NABC Chapter 133 Great Change
Chapter 133 Great Change
Chapter 133 Great Change
Green opened his mouth, but for a moment he didn't know what to say.
The image of Alvin's usual carefree and flirtatious demeanor flashed through her mind, and combined with Clarice's calm narration at this moment, a feeling of absurdity yet undeniably reality welled up in her heart.
Holy crap! This kid's got some serious tricks up his sleeve?!
In an instant, countless alpacas galloped through Green's mind.
He had initially thought Alvin was just a smooth talker who liked to relieve his "needs" in places like Blackwater Alley, but he never expected that Alvin would even use the medical resources at his workplace, and on a regular, rotating basis?!
No wonder the nurse said he "was often injured, but never fatally." Now that I think about it, besides describing the occupational risks of the Night Watch, there was probably also a subtle hint of criticism about someone's excessive use of "self-inflicted injury" tactics.
Seeing the utterly astonished expression on Green's face, Clarice gently shook her head: "You'll get used to it. As long as it doesn't affect the mission or cause any real trouble, the Church's interference in the members' private lives is limited. Especially with an old hand like Elwin, he knows where the line is."
She walked to the door, opened it, and gestured that the conversation was over: "Go back and get some sleep. You'll have a lot to do starting tomorrow. Alvin has professionals taking care of him; he won't die."
The cool light filtered into the corridor.
Green nodded mechanically and walked out of the office, his mind still swirling with the names "Ella, Jenny, and Misha," and the image of Alvin, who was probably lying in a hospital bed at that moment, giving a weak yet charming smile to some "little nurse."
This is actually possible?!
He suddenly realized that his previous understanding of the Night Watchman's job might have been too one-sided. Not only were there life-and-death battles, bizarre mysteries, and heavy responsibilities, but there were also these astonishing workplace (and sanatorium) unspoken rules and strange colleagues.
As they approached the medical room, they could faintly hear Alvin's hushed, slightly ingratiating voice, and a young woman's seemingly serious but undeniably concerned response.
Green paused, but ultimately did not push the door open to go in.
Forget it, since the vice-captain said he "won't die" and has "professionals" to take care of him, I, a rookie who has just gone through a battle and is exhausted both physically and mentally, shouldn't go in and be a third wheel, disturbing someone's "healing time".
He wrapped his coat tighter around himself, turned, and headed for the door.
The cold winter wind gave him a shiver, and also dispelled some of his fatigue and the absurdity of the gossip he had just heard.
The streets were deserted, the gas streetlights casting dim, yellowish glows in the damp, chilly air. In the distance, the low hum of steam pipes and the occasional whistle of a steam engine could be heard.
He needs a good night's rest; fatigue will impair his mental processing.
No. 27, Di'an Street.
Familiar row houses came into view.
The windows were dark; Aunt and Sura must have already gone to sleep. Green instinctively softened his footsteps and took out his keys.
Insert the key into the lock and turn it.
"Click".
The door opened.
The moment the door opened, a strong, fishy smell hit me.
Bloody smell!
A strong, fresh, dead smell of blood!
Green's muscles tensed instantly, all fatigue and distractions washed away by this sudden danger signal.
His heart pounded, and almost instinctively he sidestepped into the shadows inside the door, his right hand already reaching for the "Silent Messenger" at his waist, while his left hand slammed down on the gas light switch by the door.
"Snapped!"
The dim light suddenly shone through, dispelling the darkness in the foyer and illuminating the living room without reservation.
Green's gaze froze.
Time seemed to stretch out and freeze at that moment.
In the center of the living room, on the old carpet where he ate, read the newspaper, and listened to his aunt's nagging every day, a large patch of dark red to black viscous liquid was now soaked, the edges of which were still spreading extremely slowly.
A familiar figure lay face down in the pool of blood.
A grey, casual dress, slightly tousled curly hair, and the apron she always wears at the waist —
It's Aunt Sylvia.
Her body was contorted in an unnatural position, one hand outstretched as if trying to grab something, the other tucked into her side. On the floor, several drag marks and signs of struggle stretched out from beneath her, a horrifying sight.
Under the light, the crimson color seemed extremely dazzling, causing Green's eyelids to tremble uncontrollably.
Green stood rooted to the spot, his hand gripping the gun icy cold. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his ears ring, and the blood rush to his head, only to recede just as quickly.
The living room was eerily quiet, save for his own heavy, suppressed breathing and the faint crackling of the gas lamp wick.
No----
A faint voice echoed deep within his mind, only to be swallowed up by a much larger, deafening void.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His gaze was fixed on the pool of blood and the motionless figure, unable to look away.
A few seconds, or a few minutes? Green lost his sense of time.
It wasn't until an extremely faint, seemingly suppressed sob came from the direction of the second-floor staircase that he was suddenly torn out of that frozen state.
Sura!
Green's heart clenched. Almost instinctively, he dashed up the stairs like a shadow, the wooden steps groaning under his weight.
"Sura!" he shouted, his voice hoarse.
Sula's door was ajar, the room was empty, and the bed was in disarray. Fear washed over her like ice water.
He turned abruptly and rushed towards his room.
The door was open.
In the dim light, he saw a petite figure huddled in a corner, her back against the cold wall, her hands tightly wrapped around her knees, her head buried deep in her chest, her whole body trembling violently.
Moonlight streamed through the window, outlining her slender figure and illuminating the large patches of darkened blood on her body, hands, and face.
"Sura!" Green rushed over, kneeling on one knee in front of her, his hands reaching out to touch her, but he froze in mid-air when he saw her covered in blood. He forced himself to calm down, his eyes scanning her quickly. There were no obvious external injuries, and the bloodstains didn't seem to be hers.
"Sura, look at me! It's me, Green!" He lowered his voice, trying to keep his tone calm, but the anxiety in his voice was unmistakable.
Hearing his voice, Sula abruptly raised her head. Her small face was deathly pale, her lips were bloodless, her eyes were red and swollen, and her gaze was filled with extreme fear, confusion, and a near-collapse-like blankness.
When she recognized Green, her stunned expression shattered instantly, and a surge of immense grievance and lingering fear welled up within her.
"Brother—" Sula sobbed, suddenly throwing herself into Green's arms, clutching his clothes tightly with both hands, and bursting into tears.
Green held her tightly, feeling her violent trembling and icy body temperature, his heart sinking to the bottom. He patted her back gently, asking in his most urgent but clear voice, "Sura, tell me, what happened? Who did it?!"
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