He is the leader of the Tantric sect in Chagdu.

Chapter 138 The Curtain Technique

These past two months have been a major turning point for the dominant power in the city, determining the course of history. Beneath the surface of calm, undercurrents have moved beyond the "brewing" stage and begun to surge silently.

With the conclusion of a premature "ideological judgment," the "Eternal Faction," which had previously held a dominant position within the Foundation, was just a hair's breadth away from seizing the most important "final anchoring power" and deciding Hallownest's dominant theme for the next century, following the Illumination Century.

Unfortunately, the shift in the "mass will" is irreversible and has become an insurmountable chasm, even though it was just 2.86% away from a breakthrough. Everything is about to begin anew.

But it's too late to say anything now.

For at least the foreseeable future, as the storm approaches—whether it's the follow-up actions of the "New Wings" or the internal power structure adjustments within the Foundation—all these factors ensure that this protracted tug-of-war will continue in an obscure manner.

This period of turmoil and frequent changes—it's hard to say whether it can be considered a "new era."

October 2th, Thursday.

Lolanda Hallownest, the floating city of Mana.

Ilona Second Sanatorium.

This sanatorium, which is not open to the public, is a private property of the foundation and houses the most cutting-edge physiotherapy and rescue technologies in the entire logistics department. In this field, only "Mi Pharmaceutical," a giant company that is also deeply involved in the medical field, can be vaguely seen in the entire Nest City.

There's a type of urban legend that says any living thing sent here will leave as healthy as if it were back to factory settings. Even more exaggerated claims are made that if you bring in an urn containing ashes, the person inside will still be able to walk out of the door alive and kicking.

Among them, the most famous "resurrection" is one of the "classic miracles" recorded in the general outline of mysticism—and the power that can accomplish such a feat is nothing more than the highest level of alchemy, a grand ceremony that reaches a magnificent realm, or a super great favor that directly communicates with the "god who remembers the dead".

Such rumors don't seem entirely unfounded. Although it's unclear whether they're true, the very existence of such claims proves that this sanatorium does indeed possess some remarkable qualities.

The advanced technology largely stems from the research findings of those "asylum" staff—madmen who usually mingled with monsters and were used to dealing with terrifying things. Their technology is often stereotyped as "forbidden power."

But for the asylum, whether it's taboo or alien species—they don't care that pure madmen can't distinguish the nature of power; they only care about how to use it properly.

Therefore, Sherlock actually opposed the idea of ​​Wei Sir recuperating in such a place. Once the organization arranges preferential treatment, it's not up to a lackey to object.

Fortunately, Miss Wei's condition is far from requiring the use of "contraindicated medicine".

Although the Advent Protocol unexpectedly went offline, leaving the soul stranded deep within the forbidden stronghold—a "high-risk emergency"—for an ordinary agent, several lives wouldn't have been enough to save them.

But the invincible Wei Sir somehow managed to defuse the crisis and escape from what he considered a hopeless situation: although he experienced a forced separation of his soul across the beacon, which damaged his vessel and caused his red fluid to wither, he only had to lie there for a month or so before the girl successfully obtained a discharge permit from those strict, almost harsh, doctors.

Aside from gaining two pounds along the way, it was nothing serious.

Don't ask Sherlock how he knew how many pounds he had gained. Virtue lost contact with his parents at a very young age and grew up as an orphan. He didn't have many friends at work and didn't have any colleagues he got along with.

So, in the blank space for guardian, only Sherlock's name could be filled in—he was the only one who would receive the usual experience reports, and over this period of time, this mysterious sanatorium had established a "reliable" impression in the old man's mind.

"Sign here — Ward C12, Wilting, the current physical therapy cycle has ended — The recovery is going very well. The patient's physical strength and mental capacity have exceeded our original estimates. Although there were slight signs of loss of control when he was brought in, it seems unlikely that there will be any sequelae."

The person in charge of taking care of Visor here is the director of the sanatorium. Looking at the tall woman in front of him, Sherlock vaguely remembered that her name was "Florentine". She was a very careful and capable nurse who took great care of her very young superior.

"Thanks."

The old man signed his name in the blank space at the bottom right of the discharge permit, smiled, and said, "Thank you for your hard work these past few days."

"If every patient were as easy to care for as that young girl, perhaps we should be the ones saying thank you."

The hospital director, who looked quite young, seemed to have a sharp tongue in addition to her composed personality. Perhaps because she had some free time, she chatted with Sherlock for a few minutes, first casually complaining about the recent doctor-patient disputes, and then about the ridiculous thing about critically ill patients resisting the use of "forbidden technology" to save their lives.

"We are a legitimate hospital, and the techniques we use are all legitimate. Although on the day of the treatment, the ceremonial array next to the operating table was drawn a little crookedly and couldn't completely cover it up, so the patient accidentally saw it."

Florence had a pair of wolf ears on his head, and his eyes were the color of wood blackened by winter frost, or a deep brown like smoked leather. "Although I managed to discontinue the anesthesia in time, the patient seemed to be a mysterious apprentice who had cast a bunch of drug resistance spells on himself and managed to get out of bed. Well, I know how to summon blood slime bacteria to coexist with flesh and blood, and incidentally replace the clotting factors in the body—it sounds a bit far-fetched, but at least it works very well."

Ms. Wolf sighed.

"Besides, our strains are cultivated under high-specification conditions. Although the live bacteria look a bit strange, they are cleaner than most people's original blood! — If that patient hadn't been damaged by a mysterious attack during a mission, disrupting the body's hematopoietic function, we wouldn't have used this strategy. In the end, the patient recovered, so chemical anesthesia wasn't needed, and we had to resort to physical methods. Luckily, I have enough strength."

"...

""

—Uh, I'm about to burst out with complaints.

Sherlock knew what hemomycosis was: a large, sticky, red slime that looked like snot, but was actually a group of bacteria-like life forms composed of countless parasitic hyphae.

—I think most normal people wouldn't be able to accept having something like this coexisting in their body.

The man blinked, not saying the first sentence aloud, otherwise Ms. Wolf would probably have spent half a day explaining the "Elona medical concept" to him. He just chuckled.

"If I ever get injured in some brutal, mysterious battle and end up here, please don't hesitate to use any means necessary."

"Oh?"

Florence raised an eyebrow with interest, then smiled with a hint of surprise. "Very few people would want to be sent here, but you're an exception—I wish you would take back what you just said. If Elona were to go to great lengths to save you, it's hard to say whether you'd survive or not. Tsk, you're cursing yourself, hurry up and spit a few times—"

Sherlock had a good impression of the wolf doctor, who was sometimes straightforward and sometimes very interesting, so he spit out two "pui" sounds in compliance, greeted him with a smile, and walked into the sanatorium with the signed discharge certificate.

During this period, apart from visiting Wei Sir regularly and reporting on his daily work, Sherlock was enjoying the most leisurely time of his career.

Sherlock's job was originally that of an assistant, but with his boss hospitalized and unable to attend, his life of running around trying to achieve results came to an end. As for other side jobs, such as commissioned work, Sherlock was mostly uninterested and too lazy to get involved.

So, life at work is quite boring. Besides playing cards and bragging with a bunch of friends, all I have to do is keep up with the daily news: the establishment of the new wing of Golden Dawn is common knowledge in the foundation.

During these two months, the two sides also completed several historic meetings. Although specific details have not been made public, it is worth noting that the agents who went missing in the taboo case have all been confirmed alive and are currently awaiting further instructions within the territory of Golden Dawn.

The foundation originally wanted to get the person back quickly, but according to the other party, it would be a waste for everyone to go their separate ways. It would be better to leverage the special connections of the individuals involved to create more channels for communication, promote cooperation, and achieve mutual benefit and development.

Such official rhetoric sounds foolish. A more concise version would be: instead of taking the agents hostage, why not make better use of them to build a bridge between the two sides and act as envoys between the two "wings"?

The suggestion sounded good, and during its implementation, the missing Tribunal agents Ronan and Mia returned to the Foundation for a period of time and underwent a full examination to confirm that their souls and minds had not been contaminated or tampered with.

In this way, a fight is unlikely to break out anytime soon, since a considerable number of members within the foundation are optimistic about the changes brought about by the "New Wings," and the previous policy of "eliminating taboos" is no longer applicable at present.

Foundations, adept at compromise, quickly found an approach that could save face while maintaining a stable relationship: remain normal internally and maintain a stalemate externally. As long as the giants couldn't understand the relationship between the two sides, the relationship could be kept in ambiguity forever.

—Large organizations are all scumbags, and factions at the level of regimes are even more so; this applies to any political and diplomatic situation.

All of the above was compiled by Visser during his convalescence, based on information he had gathered out of boredom, and he shared it with Sherlock. The latter's brain, which was all muscle, could only comprehend one thing: that Eileen was still alive.

—That bastard, I thought he died without a word, making your brother grieve for nothing for so long.

With Virtue about to be discharged from the hospital, and that workaholic Virtue Sir likely to return, it would be difficult to have such free time again. Sherlock quickly thought about when he could call Ellen back for a drink.

Lost in thought, I unknowingly arrived inside the sanatorium: in the prime location of Mana City, this place still has its own courtyard, and even has more than one swimming pool and gym.

From the reception entrance to the end of the care area, a slight tilt of the head reveals the emblem of Elona: a scepter with a single snake coiled upright, adorned with woven wheat-ear patterns. Beyond that, arched and rounded designs are surprisingly prevalent in this hall, with walls painted pristine white, pillars adorned with exquisite murals, and almost shadowless lighting all around.

Every design element here is a meticulous interpretation of the concept of medical care and nursing, striving for near-perfect comfort and experience for the "human subject," subtly incorporating a mysterious atmosphere and taking it to the extreme.

—No wonder it's a foundation's business.

Sherlock sighed.

The Elona Sanatorium typically only accommodates its own staff, and for the foundation, it's considered a benefit tied to their job duties.

Even wealthy people with permanent residency in Mana rarely have the qualifications to enter this place—they can't even learn about its existence unless they've ever touched this mysterious world.

This is the power of the "Veil Method".

After a few turns, passing through a long corridor, and entering a row of buildings on the south side, the sanatorium of Elona can be seen through the half-view windows. Following the route in his memory, Sherlock quickly found Visser's residence here.

However, before that, he unexpectedly saw another figure on the row of benches outside the door.

"emerald?"

That should be the name, if Sherlock remembers correctly.

This young woman didn't have a high profile in her workplace. Although she was a young lady from the city, she had become almost invisible in the past two months. Especially with the recent series of sensational news stories, this "parachuted executive officer" who had once attracted a lot of attention was now almost forgotten by the people in the Countermeasures Bureau.

Sherlock's impression of her was also vague; after all, they didn't usually interact much. The only thing he remembered was that Ellen had once made someone cry for some unknown reason—of course, no one else knew about this except for himself.

What are you doing here?

The uncle walked up slowly and saw the girl, who was nodding and seemed to be dozing off, suddenly shiver and curl up like a small animal startled from hibernation. After a few seconds, her emerald green eyes slowly focused.

"Uncle?" Cui tilted her head, looking like she hadn't woken up yet. Her casual clothes, which looked like they were carefully put together, included a dark turtleneck sweater and a light-colored outer shirt. Although she didn't look very energetic, her sweet appearance softened her timid demeanor.

"That's impolite. You can just call me uncle." Sherlock smiled insincerely. At his age, he certainly didn't expect the little girl to call him big brother.

But calling someone "uncle" is still a bit too cruel.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't bother arguing with a child, but simply repeated the question from before. The dazed Cui heard this and inexplicably tightened her grip on the paper bag in her hand—Sherlock glanced at it and it looked like some kind of souvenir.

"I've come to see Virtue," Cui said softly, rising from her chair and giving a slight bow.

"I heard before that she was injured in the operation, so I've been wanting to visit her. I've asked about this sanatorium several times—and today, I heard that she's being discharged."

The sound grew fainter and fainter until it was soon inaudible.

—Oh ho.

The uncle tilted his head—

(You've asked this several times? I bet you ask every day.)

Even Sherlock only learned two days ago that Wilting could be discharged—this little girl must have been mentally preparing for two months before coming to this ward.

Thinking about all this, the uncle felt a surge of paternal love.

—Like Wei Sir, he was also a pitiful child.

"Don't just stand there, come in."

He pushed open the door.

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