Free Web NovelThe Schwartz Family estate.
Second floor of the main building.
In a bedroom temporarily converted into a ward.
Eleanor stood by the bed.
Her ice-blue eyes stared unblinkingly at the person on the bed.
Pavela was currently lying on the bed.
But the word "lying" was perhaps inaccurate.
Her body was constantly twisting.
Like a fish thrown onto the shore.
Or like a butterfly trapped in a spider web.
Struggling silently and instinctively.
Her hands were held high above her head.
A deep red silk ribbon tightly bound her wrists, tied to the wrought-iron carvings of the headboard.
The ribbon was soft and wouldn't chafe the skin.
But it was tied very tightly, so tightly that no matter how she struggled, she couldn't break free.
A small leather ball was stuffed in her mouth.
It was also secured to her face with a red silk ribbon.
The ribbon ran from the corners of her mouth to the back of her head.
It wasn't tied too tight, but it was enough to prevent her from biting her tongue.
And enough to suppress her screams and moans into vague, faint whimpers.
"Mm... ngh..."
She made intermittent sounds.
Like a small animal struggling in a nightmare.
Her body twitched from time to time.
Her shoulders would suddenly tense up and then go limp again.
Her fingers would curl, clutching the sheets, and /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ then slowly unfurl.
Her eyes were open.
But those light grayish-blue eyes had completely lost focus at this moment.
Her pupils were dilated.
As if looking at some distant place that did not exist in this room.
Her short silver hair was scattered on the pillow.
No—
It could no longer be called short hair.
In this short time, her hair was growing at an incredible speed.
The fragmented hair that originally only reached her chin had now spread to her shoulders.
And it was still growing.
At a speed that was almost visible to the naked eye.
What was even weirder was the color.
Those silver strands, starting from the tips, were being slowly tainted by a dark red.
Like someone had dipped silver threads into a pool of blood.
The red spread upwards along the hair.
Slowly but firmly.
If an outsider saw this scene.
They would surely think this poor girl was being violated.
Bound to a bed.
With something stuffed in her mouth.
Body twisting helplessly.
Emitting faint whimpers.
But in reality.
This was already the best treatment possible at the moment. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
"It's a return backlash."
A steady female voice rang out in the room.
"And a very serious one at that."
The speaker was a woman in a white lab coat.
Around thirty years old.
Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun.
A pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of her nose.
Behind the glasses were calm and professional eyes.
Her name was Hilda von Lesnoy.
She was one of the top doctors in the Empire.
She was also Eleanor's elder and the family doctor for the Schwartz Family.
At this moment, she was standing at the foot of the bed.
Holding a newly completed examination report in her hand.
Her brow was slightly furrowed.
"I have already injected her with the maximum dosage of sedatives and nerve blockers."
Isabella's voice was calm, but there was a hint of helplessness in her tone.
"But the effect... is minimal."
"A return backlash of this magnitude has already exceeded the scope of conventional medical intervention."
"All I can do is ensure her body isn't injured from excessive struggling."
"As for the mental suffering..."
She shook her head.
"I am powerless."
She looked up at Eleanor.
"I don't know what this child went through to trigger such a violent backlash."
"But one thing is certain—problems of the return must ultimately be resolved by the return."
"If you can find a Wayfarer skilled in soothing the mind, such as one from the Path of Temperance or the Path of the Lover..."
"Perhaps they can help alleviate it somewhat."
"Otherwise..."
She paused for a moment.
"She can only endure it on her own."
After Isabella finished speaking, she placed the report on the nightstand.
Then her gaze fell on Eleanor.
Her brow furrowed even deeper.
"Speaking of which, Eleanor."
"What about yourself?"
"Don't you plan to treat the wounds on your body?"
Eleanor's current state, to be honest, wasn't much better.
She had already taken off her military jacket and was only wearing her white shirt underneath.
But that shirt could no longer be described as "white" at this moment.
The sleeves were stained with blood.
Some had already dried, turning dark brown.
Some were still fresh, glistening with a moist dark red.
Her arms were covered in scratch marks.
One after another.
Some were just shallow red marks.
Some had broken the skin, oozing fine beads of blood.
Extending from her wrists all the way to her elbows.
As if repeatedly scratched by the claws of some small wild beast.
There was even one on her face.
Slanting across from her left cheekbone down to her chin.
Not deep, but very long.
The blood had already coagulated, leaving a shocking dark red trail on her pale skin.
Her hair was also a mess.
Her dark long hair, which was usually groomed meticulously, now fell loosely over her shoulders.
A few strands were even stained with blood.
Unsure if it was her own or Pavela's.
Subduing a Wayfarer of the Path of the Tower who was in the midst of a return backlash was no easy feat.
Even if that person's consciousness was no longer in their body.
Even if her body was only struggling instinctively and unconsciously.
The strength of that struggle was still astonishing.
The scars on Eleanor's body.
Were left during the process of subduing Pavela.
When she forcibly opened the mecha cockpit.
When she tried to lift Pavela from the seat.
When she pinned Pavela to the bed, trying to secure her limbs.
Pavela had been struggling constantly.
Scratching.
Kicking.
Using all her strength to try and break free.
Fortunately.
Fortunately, the one who went to subdue her was Eleanor.
In that instinctive, almost completely irrational struggle.
Pavela still seemed able to sense Eleanor's presence.
Every time her nails were about to pierce deeply into Eleanor's skin.
Her strength would always lighten slightly at the last moment.
Like some deeper instinct carved into her soul.
This allowed Eleanor to barely succeed in subduing her.
Otherwise, with the power Pavela erupted with during the return backlash.
The marks left on Eleanor would not have been just these scratches.
At this moment.
Eleanor was sitting on a chair by the bed.
Holding a cotton ball soaked in alcohol, she wiped the wounds on her arm without flinching.
Alcohol coming into contact with broken skin.
It must have been very painful.
But her expression didn't change at all.
Her movements remained steady.
Once, twice, three times.
Cleaning away the blood and dirt bit by bit.
"They're just minor injuries."
Her voice was very calm.
"No need to worry."
She said without looking up.
"The most important thing right now is Pavela's condition."
