Chapter 184

There was a saying, forgotten where I heard it, simple yet deeply 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, or at the very least, saving the patient's life.

The difficulty in handling Yin Feng's current problem lies here—it is 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 before solved.

For some reason, whatever clung to Yin Feng's spirit body proved that the bacterial spirit might indeed resemble human spirit bodies, as previously hypothesized.

It blended perfectly into the region corresponding to the left shoulder and neck, trailing backward toward the upper arm like an inverted hanging water droplet, or a meningioma with a distinct meningeal tail. Its fuzzy, radiating form merged seamlessly with the cloud-like spirit body, indistinguishable from it; the broad base junction shared identical texture.

Kraft's spiritual senses could affect it, but without precise boundaries defined, forcibly pulling would harm both simultaneously.

The effects of spiritual body damage were 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.

And compared to the bacterial spirit, whose nature is constant movement, the human spirit body, though larger, showed far poorer tolerance to external forces, 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 pain point—yet the unexplained, non-physical pain was undeniably real.

"Sorry, that was an accident, Yin Feng." Kraft repositioned 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, alright?"

The girl nodded slightly, then, realizing it didn't trigger pain, repeated the nod with a clearer motion. Truthfully, no explanation was needed—her grave expression made it obvious something had happened.

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

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

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

"Hss." Kraft pressed against a pulsing point on his skull—he was certain this was no side effect of his spiritual senses, but genuine headache.

Separating it all at once was impossible unless his spiritual organ could cut with the precision of a scalpel—and even then, he needed clearly defined boundaries. He had to change his approach, adopt a gentler method.

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

He retracted his spiritual senses, slowing their movement to press against the bacterial spirit. It shrank rapidly, but he managed to grasp a small portion far from its parasitic attachment. Kraft felt something struggling in his intangible palm.

"Any sensation?"

"It doesn't feel like anything."

He increased pressure, forcibly pulling the grasped portion of the bacterial spirit, observing Yin Feng's reaction. She frowned, touching the back of her neck, still unable to feel anything.

As the tugging 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, focused only on the non-integrated portion, minimizing collateral damage.

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

A silent scream, inaudible to the eardrums, flashed and vanished; Yin Feng cried out, her nails digging into her skin as if trying to dig something out from beneath it. Kraft immediately seized her hand, halting the self-harm mirrored onto his own body.

The bacterial spirit temporarily withered, its cilia drooping and curling. Losing this portion had clearly inflicted significant damage—whether it slowed the erosion remained unknown.

Each time he tore off a small piece, it provoked resistance, but never violently, and never delivered a fatal blow to the spirit body. This was the best method Kraft could currently conceive—hoping the bacterial spirit would collapse before Yin Feng did.

The spirit body, subjected to repeated blows, seemed increasingly scattered; Yin Feng, still unable to recover from the pain, appeared utterly exhausted, her eyelids drooping, barely holding herself awake by sheer willpower. Clearly, another attempt would be impossible for now.

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

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

"What was it?" An unnatural interruption revealed more than the words themselves—Kraft was certain Yin Feng was withholding something from him, something she refused to tell.

"..." She bit her lip, then loosened it, as if about to speak, yet unable to make up her mind.

"I'm not forcing you, Yin Feng. You may choose any time you feel right to talk to me—or choose not to speak at all. It's your decision." Kraft leaned back against the chair, closed his eyes, and shut off his spiritual senses' perspective—the 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 physical eyes, or "opening" his spiritual ones.

Combined with physical discomfort, this made him especially irritable, with an urge to smash and destroy everything. He took a deep breath, calming his emotions in the darkness behind his closed lids. When he opened his eyes again, he was composed.

He did not wish to bring his own emotions into their exchange. Besides, pressing her now was pointless—it would only deepen resistance and distance. The best approach was to step back, show equality and goodwill, 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. "Our cooperation has been smooth so far, hasn't it?"

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

"Also, your coursework was done excellently."

Leaving behind a reassuring smile, Kraft departed the room with Kup. He now had to meet the Duke—the other infected individual.

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