“You must get well soon, Mister Dottore.” As she took her leave, Columbina spoke with earnest sincerity.
“Without you here, I always feel the ‘quiet’ in the palace has grown a little lonely.” The word “quiet” clearly carried a deeper meaning.
Dottore watched her depart, a faint warmth stirring in his chest.
Columbina’s concern was pure and without ulterior motive.
The second visitor caught Dottore by surprise.
It was the First Seat, Capitano, the Captain.
This Harbinger, as steady and immovable as a mountain, simply stood at the doorway, his enormous frame nearly blocking out the light.
He nodded to Pierro in greeting, then turned his gaze toward Dottore.
The moment the First Harbinger stepped into the medical room, an aura as heavy and solid as a mountain range filled the space.
He wore casual attire, but his back was as straight as a spear.
After nodding to Pierro, his eyes settled on Dottore.
“Doctor, it seems your ‘expedition’ came at no small cost.” His voice was deep and level, betraying little emotion.
“Gains were made, and prices were paid,” Dottore replied.
Toward this First Seat, whose strength was formidable and whose conduct was rigorously disciplined, he maintained a basic measure of respect.
Capitano did not press for details.
He simply said, “Preliminary tests on the mineral samples you brought back show exceptional affinity and conductivity for elemental energy.
If applied to armor and weaponry, they could yield significant improvements.
The technical division is very interested.” “That is precisely the value they ought to have.” Dottore nodded.
“As for the specific parameters and possible synthesis plans, once I am a little better, I can discuss them in detail with the technical staff.” “Mn.
Physical recovery comes first.” Capitano was succinct.
“The lockdown of your laboratory is partly overseen by personnel under my command.
It is secure, so you may rest at ease.
Recover soon.
Snezhnaya needs the strength of every Harbinger.” His words were brief, expressing both concern and a clear sense of duty.
Dottore did not have a poor impression of him and nodded in response.
“I appreciate the Captain’s trouble.” Capitano exchanged a few brief words with Pierro about defense arrangements, then took his leave.
His visit was like the man himself: pragmatic, concise, and carrying a concern that was strictly professional.
The third visitor caused the atmosphere in the room to turn delicate.
It was the Fourth Seat, Crucabena, the Knave.
She was dressed in her usual elegant yet efficient attire, her face wearing that standard, impeccably flawless social smile.
Her visit felt more like a ceremonial gesture.
She placed a bouquet of specially treated greenhouse flowers, a rare sight in Snezhnaya, to the side.
“Doctor, I heard you returned in poor health, and I came specially to offer my regards.
As fellow Harbingers, we ought to look after one another.
It seems this ‘academic expedition’ of yours was rather draining.” Her tone was beyond reproach, but in those smiling eyes, the intent to scrutinize and probe far outweighed any genuine concern.
Pierro merely glanced coolly at Crucabena before returning to the documents in his hands, though a portion of his attention had clearly shifted over.
“Just a minor incident.” Dottore’s tone was flat and distant.
His poor relationship with Crucabena was common knowledge.
Both maintained surface politeness, but beneath it lay hidden barbs.
“A situation that even you would call an ‘incident’ must be anything but simple.” Crucabena wore a faint, ambiguous smile.
“Still, to have returned safely and brought back valuable ‘gains’ is always a good thing.
Her Majesty the Tsaritsa must be quite relieved as well.” She shifted tack, her words laced with implications.
“Only, next time there is an opportunity for such…
‘pioneering,’ perhaps you could give a word in advance?
It would spare the Director and Her Majesty so much worry.” “Should a suitable opportunity arise, naturally.” Dottore, reclining on the sickbed, looked at Crucabena.
Suddenly, a malicious, almost impish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Just as Crucabena was about to offer a few more perfunctory remarks, a deeply concealed, eerie light flickered in the depths of Dottore’s gray-blue eyes.
[Heart of Fear]—not unleashed on a wide scale, but condensed into a razor-sharp, targeted intent.
Like an icy needle, it silently stabbed toward Crucabena.
The smile on Crucabena’s face froze instantly.
A chill that came from nowhere, rising from the very depths of her soul, surged through her, as if she had been suddenly locked onto by something unimaginably terrifying.
The figure of the seemingly frail, silver-haired scholar on the bed before her seemed to twist and warp for an instant in her vision, transforming into some unspeakable, malice-ridden, and maddening shadow.
Though it lasted only a split second, that undeniably real sensation of terror made her spine run cold, and the composure she had so carefully maintained nearly shattered.
“Knave, you look rather unwell.” Dottore’s voice sounded at just the right moment, carrying a perfectly measured note of “concern,” though to Crucabena’s ears it was filled with mockery.
“Is it too stuffy in here?
Or have you just recalled something…
unpleasant?” Crucabena quickly steadied her breathing and forcibly suppressed the palpitations.
The smile returned to her face, but it was noticeably stiffer than before.
“It’s nothing.
I just felt a sudden discomfort.
Doctor, since you need your rest, I won’t disturb you any further.” She turned to leave with barely concealed haste, her steps much faster than when she had arrived, even forgetting to maintain her usual graceful poise.
Pierro raised his head from his documents and shot Dottore a warning glance with his single eye.
“Dottore.” “Just a little joke.” Dottore spread his hands innocently, though a sly glint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
Frightening that insincere woman had lifted his mood considerably.
However, the most headache-inducing visitor soon made her entrance.
It was the Seventh Seat, Sandrone, the Marionette.
She was seated in the palm of a giant mechanical puppet, its design bizarre and distinctly reminiscent of Khaenri’ahn ruin machines.
The puppet strode silently into the medical room, the gothic-styled girl perched leisurely atop its enormous mechanical hand, forming a strange and deeply contrasting tableau.
“Well, well, isn’t this our valiantly wounded Second Seat?
Finally decided to come back, have you?” Sandrone hopped lightly down from the puppet’s palm and drew almost right up to the bedside, her face wearing a smile of undisguised, intense interest.
Her eyes blazed as she looked at Dottore.
“I hear you played quite a big game this time?
And even brought back some ‘local specialties’?” Pierro frowned but did not voice any objection.
He knew all too well how difficult Sandrone could be.
The mere sight of her made Dottore feel a dull ache in his temples.
“Sandrone.
Take your heap of scrap metal and get out.
My room does not welcome mechanical shut-ins, especially ones who are constantly eyeing my laboratory.” “Oh, don’t be so cold.
Colleagues ought to show each other a little love.” Sandrone paid his frostiness no mind whatsoever and instead stepped even closer, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.
“Look at you, so weak right now.
You must need someone to help process all that complex data and those samples, right?
My technical skills are excellent, you know!
And I am very, very interested in that world with your ‘little problem’ and all those ‘interesting’ things you brought back!” She blinked her eyes, attempting to put on a cute expression.
“So, how about sharing some data?
Or, once that precious laboratory of yours is unsealed, let me come in for a little tour?
I promise I’ll only look, not touch!
Of course, if I could take apart…
I mean, ‘analyze’ one or two small components, that would be even better!
Or perhaps you have some interesting new technology on hand that we could ‘exchange’?” The light in her eyes was the blaze of pure, fanatical obsession with technology and firearms.
“Don’t even think about it.” Dottore refused icily.
“My laboratory is not your weapons testing ground, and I have no interest in sharing any data with you.
Take your scrap metal and get out of my sight.” Sandrone’s voice rose.
“What do you know!
This is the perfect union of art and power!
It’s far safer than all your bottles and jars and dangerous energy experiments!
At least my ‘darlings’ don’t leak energy at the drop of a hat.”