From the driver’s seat, Lalviye-Komel’s emotions were somewhat intricate.
Setting aside the fact that a single scalpel had instantly dispatched the white rat.
The speed had been so phenomenal that it was impossible for the naked eye to discern how the scalpel had circled back into their hand after piercing the rat’s body.
Perhaps it was due to a momentary decline in her vision after exerting her abilities.
For a fleeting instant, she had caught a subtle glint reflecting in the air.
A terrifying possibility sprang to mind: manipulating the scalpel with a thread. She knew that scalpel was a weapon akin to her own blind-cane short sword, beyond the control of ordinary individuals, capable of even backfiring on them.
Thus, she found herself somewhat impressed that Ghervil had managed to wield her weapon on their very first attempt.
While acknowledging that Ghervil was among the Hospital Department’s elite, the visual shock of ‘Crimson Lotus’ (TL Note: A combat alias or technique, distinct from the ‘Blood Rose’ organization, referring to Ghervil’s swift and deadly actions.) instantly killing the severely diseased creature paled in comparison to this individual’s demeanor toward the nun.
It was rare to hear of anyone from the Hospital Department displaying such profound care for a ‘patient.’
That particular smile and the series of attentive gestures did not appear to be feigned.
Certain preconceived notions and stereotypes simply did not apply here.
Guided by a blend of experience and intuition, Lalviye-Komel felt it imperative to include the doctor among her list of competitors.
“Are you still alive?”
Soon after, as the two approached the driver’s side, Ghervil extended her right hand, still gripping the short sword, and waved it before Lalviye-Komel’s contemplative face.
“Of course, thanks to the assistance of Miss Crimson Lotus. Without you, Konehl-Ghervil and I might have become a pair of desperate lovers.”
Lalviye-Komel accepted the short sword, her words directed at the blonde woman.
Dr. Callan, who had been pondering how to extract the person from the vehicle, paused in surprise upon hearing the ‘sincere’ gratitude from within.
She pushed past Ghervil, who appeared poised for an outburst, then bent down by the car window and inquired with astonishment,
“What did you just call her?”
“Konehl-Ghervil, her name. Is there a problem?”
‘Heh heh, she took the bait so easily.’
‘If there truly was such a relationship between them, the way to break them apart would be to sow discord first.’
‘Once suspicion took root, she would have the perfect opportunity to exploit the weakness and strike unexpectedly.’
“You and she are… *that* kind of relationship!?”
“No! Don’t listen to this pervert’s nonsense—”
Dr. Callan swiftly clamped a hand over the young woman’s mouth as she tried to squeeze forward, then, with a single arm, circled around her neck from behind to restrain her, holding her firmly by the waist to prevent any struggle.
“Yes… we ‘hit it off immediately,’ which is why she fought so desperately for me instead of escaping alone.” Lalviye-Komel lowered her head, feigning shyness.
“Mmph…!”
“Mmph…!”
The struggles in her grip intensified, causing Dr. Callan to frown, though she said nothing more, simultaneously releasing the young woman.
“Listen to me, I can explain!”
“I don’t understand, but I respect it.”
Taking a few steps back with an expression of clear distaste, Dr. Callan retrieved a clean handkerchief from her pocket and meticulously wiped her right hand, which had just covered the young woman’s mouth.
Ghervil was utterly dumbfounded; she recognized that look all too well – it was the very same gaze she herself directed at the ‘pervert’ in the car.
‘How could she do this!’
‘She clearly knew I was a nun, and nuns couldn’t possibly… wait, the person in the car knew it too.’
‘One, being a member of the Order, couldn’t possibly be unaware of the rules; the other, with her notorious past, was clearly serious.’
Ghervil, not allowing anger to cloud her judgment, realized she had been thoroughly played.
Unable to retaliate against the one who had tricked her, she could only vent her frustration on the instigator of this farce.
She glared fiercely into the car, just about to declare that she wouldn’t rescue this brazen individual, whose thick skin could surely double as a bulletproof vest.
A roar of car engines suddenly echoed from not far away.
Four black cars pulled up and stopped nearby, from which a dozen or so men in black disembarked.
The leaders were familiar faces: Ramsey and Helm.
As professional agents, a quick glance at the scene was enough for them to roughly ascertain what had transpired.
Helm immediately instructed a portion of his team to clear the scene, while the rest were to assist with the rescue.
He had initially been recuperating from an injury and wasn’t required to be there, but upon learning from the received intelligence that Ghervil was also present, he insisted on joining the impromptu mission.
“We meet again, Dr. Callan, Sister Ghervil.”
Ramsey, gloved, approached with a smile, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Only arriving after everything’s over, perhaps you deserve an award for ‘Always a Step Ahead’.”
Dr. Callan held no fondness for these individuals; she offered a perfunctory remark or two, tucked away her handkerchief, then glanced at the young woman, hesitated as if to speak, and turned to walk to a more spacious area.
Ghervil, still fuming, had not yet fully processed the situation.
Sensing something amiss, Ramsey prudently withdrew his hand, allowing the two women their privacy, and joined the rescue efforts.
Dr. Callan realized her ‘joke’ had gone too far; ordinarily, she would be utterly indifferent to another’s private life.
Ignorance was, after all, her modus operandi.
Not long ago, she had firmly reminded herself that her attitude and behavior toward the young woman were solely for achieving her objectives and fulfilling her basic duties, without allowing any extraneous emotions to intermingle.
Yet, upon hearing the purple-haired woman’s familiar address, she had instinctively acted in a way that defied reason.
‘Perhaps it was merely disdain for her newly recruited assistant’s weak vigilance and clumsiness, getting targeted by a strange fellow on their very first outing?’
This was the only way she could reconcile with herself internally.
“You! You’re not angry anymore?”
Turning around, Dr. Callan was startled to find the young woman silently trailing behind her.
“Angry about what?”
Ghervil, possessing a remarkably open perspective, realized Dr. Callan had been toying with her and saw no reason to be upset.
“Do you truly believe what she said? That your disdain for me wasn’t a joke?”
“No… you’re overthinking it. It was just a joke.”
Dr. Callan felt a strange pang of guilt; admitting she found Ghervil clumsy might genuinely provoke her anger.
“So, you just happened to find this place while hunting rats?”
Ghervil’s conjecture stemmed from the obvious fact that Dr. Callan’s attire was far too conspicuous for any covert activities like tracking, surveillance, or eavesdropping to be feasible.
Moreover, Dr. Callan had stated she wouldn’t monitor her, and as a boss, she was also a partner; lasting cooperation hinged on mutual trust.
“You ought to be more vigilant. While that answer is correct, I suggest you consider other possibilities.”
Dr. Callan pursed her lips and averted her gaze.
‘For instance, consider if my approaching you and becoming your neighbor serves any other purpose.’
“Hmm… perhaps it’s a mission from the Order, or maybe you’re friends with the Dean and are helping out for old times’ sake. Either way, you wouldn’t harm me, right?”
Bishop Sartre had indeed warned her to be wary of those from the Hospital Department, specifically cautioning her not to expose her illness.
However, putting things into perspective, Dr. Callan already knew about her illness and had saved her life. Therefore, Ghervil felt that confiding in her and earning her trust would prevent her from being so passive when encountering other Hospital Department members in the future, preemptively resolving any unnecessary misunderstandings.
Essentially, it would make Dr. Callan a bridge for communication between herself and the organization.
“If all goes as planned, I can tell you about my illness tomorrow.”
Dr. Callan fell silent, momentarily unsure if the other woman was genuinely naive or merely feigning innocence.
“Do you need water?”
During a lull in their conversation, Helm approached, carrying a bucket of water which he set on the ground, and asked Ghervil with a somewhat complex expression.
“Oh, Agent, your perceptiveness is always commendable; you can even tell when I’m thirsty.”
She walked over, squatted down, and was about to cup a hand to drink when she heard the man’s prohibitive voice,
“That’s not for you to drink!”
Looking up, she saw the man had already retreated several steps.
“It’s from a roadside puddle. You’d best not drink it if you don’t want to get sick.”
A realization dawned on her; her close conversation with Dr. Callan had made her subconsciously overlook the state of her own body.
She was practically covered in dried bloodstains, a lingering stench clinging to her. Looking at her reflection in the leaf-strewn water within the bucket, she could see her face hadn’t been properly wiped clean; some of the grime was smeared, and her nose was notably red, making her resemble a small, smudged kitten.
It was, in fact, quite polite of these people not to openly mock her or visibly pinch their noses.
‘How utterly embarrassing…’
‘And why did this accursed rat blood smell so foul?’
“Thank you.”
Dr. Callan uttered a cool “Thank you” to Helm, then walked over and bent to wash her hands in the bucket water.
She had touched Ghervil all over, and her hands were quite sticky.
The entire bucket of water was soon depleted by the two of them, most of it used on Ghervil. As Ghervil found it inconvenient to operate with one hand, Dr. Callan assisted in washing her face, arms, and other exposed skin until they were reasonably clean.
Helm’s brows remained tightly furrowed throughout his observation; the intelligence he had on this doctor suggested she was hardly a warm-hearted or ‘considerate’ person.
Seeing their lingering desire for more cleanliness, he tentatively inquired,
“Things should be wrapped up quickly over there. Would you like our captain to drive you back later?”
In the presence of an outsider, he was still careful with his choice of words.
“If that’s the case, we’d be incredibly grateful!” Ghervil’s excitement was palpable.
There was nothing more she longed for than to go home immediately, take a bath, and change her clothes.
Dr. Callan offered no verbal response, which Ghervil took as tacit agreement.
Three minutes later, Ramsey and Helm asked a few perfunctory questions.
Lalviye-Komel, hoisted onto a stretcher, did not forget her original intention, bidding farewell to Dr. Callan and Ghervil with distinctly provocative and affectionate tones, respectively.
The two women, in unspoken understanding, chose to ignore her.
By the time they arrived back home by car, it was half-past six.
She changed out of her clothes and left them to soak in the basin of Room 100. As for why not Room 101…
According to Dr. Callan, the soiled blood required special treatment.
Due to Dr. Callan’s unyielding insistence, Ghervil had no choice but to hand over several items of clothing, including her intimate undergarments.
She repeatedly implored Dr. Callan to notify her immediately once they were dealt with, emphasizing that the actual washing must be done by herself.
After showering, she applied medicine and used bandages to secure her left hand, suspending it in a sling across her chest.
The two then arrived at Mrs. Keith’s residence.
Mrs. Keith had specifically prepared a completely vegetarian Sunday dinner that day.
In Mrs. Keith’s eyes, Dr. Callan was also a young girl, and she warmly invited her to come over for dinner every day, just like Ghervil, if she didn’t mind.
Dr. Callan politely declined.
Thanks to Mrs. Keith’s culinary skills, the trio thoroughly enjoyed the vegetarian spread, feeling as though they were indulging in a grand feast.
After the dinner concluded and she was certain the other two harbored no suspicions, Ghervil found an excuse to slip away.
At seven-fifty, carrying three Blood Rose petals, she appeared punctually at the entrance to Cellar 101.