Chapter Eleven: The Chaotic Clinic

The blood trickling from Han Qishao’s lips grew heavier, the eerie crimson impossible to ignore even after just a few moments. Shen Ce stared in disbelief at Han Qishao, who was fading away yet still wearing a gentle smile. His lips trembled, his throat tightened with grief, rendering him speechless. Bathed in the light, Han Qishao’s entire form was washed clean, his billowing robes dissolving into nothingness.

Such a swift, clean kill—who else but a hidden assassin could accomplish this?

As the arrogant figure in black vanished from sight, a flood of emotions surged through Shen Ce’s heart. His eyes darkened, his face cold as water, but his staff rose in a flash. Several bolts of lightning shot forth, seizing the gray-clad figure who had lurked in the shadows, waiting for his chance to strike.

Shen Ce’s indifferent gaze fell upon the assassin bound by light—a wholly unfamiliar face, plain and unremarkable, the kind of visage that would vanish in any crowd. The patience it took to wait so long before making a move marked him as an ideal assassin. Shen Ce was certain he had never provoked such a formidable foe. He fixed the man with a piercing stare, his voice cold and sharp as a blade: “I don’t know you. Why?”

The gray-robed assassin looked ruefully at the shackles of light ensnaring him. He struggled, but it was useless. “The Crimson Blood Wolf put a hefty bounty on your head—half paid upfront. Who would say no to that kind of money?”

Shen Ce fell silent, nodding as the fierce look faded from his face. “You’re right.” Before the words had finished leaving his lips, a bolt of thunder roared out from his left, striking down the assassin beneath his staff. Perhaps due to accumulated experience, the assassin did not lose a level outright; instead, his form became translucent and faded where he stood. In “Heaven’s Dominion,” death brought a five-minute cooldown, after which players could choose to resurrect on the spot. Afraid Shen Ce would strike again for good measure, the assassin gazed at him with a pleading, almost desperate look, hoping to be spared.

Shen Ce glanced at him, and the assassin shivered under that cold stare. But Shen Ce soon looked away, turning toward the sunlit tower on the western city wall—a sanctuary for priest NPCs. This was where players would be sent after losing a level, to be healed by the priests and required to rest for thirty minutes before rejoining the world. Shen Ce had never set foot in such places, neither here nor in the novice village’s infirmary, for since entering “Heaven’s Dominion,” he had never tasted death. But now, he had no choice.

As Shen Ce stepped away, the gray-clad assassin let out a long breath, his tense nerves finally relaxing. Watching Shen Ce’s solitary figure recede, he felt a mix of relief and awe—thankful not to have lost a level, yet silently marveling at Shen Ce’s fearsome presence. Who could have guessed a priest could be so formidable? Next time, he vowed to steer clear of such assignments.

The moment Shen Ce’s soft priest boots touched the steps of the tower, a powerful sense of being watched prickled at him, leaving him unsettled. A dozen armored guards, each gripping a long spear, fixed their gaze upon him. He knew the blood on him reeked, and a priest with such a menacing aura would hardly be welcome among the guards. At least he hadn’t been flagged for excessive killing—otherwise, he would already have been cut down by these NPCs.

Stepping into the bright, spacious infirmary, Shen Ce saw priests in snowy white robes moving methodically between the beds, casting healing spells and administering medicine. If not for the attire, it might have been a hospital in the real world.

He scanned the room, eyes pausing briefly over each bed, and quickly found Han Qishao. To his chagrin, the Crimson Blood Wolf occupied the neighboring bed. The Wolf glared fiercely at Han Qishao, muttering curses under his breath. In contrast, Han Qishao lay serenely with his eyes closed, as if resting.

Shen Ce walked toward Han Qishao. Though his robes matched those of the other priests, the Crimson Blood Wolf recognized him at once. The Wolf’s anger flared—he nearly leapt out of bed. “You’ve got some nerve showing your face. Next time I see you, I’ll cut you to pieces.”

His harsh voice drew the attention of everyone in the infirmary. Han Qishao opened his eyes as if roused by the commotion, and when he saw Shen Ce, a flicker of delight lit his gaze.

The female priest attending the Wolf seemed annoyed by his outburst. She cast a Sleep spell, and his consciousness faded, body going limp. She gave Shen Ce an apologetic smile. “Please excuse him. Since he arrived, he hasn’t behaved. Pay him no mind.”

Shen Ce shook his head calmly and approached Han Qishao, looking at the black-robed man on the bed with regret. “I’m sorry. Because of me, you lost a level.”

Han Qishao met his eyes, a faint smile in his gaze. “It’s not so bad. At least now I know these beds are quite comfortable. And it wiped out my kill count, too.”

Hearing this attempt at reassurance, Shen Ce realized Han Qishao was also here for the first time. The gloom in his heart only deepened, and he stood silently at his side.

“Hmph! You make it sound so easy, Qishao. Why not mention that you lost a level because of him, just when you were about to hit twenty-five and get your quest? Now look what’s happened!” Suddenly, a bright, sweet, and slightly exasperated girl’s voice broke in. Shen Ce turned and saw two familiar faces—the man and woman who had accompanied Han Qishao in Frostleaf Plains.

“Qingqing, no one would think you were mute if you kept quiet,” Han Qishao remarked, casting a glance at the girl in pink.

Qingqing pouted, her lively, winsome expression especially endearing. She ducked behind the slightly plump man, muttering, “It’s not fair—after all this, you’re still defending an outsider.” The man looked at her helplessly as she puffed out her cheeks, then relented with a sulky pout.

“You mentioned a quest?” Shen Ce asked, his eyes never leaving Han Qishao. When the girl mentioned level twenty-five, he already had a suspicion.

Qingqing rolled her eyes, a mocking smile on her lips. “The guild creation quest. Don’t tell me you couldn’t guess?”

Shen Ce’s brows knit faintly. He turned to Han Qishao. “How much experience do you need for twenty-five? If you don’t mind, I can help you grind—let you have the final blow. It shouldn’t take long to reach it.”

“And who do you think you are? Making it sound like you’d be dragging Qishao along, letting him leech your experience,” Qingqing retorted.

Han Qishao gave her a warning glance, then smiled lazily at Shen Ce. “It’s just a level or two. Instead of thinking up ways to make it up to me, Zero, you might want to consider my proposal at the Treasure Pavilion.”

Shen Ce pressed his lips tightly together. After a moment’s silence, he said, “Sorry, I’m used to being on my own. Farewell.” With that, he left the infirmary.

Qingqing pouted again. “What’s his problem?” Han Qishao couldn’t help but smile at her words. He gazed thoughtfully at the white-robed priest’s receding figure, his eyes distant.