If she asks, say I requested it. As an accomplice, this is the logistical support she should provide.”
Having said that, Ailiya didn’t linger and disappeared into the dark passage.
Graves was left alone.
***
After an unknown amount of time, his nerves remained taut, alert to any sound around him.
In this damp, dark Sewer, any sound could mean danger.
Then, an extremely faint yet rhythmic footstep slowly approached.
Graves’s eyes sharpened. He instantly raised his magic gun, the muzzle steady, aimed at the direction of the sound.
“Who’s there?” he growled, his finger already on the trigger.
Sid, who had just rounded the corner, found herself staring straight into the dark gun barrel.
“The red-nosed gargoyle!” Sid’s voice came from around the corner, slightly hurried.
She jolted in fright, nearly dropping her lantern.
Graves paused for a moment—that was their agreed-upon recognition code.
He lowered the muzzle and watched Sid step out of the shadows, her hands raised innocently.
“Senior, your vigilance is way too high. What if the gun goes off?”