Man With Super Medical Skill (Matthew)

"General, about what we found down there..." One of the Aerial Legion soldiers hesitated, his voice trembling, his pale face betraying the horrors he had witnessed.

Before joining the Aerial Legion, these soldiers had mostly performed menial tasks under the Gloam Division and had never ventured into its dungeon. Now that they have, what they found nearly made them vomit. The dungeon was filled with dark, dried blood, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of rust and decay. The pits were nearly filled with the bodies of civilians, their identities unrecognizable due to the brutality inflicted upon them.

Aelion said nothing, choosing instead to walk directly toward the dungeon.

As they descended into the dimly lit tunnel, the stench of rust and decay became overpowering. But Aelion's expression remained unchanged, his voice calm as he ordered, "Light the torches."

Immediately, several Aerial Legion soldiers ignited their torches, illuminating the entire passageway. The sight was sickening-blood splattered the walls and floor, a mix of dried and fresh stains creating a slippery surface underfoot.

"How many Gloam Division members are still at large?"

"According to the registry, there are still a few thousand members unaccounted for, sir, including the strategist, Rocco. The rest have been apprehended."

Aelion nodded slightly, his pristine white cloak gradually stained by the blood on the floor as he continued forward.

His footsteps echoed through the empty cells, creating an eerie silence. Civilians, their bodies battered and broken, were strapped to wooden frames, barely able to lift their eyelids before closing them again.

Seeing the condition of the prisoners, Aelion instructed the Aerial Legion soldiers, "Bring a doctor to save their lives if possible. Then, find out if they have any surviving family. If they do, have their relatives take them home. If not, grant them a peaceful end to their suffering."

The gravity of Aelion's words weighed heavily on the soldiers, who quickly moved to carry out his orders.

...

Late at night, Mortimer returned to the hotel where his group was staying, his arms hanging limp and dislocated. Maurice, who had stayed up late, immediately rushed over when he saw Mortimer enter.

Upon seeing Mortimer's arms, Maurice was shocked. "Mr. Zedler, what happened to your arms?"

The commotion woke the other wealthy merchants from their sleep, and they quickly gathered, their concern growing as they saw Mortimer's condition.

"It's nothing. I was injured while

taking care of some business. I was

outmatched, and both my arms were dislocated. I'll set them back in place soon."

"Mr. Zedler, who could possibly injure a grandmaster like you?"

"Do we need to call a doctor?"

Mortimer shook his head firmly, his tone grave. "No doctor. My injury must remain secret. The one who hurt me was Aelion Tarian, the General-in-Chief of the Aerial Legion. His appearance is androgynous; if you ever encounter him, stay far away and do not provoke him under any circumstances."

Alas, unbeknownst to Mortimer and the merchants, a small, red-lit listening device was hidden under the table, recording everything they said.

"By the way, how's the collection of Montirian Ducats going?"

"We've managed to gather nearly 500 million Ducats. Most of the residents in Everton have already exchanged their currency."

Mortimer nodded in satisfaction. "Good. We must ensure that Garrett and his people's schemes do not succeed."

Meanwhile, in a luxurious suite of an Everton five-star hotel, Garrett and his assembled financial moguls sat in the living room, their faces grim. On the table between them, a smartphone played back Mortimer's conversation.

Garrett's eyes were filled with seething hatred as he listened. Why do you keep hounding me, Larson?!

"Prince Garrett, what do you think we should do now?"