Chapter 118

Chapter 118

Evan's body went rigid, a sudden lucidity flashing through his clouded eyes as if struck by a profound thought.

He instantly strode to the train window. The old window frame groaned with a "creak" as several crows, their ink-black wings flapping, poured into the compartment with the gathering dusk. They either circled low or hesitated on the worn carpet, casting shifting, disquieting shadows.

At that very moment, a wisp of white smoke rose without warning, like a specter conjured from the shadows. The smoke churned and coalesced, and a human figure gradually took shape within the haze—Evan's pupils contracted sharply. That silhouette, that aura... it was unmistakably Sara Adams, the name he had whispered to himself in countless perilous moments until it felt scorched into his soul.

"Sara!" Evan's voice was a ragged, trembling whisper, yet his lips curled into an uncontrollable smile. The searing pain from his wounds was flung to the far corners of his mind. Like a heedless beast, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the man. His eyes blazed with an astonishing intensity, like two burning flames seeking to melt Sara into his very bones.

"It seems I arrived a little late," Sara's voice was low and measured, but his gaze instantly locked onto the dark red stain seeping through Evan's coat. Even as he spoke, a cold glint flashed in his eyes. His slender fingers lifted slightly, and a shimmering white light suddenly danced at their tips. The light, seeming almost alive, gently touched the skin of Evan's neck. In an instant, a sensation of numbness and warmth spread from Evan's shoulder and calf wounds, and the piercing pain quietly dissipated.

Evan frantically pulled open his woolen coat and fumbled to undo the bandage on his shoulder. Seeing the once mangled wound now scabbed over and flaking away, with new skin faintly visible beneath, his eyes widened in shock and wild joy. A choked sound of awe escaped his throat.

"Incredible!"

A hint of a smile flickered in Sara's eyes, like a stream breaking through spring ice—clear, shallow, and gentle. His fingers moved slightly, and a wondrous power rippled out. The fine stitches on Evan's wound seemed plucked by an invisible hand, falling away one by one. The bandage wrapped around his calf loosened and unfurled of its own accord like willow down stirred by a breeze, drifting softly to the floor.

Even more miraculous, the bloodstains on Evan's clothes began to fade as if erased by the brush of time, disappearing without a trace. The torn fabric rewound like film, its fibers reweaving until it was restored to a smooth, pristine state. Evan's eyes lit up with awe, his gaze fixed on Sara like a child beholding a magician, full of wonder and adoration.

Sara felt his heart soften under that scorching gaze, a doting curve lifting the corner of his mouth. He reached out to meticulously adjust Evan's collar, his fingertips brushing the fabric with a gentle touch. "Nothing like this will happen again," he promised softly.

As he worked, his mind was crystal clear: a mere First Prince, not even the Crown Prince, let alone seated on the throne... As a Secret Arts Mentor, even if dealing with him would be troublesome, he had more than enough methods to protect the person before him. Watching Sara's focused profile and hearing this resolute vow of protection, Evan's mouth curved into a crescent moon smile unbidden. His chest overflowed with a warmth so profound it seemed to fill his entire being. To be cherished and guarded so preciously by the one he loved made even his breath feel sweetened with honey.

Pastor Campbell consciously diminished his presence, ceding the space to the affectionate couple. Though his feelings were complex, he could only maintain his silence for now.

"Shall I accompany you back?" Sara asked, his gaze exceedingly gentle.

Evan very much wanted to say yes. After all, taking one's beloved home to meet the parents was one of the deep-seated yearnings of every Chinese rabbit (a Chinese internet term for a patriotic citizen), and he was no exception. But remembering that these ten days marked the important social season in the imperial capital, he couldn't let himself disrupt Sara's schedule.

"I'm an adult now. I can face the darkness," Evan said, flashing a bright, confident smile that showed a row of neat white teeth. "You must have your own plans. Don't let me disrupt them. Besides, I'm not a pushover."

A tender, soft glow seemed to flow slowly through the room in the wake of their deep affection. Sara looked at Evan, the corner of his mouth lifting unconsciously. The tenderness in his eyes was like melted spring water, deep enough to drown in. He leaned down slightly, his long arm extending to gently draw Evan into his embrace once more. The hold was just right—filled with treasuring affection and deep attachment. His voice was low, lingering, and tender when he spoke: "Evan, you are the morning star in my heart. In my long, gray years, it was you who brought light, gradually illuminating my world."

These words exploded in Evan's ears like countless fireworks. *Sweet nothings?!*

A "buzz" filled Evan's head, thick with disbelief. *Sara was saying sweet nothings to him!* This realization left Evan utterly stunned. The tips of his ears rapidly flushed crimson, and his heart pounded like a drum, fast enough to burst from his chest.

Then, a strange, intoxicating sensation washed over him, as if he had downed a large glass of strong wine in one go—burning from his throat to his stomach and spreading throughout his body. Evan felt dizzy, a slight numbness tingling even in his fingertips. Yet this dizziness wasn't unpleasant; it was the heady intoxication of being filled to the brim with happiness and surprise. His mouth seemed to act on its own, responding instinctively before his brain could fully process: "Sara, you are also the glory in my heart, the sole beam of light I yearned to grasp in the abyss of my confusion."

Hearing this, Sara felt the softest part of his heart gently squeezed. His entire heart grew even softer, soft enough to hold all the tenderness in the world. He loosened his embrace slightly and looked down at Evan, the depth of affection in his gaze was palpable, almost tangible. Then, he raised his hand and, with a gentle yet solemn motion, removed the sapphire cufflink from his own attire. The cufflink gleamed with a deep, enchanting light under the lamps, its shifting luster seeming to hide countless stories within.

Sara half-knelt and personally fastened the cufflink onto Evan. His fingertips trembled slightly as they brushed Evan's skin. "This is part of a set of supernatural tools I crafted," he said, his voice carrying seriousness and expectation. "It seals one of my full-power attacks inside. When you face a life-threatening situation, press one of the gems on it. It will automatically lock onto all those who harbor killing intent towards you and eliminate every threat."

This cufflink was the product of countless days and nights of meticulous crafting and infusion with Supernatural Factor, given to Evan now solely to provide him with the most solid protection possible.

To put it plainly, it was a high-powered, area-of-effect, automatic lethal weapon.

On the black market, even ten thousand Gold Sala wouldn't secure something this formidable. But what warmed Evan's heart wasn't the cufflink's preciousness or power; it was the depth of Sara's heartfelt concern for him. Evan looked at Sara, his eyes shining, a smile spreading uncontrollably from the corners of his mouth to the depths of his eyes, as if he had hidden all the sweetness in the world within that grin.

Seeing Evan safe and sound, and then intoxicated by Evan's sweet talk full of attachment and deep affection, the heart Sara had been holding in suspense finally settled slowly back into his chest. His gaze upon Evan remained overflowing with tenderness. Only after a good while did he shift his focus to Pastor Campbell in the corner. After a moment's thought, Sara instantly understood: Pastor Campbell had come to serve as the witness to this assassination attempt. After all, the mastermind was an Imperial Prince. According to the long-standing covert protocols between the Imperial Family and the Church, the presence of a clergy member of a Righteous God was required to witness such events, ensuring the subsequent "rules of the game" could proceed smoothly.

"Pastor Campbell, thank you," Sara said with a slight bow, his tone carrying genuine gratitude. Had the pastor not silently "cooperated" within the framework of these rules, the subsequent entanglements of this assassination might have brought Evan even more trouble.

Pastor Campbell's expression was solemn. He slowly made the sign of the cross over his chest before speaking. "You are too courteous, Mr. Adams. Upholding order and witnessing judgment are merely the duties of a servant of the Lord." His words were delivered matter-of-factly, yet carried the dignified authority sedimented from the long strategic contest between Church and Crown.

In this Empire, the tacitly permitted "characteristics" of a prince, especially one bearing the title of Crown Prince, were complex and contradictory. They could be philandering and romantic, moving among noble ladies, weaving webs of power and desire with charm. They could be ruthless and decisive, wielding the butcher's knife in the darkness to crush obstacles on the path to the throne. They could even be mediocre and ineffectual, coasting through a life of luxury on their royal bloodline. But the one stain absolutely forbidden to touch was "incompetence." Incompetence meant an inability to control power, to maintain the Empire's order—something the Imperial Family's dignity and foundation of rule could not tolerate. Over the long ages, the Imperial Family and the Church had reached numerous secret agreements.

One such clause stipulated: A prince may employ assassination against commoners, even nobles, but only three times in his lifetime. Each attempt must be witnessed by a clergy member of a Righteous God. The outcome of the assassination would be meticulously recorded in the secret archives of the Righteous God's church, becoming a "secret judgment" recognized by both the Imperial Family and the Church. If the intended victim survived, or even killed the assassins in turn, the clergy member was obligated, per the agreement, to publicly declare that the victim was innocent, both in the eyes of the law and religious doctrine. This was one of the many agreements reached after years of fierce struggle and mutual checks and balances between the Church and the Crown—a delicate balance born from the contest between power and faith.