Chapter 98: Watching the spectacle?

On the street.

"Dragon Lord, where have you been these past few days?"

Yu Lin leaned against a tree and asked the newly returned Dragon Lord.

"Nothing much, just strolled around the British Museum and visited a few places to see the scenery," the Dragon Lord said lazily, perched on his shoulder.

Although the crowd was thick, none of them could see the Dragon Lord.

Yu Lin raised an eyebrow: "British Museum?"

"How about you go fetch those things of ours back?"

"Not going," the Dragon Lord waved a claw, saying with a hint of frustration:

"What's the point of taking them back? They should stay there so future generations remember this humiliation."

"If they remember being backward, they'll get beaten! Dragon Lord, if I don't go back now and beat them up, I won't even be in a good mood!"

"Indeed," Yu Lin nodded.

He stretched lazily, about to leave and wander elsewhere, when the Dragon Lord suddenly pointed ahead:

"Something seems to be happening over there, let's check it out."

"Hm?"

Yu Lin looked in the direction it indicated.

His gaze pierced the bustling crowd and fixed on a hurried girl.

She wore a dark‑gray hood, half her face hidden in shadow, yet a fleeting glance revealed distinct Eastern features.

Her steps were swift, occasionally glancing back, shoulders slightly hunched like a startled rabbit.

Soon after she darted into a narrow alley, three figures appeared where she had just passed.

Two people in black church uniforms—a stern‑faced priest and a nun in her thirties—stood beside a tall, blond man; though in civilian clothes, the ornate Knight's sword at his waist was conspicuous.

"They went that way," the priest whispered, pointing toward the alley.

The three exchanged glances and quickly followed into the alley.

The Dragon Lord patted Yu Lin's shoulder:

"Follow them and see what's going on."

"Alright."

Bang.

A muffled thud.

Lu Ying, who was fleeing with his head down, collided with a middle‑aged man who had just stepped out of his house, Deng Bien, and both fell hard onto the ground.

Deng Bien was about to curse, "Who's so short‑sighted?"

But seeing a little girl, he swallowed the insult and pulled Lu Ying up from the ground:

"Are you okay? Next time don't run so fast."

Lu Ying only understood the first sentence; she didn't catch the second, so she waved to indicate she was fine and ran forward again.

"Strange Eastern child," Deng Bien remarked, watching her back, but he didn't pursue to ask what was happening.

He still had to go to work and didn't have time for that.

After a week of hard labor, his wage was only nine shillings and seven pence.

Fortunately the house was inherited from his father, so no rent, yet after feeding the family, he could hardly save anything in a year.

Never mind, having a job is enough.

Deng Bien shook his head, cleared his thoughts, and walked forward.

But just as he reached the corner, he collided with another person.

Even though he had stepped back earlier, the person still bumped into him, as if on purpose!

Since this time it wasn't a child, he blurted out, "Can't you see? How could you............"

Before he could finish, a huge hand seized his mouth and lifted him off the ground!

The blond Knight looked at him indifferently and said calmly:

"Just now, did you see an Eastern girl run by?"

Deng Bien's cheeks were twisted by the Knight's Iron Tongs‑like palm, his eyes filled with terror.

He frantically nodded, a "wu‑wu" sound coming from his throat. When the Knight released, he hit the ground like a torn sack, his knee striking the stone slab with a dull thud.

"Speak, where?"

Deng Bien gasped heavily, a burning pain spreading from his chin to his ears.

His peripheral vision caught the direction where Lu Ying vanished deeper in the alley, then he glanced at another side road, thinking bitterly—those clerics deserved a wasted trip!

"There," he pointed to the completely opposite side path, his hand trembling slightly:

"She went toward the butcher shop's back alley."

The Knight was about to step forward when the priest suddenly pressed his shoulder.

The man leaned close to Deng Bien, a faint light glinting in his eyes: "You're deceiving us."

"You… smell of lies on you."

Deng Bien's blood instantly congealed.

The blond Knight turned, looked down at him, shadows falling, a cruel sneer curling his lips:

"I hate being lied to the most."

Bang!

A fist slammed into Deng Bien's right arm, the sound of bone cracking audible!

He hadn't time to scream when his head was brutally stepped on, his cheek forced against the wet stone slab.

The Knight's Sword Sheath pressed against Deng Bien's shattered arm bone, applying pressure slowly:

"One last time—direction?"

"Th-That way!" Deng Bien sobbed, pointing to the correct direction, a sharp pain in his abdomen followed— the Knight's leather boots kicked him like a trash bag.

After the three vanished into the alley's end, Deng Bien finally trembled and propped himself up, leaning against the wall.

His right arm hung limp, the broken bone pierced the skin, exposing a stark white wound.

Deng Bien spat blood foam and cursed, "What kind of Knight is this?!"

His blood‑stained occiput pressed against the brick wall:

"The Holy See only raises mongrels like this; you'd be better off converting to Satan! It's just a broken hand, my work..........."

"You're right."

A voice came from beside Deng Bien; Deng Bien turned his head to look.

It was a black‑haired Eastern youth.

The youth came to Deng Bien's side, squatted, and stared at his broken arm:

"Do you want your broken arm healed?"

Deng Bien stared at the unfamiliar Eastern youth before Deng Bien, his heart full of doubt.

Yet the searing pain in Deng Bien's right arm left no time to think—what if it really could be healed?

"Of course!" Deng Bien clenched his teeth and nodded:

"If you can heal me, I will pray to the Lord every day for your protection!"

"Just say you agree." The youth gave a slight nod, flipped his palm, and a pale blue‑glowing pill materialized out of thin air:

"Take it."

Deng Bien shakily took the pill with his left hand.

The odd object felt warm to the touch, emitting a faint herbal scent.

Deng Bien steeled himself, tipped his head back, and swallowed it.

The moment the pill hit his throat, a warm current burst from his stomach, rushing through his vessels to every limb and bone.

The youth's palm suddenly blazed with dazzling WhiteLight, pressing it against Deng Bien's fractured right arm.

Deng Bien felt a tingling, numb itch at the wound as the broken bones were reassembled by countless tiny ants.

When the WhiteLight faded, Deng Bien was astonished to find his arm fully restored—no scar left at all!

"This... this is simply......" Deng Bien moved his now‑perfect right hand, but before he could thank him, the youth rose and walked toward the deeper part of the alley.

"What is your name?" Deng Bien shouted urgently:

"I will pray to the Lord to protect you!"

The youth waved his hand without turning his head:

"No need; if you wish to give thanks, thank your Lord."