640,
Elyse entered a coma.
Cyclone swallowed hard. This situation couldn't be dragged out any longer.
Now, Cyclone had to make a decision—a cruel one.
But before that, Cyclone still held on to a sliver of hope and asked Hilmirya,
“Magic… Is there any magic I don't know about… anything…”
The moment Hilmirya heard that, she fell silent. Then tears began to stream down her face.
The things Cyclone didn't have. The power he lacked.
For the first time, he felt an overwhelming yearning for that all-powerful magical force.
But deep down, he knew it was already too late.
The only thing he could do now was operate with his own hands, using the surgical techniques he had learned to deal with everything before him.
Still, Cyclone understood that perfectly well.
Whichever one he chose to save, it would be the wrong decision.
Regret surged up from the depths of his heart. It was because he wasn't strong enough that he had been forced into this fate of choosing one over the other.
If only he had the strength of a genius, perhaps…
Cyclone shook his head, knowing that now wasn't the time to complain about the past.
At last, beneath the weight of despair, Cyclone spoke.
“Hilmirya, administer the anesthetic.”
“…Yes.”
Amid her pain, Hilmirya could only assist Cyclone from the side.
“Right now, if I open her abdomen, Elyse will bleed to death. But if I don't take Feng'er out, he'll soon die from lack of oxygen…”
As a doctor, Cyclone reported the situation in the simplest terms.
He wasn't only trying to make Hilmirya understand. He wanted to hear it himself, too.
“This decision will very likely be… No. It will definitely be wrong.”
Cyclone looked at Elyse.
“But I'm still going to do it. I know that if she blames me for this decision, then let me bear all the sin alone…”
He raised his hand again and looked at the scalpel in it.
“Let's begin. Start the suturing.”
The sky began to turn toward dusk. The King of Dusk had already died in the Great Dragon's jaws, while the Great Dragon and Marcina had both vanished without a trace.
In the ruined city of Kakarl stood a church with no roof.
Outside the church, corpses lay scattered across the ground.
The witch Yuna picked up the scythe that represented death. In the process, a human head fell from its blade.
The battle was over. Not a single assassin had managed to leave alive.
At the very end, Yuna glanced at the world's number one swordsman standing in the distance.
The two exchanged no words. Yuna simply watched in silence as the other person left.
Inside the church, the setting sun cast its light over the center of the building.
Kneeling beneath that sunlight, Cyclone continued his battle.
The suturing was already ninety percent complete. Every cut and every stitch was made amid overwhelming regret.
Hilmirya's hands kept trembling, but Cyclone's remained utterly steady.
Whether it was blind focus or something else, Cyclone's eyes had lost their focus. He performed the surgery like a machine.
Elyse's heartbeat had returned to a steady rhythm, but because she had lost so much blood, Cyclone had no idea when she would wake up.
All he knew was that, at this moment, he had to protect Elyse by eliminating every factor that might endanger her life.
At the final stitch, Cyclone stopped.
After leaving a small opening, he picked up a long needle.
It was only when he looked at that long needle that Cyclone regained his senses.
He covered his mouth, preventing himself from vomiting.
Because this long needle wasn't meant to save a life. It was meant to take one.
This needle was meant to end Feng'er's life. Feng'er wasn't dead yet, but once the lack of oxygen began to torment him, he would kick and struggle with his legs.
If that happened, Feng'er would kick open the wound inside Elyse's body.
Besides, Cyclone didn't want Feng'er to suffer the agony of suffocation.
In the very end, Cyclone could only make use of this long needle.
I'm sorry… Feng'er… Forgive me… Forgive this useless father of yours…
In a world of tears, Cyclone drove the long needle in.
