Chapter 184: The Forgotten One

Chapter 184: Chapter 184: The Forgotten One

The next day, Jeremy went to the Clivein Ducal estate.

He hadn’t announced his visit beforehand. But the gatekeeper immediately opened the gates upon seeing him, not even bothering to ask a single question - proving that Raphael had given prior instructions long ago.

The butler led him to the third floor, stopped in front of a wooden door, and then stepped back downstairs.

Jeremy knocked.

There was no answer from inside.

He waited ten seconds, then pushed the door open and walked in himself.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn tight, leaving only a narrow gap for the light to seep through and form a long streak on the floor. The air was heavy with the stench of medicine - that bitter and cold smell he was all too familiar with from Sylas’s room.

Raphael was sitting leaning against the headboard, one leg pulled up, holding a book that had long been closed in his hand.

He heard the sound of the door but didn’t look up immediately.

Only after several seconds did he finally raise his eyes.

His complexion was so pale it was almost transparent. The red-and-black curse veins had crawled all the way up to his jawline, noticeably darker than the last time Jeremy saw him in the tearoom.

"...When did you arrive?"

"Just now." Jeremy pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Raphael lowered his eyes. "What use would it be to tell?"

"At least I would know."

"And then?" His voice was calm, carrying not a hint of self-pity, purely a question. "You were in the Wasteland. Even if you knew, what could you do?"

Jeremy didn’t reply.

Because Raphael was right.

After a moment of silence, Jeremy finally spoke up: "How long did it last this time?"

"Twenty-three days in a coma. I’ve been awake for eleven days."

The numbers were stated crisply, as if he had been counting.

Jeremy frowned. Last time in the tearoom, the coma period was only four days - and back then, he even said it was the shortest time ever.

Twenty-three days.

"What did the Divine Temple say?"

"They said the curse is entering its final stage." Raphael set the book aside. "My aunt used divine power to suppress it three times. It had no effect."

He continued, his voice still steady, "The frequency will increase. At some point, I just won’t wake up anymore."

"How long?"

"No one dares to say."

"..."

Jeremy looked at him.

This person in front of him, just over half a year ago, was still standing in the inter-departmental tournament arena, leading the Sinking Star team to crush the Genius team with [Time Domain: Stagnation]. Holy Covenant No. 09. The heir to the Northern Ducal house.

And now, he was sitting in a dark room, counting every day he was still awake.

"Don’t look at me with that kind of gaze," Raphael suddenly said.

"What gaze?"

"The gaze of someone looking at a dying man."

Jeremy remained silent for two seconds, then said, "I’m not looking at you as a dying man."

He leaned back against the chair. "I’m thinking about whether there’s a cure."

Raphael’s lips twitched slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. "The Divine Temple and the Magic Tower have searched for seventeen years."

"I know."

"Then how do you plan to find one?"

Jeremy didn’t answer that question.

He was thinking about the Ashbloom Flower.

Born from despair, blooming in fragile light. On the very first day it blooms, it is a miracle drug in a desperate situation. Even if the soul is severely injured, even if the physical body has been chopped into several pieces, as long as a single breath remains, it can still forcefully defy heaven to change fate.

Raphael’s curse was not a physical wound. It clung to his soul.

And defying heaven to change fate didn’t discriminate between types of injuries.

It was just that the seed currently still lay in the place of inheritance. And the condition to open the inheritance was tier four.

He was at Intermediate Stage Six-Star. Still three major tiers away from tier four.

If calculated by his current climbing speed - the fastest in the team, and perhaps the fastest in the entire grade - it would still take at least three to four years.

Did Raphael have three to four years left?

"What are you thinking about?" Raphael asked.

Jeremy pulled back his train of thought.

He didn’t voice it out. Not because he wanted to hide it.

But because he wasn’t certain yet. And giving someone counting down their days an uncertain hope was crueler than saying nothing at all.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just conserve your strength. Don’t use your skills recklessly anymore."

Raphael glanced at him, seemingly reading something, but didn’t press the matter.

"Yeah."

The two sat in silence for a while.

Then Raphael suddenly asked, "How is Sylas?"

"There’s been a turn for the better. But he still hasn’t woken up."

"What turn for the better?"

Jeremy recounted the matter of the Twin Souls Covenant, about the magic power being shared, and how the recovery speed of Sylas’s soul was accelerating.

Raphael listened very intently. Much more intently than when hearing about his own illness.

Only when Jeremy finished speaking did he give a slight nod.

"...So the stronger you are, the faster he wakes up."

"Theoretically, yes."

Raphael looked down at his own hand - the hand where the burn from the tearoom that day had left a faint scar.

"Then you must get stronger," he said.

The tone was light. But it wasn’t a word of encouragement.

It was an entrustment.

Jeremy looked at him, realizing something.

This guy knew he might not be able to wait until the day Sylas opened his eyes. So he was handing over that share of the task.

"...I know."

Before leaving, Jeremy stopped at the door.

He turned back and added one more sentence: "Don’t die first, either."

Raphael looked up.

For the first time during the entire visit, something flashed across that deathly pale face that wasn’t his habitually trained composure.

"...I’ll try."

Stepping out of the Clivein estate, the sun was already at its zenith.

Jeremy didn’t return to his estate immediately. He walked along the cobblestone path leading to the capital’s central square, letting the flow of people brush past him on both sides.

Twenty years for the continent.

Three to four years for the Ashbloom Flower.

Unknown time for Raphael.

Ten years - or more - for Sylas.

Three years for Leon.

Everything had a countdown clock hanging overhead. And none of them were waiting for him.

Jeremy stopped in the middle of the square, looking up at the magic clock tower standing in the center.

The second hand ticked steadily.

He stood there for about a minute, then changed direction - not returning to his estate, but heading straight for the teleportation terminal.

The summer break had been canceled by Griffin long ago. The new semester had already started for seventeen days.

He didn’t have time to stand in the middle of the square and count the clock.