Chapter 190: Fusion

The strength, disproportionate to her frame, nearly whipped his hand into the examiner's face; Kraft reflexively suppressed it, using five or six tenths of his power to balance it.

The pressure now on her arm equaled that of a sword swing, yet Yin Feng had held against it for several seconds without showing signs of fatigue; even through clothing and skin, the taut contours beneath were palpable.

The muscle groups showed no change in shape, yet had lost their suppleness, tightening like cables under full sail, exhibiting abnormal strength. His hand released instantly upon sensing something amiss, halting force to prevent injury from excessive load.

"Does this hurt?" Two fingers pressed into the muscle belly; tension remained clearly embedded in the muscle even after relaxation, solidified into its new normal state.

Yin Feng shook her head decisively; she felt no pain from strain, and was even puzzled why today's examination force felt unusually soft.

As the examination expanded to her entire body, he realized this condition was not confined to her left arm but widespread throughout: "Do you feel tense, unable to relax?"

Again, she shook her head; her hair swung with the motion, her flexibility showing no trace of the near-rigidity detected earlier during the exam.

This severe mismatch between muscle strength and physical appearance was all too familiar. Those shells completely drained of organic matter by fungal growth retained only a thin layer of fibers, barely clinging to the bones—mere residual structures—yet still capable of explosive movement.

The parasitic giant crawling organisms forcibly sustained their massive bodies with human tissue, not collapsing under their own weight, but using their tentacles to drag their cumbersome forms—an achievement like a jellyhouse standing upright.

And the abnormality of frail arms resisting adult-level force.

Ignoring the recent use of his spiritual organ at the Duke's, Kraft once again deployed that penetrating gaze to observe the changes within Yin Feng.

The airway inflammation from days past had receded, yet the situation had not normalized; extremely fine filaments, having grown for days until reaching the minimum observable threshold, adhered to the airway walls, clinging to the moist surfaces.

This obvious foreign presence triggered no discomfort; the mucosa ignored it entirely, the defensive cough reflex silent, allowing the filaments to penetrate deep into the trachea.

The infection focus expanded while inflammation receded—the immune system either lacked the capacity to control it, or had come to regard it as something unnecessary to control.

As the primary lesion, the airway's changes were not the most severe. In those muscles where tension had dramatically altered, elongated filaments wove into the connective tissue, growing and entangling alongside the muscle bundles.

They uniformly infused the original tissue, then proliferated laterally until today, finally manifesting macroscopic form—a three-dimensional hybrid network interwoven with muscle fibers, bearing load while utterly transforming the texture of skeletal muscle.

The increased muscle tone was an illusion; this was fundamentally a hybrid of muscle and mycelium, with a completely different tactile quality.

"Do you have any other discomforts?"

"I feel some noise, but I can't describe what kind of 'sound' it is." Yin Feng pulled her hand from her arm to rub her ear, then let go upon realizing Kraft was speaking, frowning as she sensed something: "Not distant noise—it's very close. I don't know where it is. It was less after that neck pain."

The fungal spirit clinging to her spiritual neck subtly unfurled, its velvety outer layer swaying without wind. This was the castle's upper level, one of the quietest places, where only patrol squads occasionally passed by the door.

"Can you make out what the sound is?"

"I'm not sure—it sounds like street chatter, but very near and very faint." She described a contradiction, growing confused: "Sorry—if it's important, I can try listening."

"No, don't listen to what it's saying." No more delay—action was immediate. His spiritual organ closed in, grasping a small portion of the fungal spirit.

It trembled and contracted, desperately minimizing its exposed volume. Yin Feng placed her hand to her ear, attempting to capture the sound's return, failing, then pressed it against the back of her neck to block the inexplicable pain.

"Just endure a moment—this might quiet the sound." Having experienced this before, Kraft had learned some tactics.

Do not hesitate based on the patient's reaction; lock onto the location as swiftly, accurately, and decisively as possible. Tear off a fragment—delay only broadens dissemination and invites secondary harm.

Controlling the force of his spiritual senses grew increasingly refined with repetition, yet his confusion deepened.

Humans use their bodies effortlessly from birth, yet their understanding of their essence arrives late; microscopic cognition only developed in modern times. Spiritual senses are the same: used as naturally as limbs, yet incomprehensible in how they act upon the fungal spirit.

Or conversely: if action is mutual, why do spiritual senses suppress the deep-born native consciousness, rather than the fungal colony consuming the spiritual senses it contacts?

He could not resolve this, nor find a way to investigate. In thought, a portion of the fungal spirit was torn away by irresistible force, adding a fresh wound, then falling silent.

"Can you still hear the sound?"

Yin Feng released her grip on the back of her neck, glancing around in confusion: "It… seems gone?"

Her spirit was weak, drowsiness surging; with pain and the ear-noise gone, the environment now favored sleep, her eyelids fluttering uncontrollably.

The two episodes of pain linked in her mind; she realized this was no accidental symptom, but tied to Kraft: "Was that… treatment?"

Yet she could not comprehend how it was done—no contact, no motion—those sounds, like negative, buzzing insects clinging to clothing, had simply been ripped off and silenced, leaving her ears in quiet.

Was this also one of those rational-but-unfathomable things? Yin Feng struggled against sleep, gazing at Kraft, seeking more information.

"Yes, you are ill, Yin Feng." And not mildly—its severity was too grave to disclose. Unlike the Duke's condition, this damned fungus had somehow evaded the immune system, spread throughout her body, and clung to her spiritual body, refusing to be removed.

The coming treatments would be walking a tightrope: frequent suppression of the fungal spirit to halt further progression. If it advanced further, he did not know what would happen—and he did not want to know.

"Is it serious?"

"It's hard to say yet." Kraft leaned back against the chair beside the bed, then said carefully: "Current symptoms are still subtle. Though present throughout the body, no one can see the internal state, correct? So misdiagnosis remains possible. We do have treatment methods."

He habitually used an evasive phrasing, planning to inform the guardian later—then realized it made no sense. Meeting Yin Feng's questioning gaze, he half-hoped she'd vaguely understand, half-hoped she wouldn't.

Yet the girl had clearly seen doctors adopt this demeanor before. Perhaps no explanation was needed—her reaction alone could judge.

"Thank you, Mr. Kraft." She pulled the blanket up to her chest, offering a faint, smile-like expression of reassurance—then it vanished without trace.

Turning her side, she shifted closer to the window, half her face bathed in warm light, the bridge of her nose sharply divided between shadow and glow. Months of improved diet and exercise had effectively replenished her nutritional deficits; her face had finally rounded out, her skin growing lustrous and ruddy, nearing the appearance Kraft remembered in children.

Due to prolonged proximity, such changes went unnoticed unless deliberately considered—only seeming softer, healthier, more adorable. But if compared to her appearance months ago, one might mistake her for a completely different person.

Yet those eyes—when meeting them, no fear or panic was visible, only calm, just as on their first meeting.

A lucid, clear calm—like pure water, reflecting and containing all, yet so transparent it seemed nearly empty, inherently yearning for something to fill that void.

"I do not regret it."

"..."

"Sleep now. Don't wander around. Next treatment in three days." Kraft remained silent for a long while, then rose, pulled half the curtain shut, and quietly closed the door.

Yin Feng had clearly withheld something. He had known this before—now he was certain.

Since she wouldn't speak, it was likely not an external factor, but something she had done of her own volition, connected to this event.

"Ugh, I hate guessing games with people." The worst scenario he could imagine was that her concealment had indirectly caused some poor soul's death—but direct psychological intervention was impossible, and even if he learned the truth, it wouldn't help the illness.

In this light, Kuop was indeed an excellent partner. Mediocre ability, no grand ambitions—yes—but his basic values were formed, straightforward and easy to understand, capable of timely communication, remarkably stable.

"I just don't understand how children think." After walking a distance, Kraft turned to Kuop: "What do you think she's thinking?"

"I don't know." Kuop replied. It wasn't a required question—just a casual one; he didn't believe he could offer Kraft any insight on this.

"But I think you don't need to worry too much. She's not like ordinary children."

"That's exactly why I'm worried."

Her spiritual body affected, vast foreign matter fused with normal tissue, immune system inactive, clear signs of uncontrolled growth—none of this was a good omen.

【Wait, who is this talking about?】

Kraft suddenly stopped. Kuop, unprepared, slammed into his back, nearly toppling them both down the steep staircase.

"Sorry, what happened?"

"I just thought of something." Kraft's gaze fixed on his raised left arm, as if suddenly fascinated by the stitching on his sleeve cuff. Pain from overexertion hammered his skull, his temple throbbing.