St. Lawrence Hospital in Central District is more like a church than a hospital. The appearance composed of red bricks and marble is solemn and straight, with clear geometric shapes. A large number of flexible designs of circles, ovals, plum blossoms, and round petals and crosses make it look kind and restrained.
The tip of the seven-pointed star outside the dome points directly to the sky, which is both religious and solemn, and also implies rigorous rationality with clear context.
Everyone can see that the medical expenses here will never be cheap, but Dylan generously paid for the treatment expenses of Mr. Kuntu and Quinn:
"This is Rowan Shire, the best surgeon and sharpshooter in Silvermist City, the only man in the Bureau who still has a conscience."
At this moment, his neck has been sutured, but his voice is still hoarse, but this does not affect Dylan's talk.
"I'm retired."
The attending doctor, Rowan Shire, is an old man as sharp as an eagle, with dark brown eyes as bright as a young man, and he is unsmiling. The body is strong and strong, without any fat.
Old gentlemen of this age tend to grow their beards long and thick, but he was clean shaven, and his short, all-white hair was no more than a knuckle long.
"Quinn's nothing serious. It's just a minor injury to her. She just needs to keep her eyes away from light for a few days."
"...On the contrary, for Mr. Kuntu, the condition of the crystal puncture in the brain is worse than I expected. If not treated in time, it will cause infection of the brain wound."
"The right knee has a comminuted fracture and the shrapnel must be removed first. In the worst case scenario, amputation may be required."
Ed lowered his head and looked at the floor guiltily. That shot was obviously his own work. But the situation was urgent at the time, and he couldn't help but worry so much.
"By the way, Rowan." Dylan changed the subject thoughtfully, "Has your wish come true? How many people have you saved so far?"
"346." Rowan lowered his head and tapped Mr. Kuntu's intact left knee with a small hammer, but there was no response:
"The central nervous system is damaged." He analyzed, "It's almost completed, there are still 11 left."
The old doctor looked up at the clock and said to his assistant:
"Prepare for the operation immediately and help me send Mr. Kuntu to the operating room. You two go back first."
"Okay, I'll leave the check here."
Father Dylan placed the signed check on the coffee table and stood up to leave. Ed naturally stood up and said goodbye to Dr. Rowan respectfully.
"Don't worry, she was injured much more seriously than this. No one can kill her."
When they reached the street, Dylan spoke. Even though his neck was cut open, he was still in a good mood.
"What exactly is Dr. Charles's wish?" Ed was a little curious.
"Atoning for the sin of killing yourself." Dylan suddenly replied with a sinister smile.
Rowan killed 357 people?
Ed's left leg twitched, as if the hammer had just hit his knee.
"I deliberately scared you. Rowan was a soldier when he was young, and killing people was his duty and obligation. Sometimes people can't help themselves."
The greasy-headed priest seemed to have anticipated Ed's reaction, and smiled and patted his back. The two of them walked to the stop sign of the public carriage and stopped.
"I have to rush back to the church. Once the relics leave the reliquary for too long, the power within them will begin to fade, and even cause permanent loss."
"No problem, I'll walk back."
It's not far from the detective station, and it only takes half an hour for Ed to walk back.
Most importantly, he wanted to see Buck again...
A steam bus was slowly approaching. The seat box at the rear was the same as that of a bus, but the front was replaced by steam power. As the transmission rod rotates, the vertical chimney sprays high-temperature white condensed steam into the sky.
Dylan turned around and patted Ed on the shoulder to say goodbye:
"You are a talented boy, Ed. I understand why Bernard wants to recruit you. You are really good at playing the Secret of the Lake... But I remember that you should be studying the Secret of the Puppet?"
Ed suddenly broke into a cold sweat again. The Keeper program was his biggest secret. However, his life was hanging by a thread at that time. If he had any reservations, he might be killed on the spot.
If Dylan had actually told his brother Bernard Eaton or anyone else in the Bureau...
"Hahaha, don't worry, Bernard will never know this from me."
Dylan smiled evilly and said with a wink. After that, he handed a copper to the steward sitting in front and got on the bus...
So he said this just to make fun of me?
Looking at the bus slowly leaving, Ed sighed in both exasperation and amusement.
Looking down at the rectangular portrait wrapped in the curtain, he decided to go to Swordsmith Street first...
…
"Why are you showing me this?"
In the dark cellar, the blond boy with twisted arms asked nonchalantly.
"I thought you would want to see Kuntu's posthumous works...after all, you are friends, and he will never be able to paint again in his life."
"Meaningless rubbish. It may be a good piece of work for him, but it's worthless to me."
Ed didn't know what to say. He had expected Buck to give some profound praise for his friend's final work, but the result was such an irony.
Looking around, Buck was surrounded by a pile of completed paintings. Although they were twisted and weird, they had a unique and real beauty. He was sure someone would pay for them.
"Did you draw these?"
"It's all garbage. I'm going to take it out and burn it later."
"Why not sell it? Then you can rent a bright studio, change into a decent new set of clothes, and take a hot bath comfortably instead of being trapped in this smelly place. Rats gnaw on toes.”
"You think I do this for money or fame, right?"
A unique cold smile appeared on his face, and it disappeared in an instant. Cruel and arrogant, with a mysterious sensibility, like the last smile of a dying person.
"I mean, there's no need to struggle with money..."
"No, you don't understand. I feel restless and empty, and I must keep painting, like a drowning man who must struggle; I must stay here, too, because this is full of pain, and I draw from people's pain. Nutrients to fill the hole in one’s soul, like a leech.”
"well……"
Ed knew that he could not persuade this old friend who had known him since childhood. He took out two one-pound gold coins from his pocket, which was a quarter of his remaining property.
"Anyway, I still want to thank you for doing me a big favor this time, Buck. You can keep the money to buy canvas and paint, as well as bread and water..."
"You still think I need these shiny metal discs, don't you?"
At this moment, Buck's expression was as helpless as his, as if Ed was the one who went crazy.
"Then is there anything else you need?"
Seeing that Buck was not getting enough, Ed was already planning to turn around and leave. But the blond boy suddenly stopped him and said:
"Give me a haircut. My hair always blocks my view and I can't raise my hands that high."
Seeing that the other party finally said something human, Ed rolled his eyes and turned around:
"All right."
So, in the dark cellar like the Styx, Ed started his first career as a barber since his rebirth.
He first trimmed off Buck's messy beard with scissors, then soaped it up and shaved it clean with a razor.
As for his hair, Ed washed his hair again, cut off the split ends caused by long-term lack of nutrition, and found a rubber band to tie it behind his head. A large section of the forehead hair covering the eyes was also cut off, leaving a space for growth.
He looked thin and weak, with a sallow complexion, but at least he looked like a normal human being again.
"How about it?"
Ed held up the mirror and showed it to Buck. Of course, he borrowed the mirror and tools from the barber shop.
"It's much better. It would be better if it was shorter."
"In a little while, you will still be like a savage."
"you're right."
He finally showed a kind smile like an ordinary person, and with twitching hands, he took out a sixpence from the rags on his body and paid it to Ed.
"You? Pay me?"
Ed smiled mockingly. He finally figured out the way to get along with Buck. The more good-natured he was, the more estrangement he would create.
"Yes, I only have a sixpence."
Buck instead smiled sincerely:
"If I had a sun, I would give it to you too, old friend."
