Chapter 184

There was a saying, forgotten where I heard it, simple yet profoundly wise:

【If someone tells you something can kill cancer, remember, a pistol can too.】

It underscores the irreducible core contradiction: killing cancerous cells or other pathogens is only part of treatment; more important is preserving existing physiological functions, and at the very least, saving the patient's life.

The difficulty in handling Yin Feng's current problem lies here—it's the very issue medicine has grappled with since its inception and will continue to struggle with for a long time: how to strike the pathogen with full force without delivering two blows to the patient.

Now this problem sits before Kraft, a unique variant never solved before.

For some reason, the entity attached to Yin Feng's spirit body suggested that the fungal spirit might indeed, as previously speculated, share similarities with the human spirit body.

It blended perfectly into the region corresponding to the left shoulder and neck, its tail extending upward into the upper arm, like an inverted hanging water droplet, or a meningioma with a distinct meningeal tail sign. Its绒状 radiation spread and merged with the cloud-like spirit body, indistinguishable from it; the base of attachment had nearly identical texture.

Kraft's spiritual senses could exert influence on it, but without precise boundaries, forcibly pulling would harm both simultaneously.

The effects of spirit body damage are a completely unknown domain; given the pronounced reaction from the moment he acted, it was no less severe than central compression—something already unstable became even more so under interference.

In contrast to the fungal spirit, whose nature is constant motion, the human spirit body, though larger in scale, exhibited far poorer tolerance to external influence, trembling and surging as if ready to collapse at any moment.

Several minutes passed before Yin Feng regained consciousness, touching the back of her neck but finding no corresponding tender point; yet the pain—unexplained, not rooted in the body—was undeniably real.

"Sorry, that was an accident, Yin Feng," Kraft readjusted the pillow beneath her head, choosing his words carefully. "I have something to tell you—you may be ill."

"But don't worry, I'll find a way to fix it. All you need to do is tell me your sensations promptly, okay?"

The girl nodded slightly, then, realizing it didn't trigger pain, repeated the nod with a clearer motion. Actually, no words were needed—her Heavy and solemn expression made it obvious something had happened.

Thinking it over, she decided what had just occurred should count as "prompt reporting," and hesitated, "There's some pain… on the left shoulder, and the neck."

"Can you describe what kind of pain it is?"

"Like something is pulling at it, dragging backward… like it wants to tear that piece off." She pulled deeper into the blanket; the pain had left such a vivid impression, its sudden onset left her frightened.

"Hss." Kraft pressed against the pulsing point on his skull—he was certain this was not a side effect of his spiritual senses, but genuine headache.

Separating it all at once was impossible; unless the spiritual organ could cut with the precision of a scalpel, and even then, only if the boundaries were clearly defined. He needed a new approach—a gentler method.

"Next, same as before—tell me your sensations."

He retracted his spirit, slowing its advance to press against the fungal spirit; it shrank rapidly, but he managed to grasp a small portion far from the parasitized spirit body. Kraft felt something struggling in his ethereal palm.

"Any sensation?"

"It doesn't feel like anything."

He increased pressure, forcibly pulling the grasped portion of the fungal spirit, observing Yin Feng's reaction—she frowned and touched the back of her neck, still unable to feel anything.

As the tearing force intensified, she clearly felt pain—her neck stiffened, her expression contorted, and signs of disturbance appeared in the pulled spirit body; but this operation was more conservative, targeting only the part of the fungal spirit not yet integrated, thereby transferring less impact.

The constrained portion of the fungal spirit reached its tolerance limit first—its cilia flailed violently, then lost its shape entirely, dissolving into a blurred form before finally tearing apart and vanishing.

A cry of pain, inaudible to the eardrum, flashed and vanished; Yin Feng screamed, her nails digging into her skin as if trying to dig out something beneath. Kraft immediately seized her hand, halting the self-harm mirrored onto his own body.

The fungal spirit temporarily withered—its cilia drooped and curled. Losing part of itself had clearly injured it severely; whether this slowed its erosion remained unknown.

Each time he tore off a small piece, it resisted, but not violently, and never delivered a fatal blow to the spirit body. This was the best method Kraft could currently conceive—hoping the fungal spirit would collapse before Yin Feng did.

The spirit body, having endured repeated strikes, seemed increasingly scattered; Yin Feng, still not recovered from the pain, appeared utterly exhausted, eyelids drooping, clinging to consciousness by sheer will alone. It was clear she couldn't endure another attempt anytime soon.

"What was that?" she asked, bewildered. "Was it…?"

In her hazy consciousness, some logic grew confused; she realized her mistake too late and cut herself off—but it was already too late.

"What was it?" An illogical interruption revealed more than the words themselves—Kraft was certain Yin Feng was withholding something from him, something she didn't want to tell him.

"..." She bit her lip, then loosened it, as if about to speak, yet couldn't make up her mind.

"I'm not forcing you, Yin Feng. You can choose any time you feel right to talk to me—or you can choose not to speak at all. It's up to you." Kraft leaned back, closed his eyes, and shut off his spiritual senses—his physiological reaction to sensory switching no longer rendered him temporarily incapacitated.

Yet psychological dependence grew heavier; he had to carefully distinguish between the next action—opening his eyes—or "opening" his spiritual eyes.

Combined with physical discomfort, this made him especially irritable, with an urge to smash and destroy everything. He took a deep breath, calmed his emotions in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, and when he opened them again, he was calm.

He didn't want to bring his own emotions into the conversation. Besides, pressing harder now was pointless—it would only deepen resistance and distance. The best approach was to step back, show equality and friendliness, and give her space to come to her own understanding.

"At any time—even if you've done something wrong—it doesn't matter," Kraft met her gaze, speaking seriously, ensuring she understood this was a promise. "Aren't we still working well together?"

"Now I must leave to handle other matters. You can rest for now." He neatly folded and put away the paper she had submitted, rose from his chair, and added before leaving, "But if you feel any discomfort, tell me immediately."

"Also, you've done your work well."

With a confirming smile, Kraft left the room with Kup. He now had to meet the Duke—the other infected person.

After spending half a month and losing half a elite squad, failing to give an explanation would be unthinkable. Yet the unexpected incident in the castle greatly reduced the difficulty of explanation—only those who experienced it firsthand could believe such a bizarre thing.