Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 49 Re-treatment

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, his rapid breathing unusually clear in the quiet cabin.

His back was covered in cold sweat, and his thin cotton clothes clung damply to his skin, feeling a bit chilly.

Outside the porthole, the waves surged under the dark blue night sky, their rhythmic and muffled roaring—the sound of the real world.

He pressed his hand to his still wildly beating chest; every detail of the dream was as clear as if it had been carved with a knife:

The canyon overhead, the eerie attackers, the endless grasslands, the white-skirted figure from behind, and that chillingly clear whisper.

"etc……"

Harry suddenly realized an even more chilling fact.

Magicians don't dream—at least not the kind of uncontrollable, chaotic "dreams."

Harry had learned this clearly in his magic theory classes at the academy.

A magician's mental strength, honed through long-term, systematic meditation training, is now unlike that of ordinary people. Deep meditation can efficiently restore energy, gradually replacing most of ordinary sleep.

Even if a magician falls asleep due to exhaustion, their powerful and trained mental strength will instinctively maintain a certain "awake observation," like a light that will never be completely extinguished, preventing their consciousness from falling into uncontrollable subconscious illusions.

Even if, like last night, Harry was so mentally exhausted that he fell asleep without his usual deep meditation, this pattern still holds true.

His long-term meditation training has reshaped his mental structure, and even when he is passively resting, he maintains a strong "barrier." The kind of logically chaotic dreams caused by mental distraction or subconscious interference are almost impossible for a magician to experience naturally.

Therefore, when such a clear, coherent dream appears, it is itself a strong signal of abnormality.

This dream...something's not right.

Afterwards, Harry told Beckham about the dream, but Beckham was just as puzzled as he was, wondering why he would have this dream.

Harry looked out the window at the gradually clearing horizon and felt for the first time that, after returning to this ship, the gears of fate might not be turning in just one known, calculable direction.

Some unknown, hidden undercurrents seemed to be quietly surging in places he couldn't reach.

……

The request for a second treatment came sooner than Harry had expected.

On the afternoon of the third day, the Duke of Langton came to his cabin door in person to convey Lawrence's message.

"The Archbishop believes that if Prince Arthas receives another round of treatment to consolidate his recovery, his condition will be more stable, and he might even be truly out of danger." The Duke looked at him, his gray eyes clearly questioning. "Of course, that depends on whether you are willing, and... whether you can withstand the corresponding strain."

Harry agreed almost without hesitation. He had already discussed it with Beckham and understood that one treatment would not be enough for the Elf Prince. In order for the Cardinal to live and keep watch over Arthas, he had to go again.

Since Lawrence brought it up herself, Harry had no reason to refuse.

"I can," he said. "Do you need to go now?"

"If possible," the Duke stepped aside to make way for Harry, clearly worried about him going alone, "I'll go with you."

When Harry and the Duke of Langton re-entered the room, Lawrence's usual aloofness was gone, and his deep blue eyes looked at Harry with a formal solemnity.

He even took half a step forward and nodded, saying, "Mr. Harry, thank you for your help."

Lawrence's voice was steady, noticeably less harsh than before. It seemed that his impression of Harry had changed considerably after Harry's treatment.

The Duke of Langton keenly sensed this change in attitude. She stood slightly behind and to the side of Harry, her gaze sweeping between Lawrence and Harry. Her face remained expressionless, but the fingers resting at her side twitched slightly.

"Your Excellency the Archbishop," Harry replied simply, his gaze sweeping over the elf prince on the bed.

Arthas lay there, his condition much better than after the first treatment.

The deathly pallor on his face had mostly faded, replaced by a paleness from blood loss. His breathing was steady and long, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, making him appear to be in a deep sleep rather than unconscious. His body, though still thin under the thin blanket, was no longer as skeletal as before. It seemed that Beckham's first treatment had indeed been very effective.

Lawrence didn't say much, but stepped aside to make room on the bed: "Please."

Harry nodded in response, took a deep breath, and sat down. He could feel Lawrence's gaze on his hands and face, so focused it was almost scorching.

The Duke of Langton also stood quietly not far away, without saying a word, but was clearly watching closely as well.

He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and skillfully changed hand gestures in front of his chest once again.

His lips parted slightly, and the same short, ancient incantation as the first time flowed out: "Great spirit of nature, weave your gentle light into a cocoon to nurture new life here."

A soft, pale green ball of light once again coalesced above his outstretched palm. The energy fluctuations, brightness, and size were the same as the first time—just a low-level healing spell.

In fact, Lawrence took the initiative to have the Duke send a message to summon Harry this time not only because he hoped that Harry could stabilize Arthas's condition, but also because he wanted to take this opportunity to find out how Harry, a low-level mage, could unleash such powerful healing energy.

Could it be that the holy mage Odel gave him some powerful weapon, or does he have some unique trick?

So this time, Lawrence observed from a completely different angle. He didn't stand a few steps away and watch coldly, but stood right behind Harry, his eyes fixed on the halo and every subtle movement of Harry's spellcasting.

His mental perception was heightened to its peak, like an invisible net surrounding Harry, trying to capture any abnormal energy flow, traces of external magic injection, or even fluctuations from hidden magical artifacts.

Harry's chanting continued steadily, the ball of light approaching Arthas's forehead, the light seeping in. Time passed second by second, the elven prince's condition remained stable, without deterioration, but there was no immediate change either.

Lawrence's eyebrows furrowed slightly without his notice.

His senses told him that this was a standard, simple, low-level healing spell at work, with the magic coming from Harry himself.

Everything was so normal...it's incomprehensible.

How exactly did that force appear last time?

Is there some special triggering event?

Just as his doubts grew deeper and deeper, almost to the point of questioning whether his previous experience was merely a figment of his imagination or the intervention of some fleeting divine miracle—

Change has occurred.

Without warning. Harry's incantation remained unchanged, his gestures didn't quicken, and even his breathing rate remained the same.

But deep within the core of the originally gentle pale green halo in his palm, a purer and more condensed light suddenly shone.

Immediately afterwards, that immense energy that Lawrence remembered so vividly and that gave him a jolt surged forth from within the ball of light like a spring gushing from the ground!

It wasn't injected from the outside, but rather seemed to grow out of thin air within Harry's magical framework, instantly merging perfectly with the original healing energy, transforming into a purer, gentler, yet vibrant warm current that continuously flowed into Arthas's body.

Lawrence's pupils suddenly contracted.

This time, he saw it more clearly and was even more shocked.

This energy far exceeded his imagination. It was not only powerful, but also carried an ancient and pure aura of life. It was different from the divine power of light that he was familiar with, yet it was the same... and perhaps even more profound.

However, the way it appeared still leaves no trace.

There was no additional source of magical fluctuations, no hidden signs of magic circle activation, and even Harry's own mental energy load, according to his keen perception, was only maintained at the level of low-level magic—far from sufficient to drive such a large-scale power.

It's as if... that power was already hidden within Harry, or attached to his magic, but it chose to manifest at this moment.

This completely violates the fundamental laws of energy!

Just as Lawrence was immersed in this inexplicable phenomenon, his mind reeling—

Prince Arthas on the bed twitched his eyelashes.

Then, without any warning, his tightly closed, emerald green eyes slowly opened.

His eyes initially held a dazed look, as if he had just woken from a serious injury, but his focus quickly cleared, landing on Harry's face, who was close at hand and intently casting a spell.

Arthas stared at Harry silently for about two or three seconds.

Then, the corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards into a very shallow arc.

It wasn't gratitude after being rescued, nor a friendly greeting. The smile was faint, and there was no warmth in the green eyes, instead, they were as still and cold as a deep pool.

The smile that appeared on his pale yet undeniably handsome face seemed particularly abrupt and sent chills down one's spine.

Harry was completely focused on maintaining the spell when this sudden eye contact and that cold, eerie smile pierced his nerves like an ice pick.

"!" He let out a short, almost choked gasp, his pupils suddenly contracting.

Fear—that primal fear that comes from the depths of his soul, the fear of being stabbed in the back in the forest—grabbed him instantly.

His right hand, which was holding the ball of light, trembled uncontrollably, and the light at his fingertips flickered, as if it would dissipate at any moment.

He almost stumbled backward.

Seeing his reaction, Arthas's cold smile deepened. Then, as if he had exhausted his brief lucidity, his eyelids slowly drooped and he closed his eyes again.

The whole process took only two or three seconds, so fast it felt like an illusion.

But the cold sweat in Harry's palms and his wildly beating heart reminded him that it wasn't a hallucination.

Harry clenched his teeth so hard that his nails almost dug into his palms.

He forced himself to tear his gaze away from those closed eyes and stare intently at his trembling hands.

The chanting, which had been interrupted for a moment, was resumed with all his might, accompanied by a barely perceptible tremor.

Under his strong control, the ball of light in his palm stabilized again, and the pure life energy at its core surged even more, as if encouraging him not to stop.

Lawrence observed all of this but said nothing. The fact that this disciple of the holy mage was so timid only fueled his slight disdain.

His gaze was intense as he tried to analyze the nature and flow of that power, but everything was perfectly concealed beneath Harry's rudimentary healing spell.

He could only confirm that the power truly existed and was synchronized with Harry's magic, but he couldn't understand its source or how it was activated. This frustrated him even more than the first time.

A few minutes later, Harry's chanting gradually subsided and stopped. He withdrew his hand, and the halo in his palm completely dissipated.

This time, the fatigue on his face was more obvious than before, and fine beads of sweat even appeared on his forehead—although most of the exertion was still on Beckham, his inner fear was real.

Prince Arthas, lying on the bed, was breathing more evenly and steadily than before his treatment. His face was still pale, but a faint trace of color had appeared, no longer the sickly white as paper.

He was fast asleep, his expression serene, as if the brief opening of his eyes and the cold smile he had just given had never happened.

Lawrence stepped forward and examined him again. This time, he examined him more thoroughly and for a longer period. After a while, he withdrew his hand, looked at Harry, and his gaze was deep.

"His life force has been further replenished, and his injuries have been stabilized," Lawrence said slowly, his tone devoid of much emotion. "If nothing unexpected happens, he should be out of danger." He paused for a moment. "You've done very well, Wizard Harry."

Harry didn't have the energy to respond with more pleasantries, and simply nodded slightly.

Lawrence didn't say anything more. He knew he wouldn't get any more answers today. He looked at Harry as if trying to get to know this unassuming, chubby young man again.

The Duke of Langton stepped forward at the opportune moment: "Mr. Harry looks very tired, I'll take him back to rest."

Lawrence didn't object, but simply watched them leave through the door. Silence returned to the medical bay, broken only by Arthas's steady breathing.

Inside the cabin, Lawrence stood alone by Arthas's bedside, his gaze shifting back and forth between the sleeping elf prince and the closed cabin door, his solemn expression lingering for a long time.

This matter must be reported. For the sake of the church's future, the church must learn about this magician named Harry and the holy magician behind him as soon as possible.

Stepping out of the cabin, Harry realized his back was soaked with cold sweat. The chill from that eye contact he'd just witnessed was far more exhausting than the drain on his magic.