Chapter 618
Brad’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Alright.”
When they reached the lounge, the best seats had already been claimed. Rylie chose a small sofa tucked in the corner, unconcerned. Brad took an armchair nearby, his posture loose, though his eyes missed nothing.
The butler entered with a guest in tow. The man carried himself with quiet authority, his long gray-white whiskers neatly trimmed. Traditional robes framed his figure, and in one hand he held a scuffed leather case that spoke of years of use. He looked like someone who had walked through storms and learned to endure them all.
From across the room, Rylie’s eyes lit up in instant recognition, her smile carrying a playful edge.
Frank stepped forward at once, his posture formal and his voice filled with respect. “Healing Hand, I appreciate your patience. This is my brother, Brad Morgan. The finest doctors in Eshea have treated him without success. You are our final hope. I beg you to examine him carefully.”
Kristen added quickly, her tone reverent, “Your reputation borders on the miraculous, sir. I’m certain you’ll uncover the truth behind his illness.”
Leaning against the back of Rylie’s sofa, Marcus spoke lazily, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Brad’s brother has a silver tongue. If even the Healing Hand shakes his head, won’t Brad have no choice but to accept that he’s beyond any medical help and must face the end?”
Rylie tilted her head, her gaze steady. “Do you agree with him, Marcus?”
Marcus bent closer, his fingers brushing through her hair, his voice low but certain. “I’ll believe only the one who gives Brad another chance to live.”
Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile as she gave a gentle nod.
The healer stroked his long beard before stepping forward. His tone was calm, deliberate. “General Morgan, may I see your right hand?”
Brad extended his wrist without hesitation, his expression flat, as though the outcome meant little to him.
Placing three fingers against Brad’s pulse, the old man closed his eyes. Silence filled the room as he sank into deep concentration.
Moments stretched, his brow knitting tighter with every second. A series of heavy sighs escaped him, and his features grew more solemn.
Guests shifted uneasily, their breaths shallow, convinced Brad’s condition was worse than they had feared.
A voice broke the silence. “Is he really diagnosing him with just his fingers? That seems impossible.”
Another answered in hushed tones, “You don’t understand. Some of our doctors practice this art. By listening to the rhythm of the pulse, they can see into a person’s health.”
A third murmured, “It must be true. Traditional clinics have used this method for centuries.”
Frank and Kristen exchanged a look, satisfaction flickering at the corners of their mouths.
At last, the healer pulled his hand back, his eyes opening slowly. He shook his head with a weary sigh. “Admiral Morgan, the poison within you has already eaten away at your heart.”
.
.
.