When Palmer awoke, two days had passed since that night, the echoes of the battle still lingered in his ears, and the soft, warm bed pulled Palmer back to reality.

Before Palmer could enjoy the comfort, a strange sensation spread from his body, a pain like needle pricks spread all over, and he couldn't help but move his body, trying to lessen the impact of the pain.

It wasn't the first time Palmer had been injured like this, and over time, he had started to get used to it. After alleviating the pain, he followed the procedure he had developed and first observed his surroundings to confirm where he was.

If Palmer was not mistaken, he was in his room, in the Fortress of the Morning Wind. The familiar room had undergone some changes, with medical apparatus parked to one side, and some trays carrying medication placed not far away.

Palmer tried to move his body, only to find himself wrapped up like a precious package with white bandages.

There was a layer of plaster on his right hand and left foot. In the corner of his eye, he noticed something on the plaster. Palmer struggled to raise his right hand and saw some scribbled handwriting on the surface of the plaster, which read.

"From father's love."

And it was signed with a crooked heart and Fuen's name.

Damn it…

Palmer's blood pressure shot up instantly, the heart monitor beeped wildly, and he struggled to get up, making the hospital bed sway. The medical staff outside the door noticed the disturbance and rushed in.

Before Palmer could explain anything, they skillfully injected various medications into him, and in an instant, the pain that wrapped around his body vanished, along with Palmer's consciousness.

"Truly worthy of the Clarks' heir!"

"Slaying traitors!"

"For the family's honor, even daring to confront a Defender, he really is…"

The medical staff pointed at Palmer and gossiped, Palmer extended a finger, mouth slightly open, ready to curse, but he fell back into unconsciousness before uttering a syllable.

Palmer slept until the evening, and after such a long saturation of sleep, his mental state was excellent.

This time, Palmer didn't react violently, instead, he began to contemplate the current situation.

Obviously, the attack incident by the Night Race was over. Now was a familiar phase of recovery, possibly due to his Blessing, Palmer always survived life-threatening battles…and then lay in the hospital for a few weeks.

"I am lucky, I am lucky…"

Palmer muttered to himself, applying psychological hints, unwilling to believe he was an unlucky fellow.

In fact, Palmer's performance in this incident was extremely fortunate.

According to the doctors, Ralph was bound by an oath and couldn't kill Palmer directly, but that didn't mean he couldn't indirectly cause Palmer's death.

No matter how strict the oath, there were exploitable loopholes. Ralph had evidently realized this early on. Under his assault, Palmer was severely injured, his body covered with hideous wounds, and he would die of excessive bleeding if given enough time.

Doctors struggled to extract Palmer from the ruins, using various Alchemy Potions to keep him alive along the way. When they got him to the operating table, they realized that Palmer merely looked miserable, but he was actually alive and well.

Secret Energy·Wind Source.

In this era of Alchemy Matrix Technology's explosion, this Secret Energy was just a First Stage manifestation of the Clarks', but in Ralph's era, the Secret Energy·Wind Source was an Alchemy Matrix created after years of research by the Clarks.

Even with the power of a Defender, Ralph was limited by the times and by the Secret Energy·Wind Source.

The Ether conversion efficiency of the Secret Energy·Wind Source was not high, and the command directives were rather vague, making precise operations impossible.

As a result, Ralph's deadly Wind Blade, like a chaotic flurry of blades, looked fierce, full of killing intent, but each blade avoided critical areas.

Even the attending physician couldn't help but sigh at Palmer's dumb luck. If any of the Wind Blades had been misplaced, causing Palmer to bleed out and die indirectly, then the Clarks might consider appointing a new heir.

"Damn it… I always feel something is off about all this…"

Once his emotions stabilized, Palmer began to reconsider.

The fatal bullet from Church hidden in the shadows, the swapped oath document, the sudden appearance of Fuen, even Palmer now realized that this was a conspiracy, one that he had been dragged into.

Palmer raised his right hand, looking at the words on the plaster, yelling, "You even trick your own son!"

After venting, Palmer felt relieved again. It wasn't the first time Fuen had done something like this.

A glimmer rose in Palmer's eyes, calling out to the Ether. His body was bound, yet the Ether still listened to Palmer's command.

Under the doctors' treatment, the venom from Zefirin had been completely cleansed from Palmer's body. He easily summoned a gentle breeze, cautiously using the Wind Blades to cut through the straps that bound him.

Once his limbs were free, Palmer shifted his body, experimenting to see if he could have the wind lift him, allowing him to move around temporarily without a wheelchair.

Yet before Palmer could take the next step, the door was forcefully pushed open again. Palmer feared the doctors had detected something unusual and were coming to treat him, and he shouted.

"I'm awake! There's no problem!"

Palmer guessed this "enthusiasm" from the doctors was instructed by his damned father. Palmer could even imagine the words Fuen spoke at that time.

"This is the renowned Palmer Clarks! He's the heir of the Clarks family! He absolutely cannot die at the Fortress of the Morning Wind! That would make us look very incompetent!"

Fuen must have said that, Palmer swore.

Often, Palmer felt his relationship with Fuen wasn't like father and son, more like friends who couldn't see eye to eye.

It wasn't the medical staff standing at the doorway, but a familiar figure. Even though her back was to the light, leaving only a dark silhouette, Palmer could still recognize her.

Vasilina quickly walked to the bedside, easily pressing Palmer back down.

"You look like you're in good spirits."

"Anyone who sleeps this long would be full of energy."

Palmer gave Vasilina a once-over. She was injured as well but far less so than Palmer, covered in numerous bruises and abrasions, with bandages wrapped around her elbow.

Vasilina sat by the bedside, while Palmer obediently lay still, turning his head. Vasilina kept her gaze on Palmer, occasionally lowering her head and smoothing her hair at her temples.

Palmer asked, "What happened afterwards?"

Vasilina recounted to Palmer the events after he lost consciousness. Fuen had killed Ralph, and the Night Race's attack was thwarted... along with the conspiracy and deception parts, all of which were orchestrated by Fuen in conjunction with the Order Bureau.

"Your former partner, Church, was part of this operation. You guys were just incidentally swept into it, coincidentally 'improvising'."

After hearing Vasilina's words, Palmer let out a long sigh, covering his face with his still functional hand. Memories of his encounter with Church at the start surfaced in his mind.

It wasn't a chance meeting but a premeditated encounter.

Vasilina asked, "How does it feel to be deceived by Church?"

"No feeling, just work, and besides..." Thinking back on Church's conduct throughout, Palmer hadn't noticed any oddities. He sighed again, "That's very typical of Church's style. Despite his unremarkable appearance, I believe he can be considered an expert."

Since hanging out with Bologue, "expert" had taken on a distinctive meaning.

"Not the murderous expert like Bologue, but Church is truly gifted in intelligence infiltration and assassination, a genuine expert."

Palmer rarely spoke of the days he worked with Church; back then, he was employed at the Crow's Nest, as a part of the intelligence agency, confidentiality was the top priority.

Just as now Bologue led Palmer in most tasks, back then, most of the work was also completed by Church, with Palmer assisting on the side.

"Church? He doesn't seem as special as you describe."

Vasilina shook her head, Church was too ordinary, so ordinary that Vasilina found it difficult to recall his appearance when she tried thinking about him now.

Palmer sighed again, "Yes, that's why Church is a professional."

Vasilina pondered for a few seconds before she understood Palmer's point.

Church was unremarkable, inconspicuous; unless you deliberately tried to recall, you could hardly remember his presence. From an intelligence operative's perspective, Church's professional skills were evident.

Palmer bowed his head. Despite partnering with Church for such a long time, he still didn't know Church's true face. Recalling the shot from Chekov's Gun, he couldn't fathom how Church had gotten so close.

Did Ralph not notice anything at all?

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