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Chapter 431. The Story of the Third Cycle [2 Reincarnations] (8)

"I'm not saying this..."

Andor looked at the little girl in front of him, who was eating chicken legs with grease dripping from her mouth, and said:

"How many days have you not eaten?"

The little girl, wearing the green tutu he had just bought for her, mumbled as she chewed on the meat in her mouth:

"I'm a beggar, okay? Do beggars ever get enough to eat?"

The boy in the floral hat found it very strange:
"I bought a roast chicken with two legs, and you gave me one in each hand, leaving me none."

"Aren't you a prophet? Why are you in such a miserable state?"

Vera paused for a moment while chewing, then replied calmly:
"You should ask why the world is blind to talent and never treats those with knowledge well, instead of questioning why the prophet himself is in such a miserable state."

—She's very clever; she won't fall into this self-proving trap.

Andorra's train of thought was indeed swayed by this remark. He slammed his fist on the table in anger, causing the tea in his cup to slosh around.

"That's right! I painstakingly investigated and compiled statistics, and wrote that manuscript that exposed the shocking secret, but those newspapers were all blind and couldn't see the brilliance in it at all."

"This world truly never treats those with insight kindly!"

After finishing his meal, Vera told him that the newspaper that would accept his manuscripts was not yet open, so Andor decided to take a stroll in the streets and brought Vera along.

As the two passed a herbal shop, Vera was drawn to the herbs on display and stopped in her tracks.

She stepped forward to examine the herbs more closely, but her toes accidentally bumped into a flowerpot placed in front of the berth.

In an instant, a line of words appeared in her mind:
【He Guang Cao (合光草) is warm in nature and can be used medicinally, particularly for childhood asthma.】

Vera paused slightly, then squatted down.

Andor saw that she wasn't leaving and was afraid that she would eat his two big chicken legs and then sneak away, so he stopped too and looked at her curiously.

"What's wrong, Vera?"

Vera pretended to examine the flowers and plants, but secretly touched several flowerpots with her feet to test them—sure enough, her healing power seemed to have been upgraded.

Now, whenever my toes touch a medicinal herb, its name and uses will naturally come to mind.

"I want to go to the medicinal herb market."

Vera suddenly looked up at Andor and said.

The boy in the floral hat was even more surprised:
"why?"

Vera pointed to her eyes and calmly told a lie:

"Because I am a prophet. The future I can see is much farther away than you can imagine."

Given the boy's usual lively and rebellious nature, he should have jumped up and argued back by now.

But this time, he fell silent.

Medicinal herbs...diseases...

Andor suddenly recalled a rumor he had overheard during a family chat not long ago:

"...Have you heard? Baron Karls has contracted a strange disease that causes black rashes. Dr. Summers of Rose Medical said it is highly contagious and contact with others could cause a widespread outbreak. He recommends isolation and treatment."

"Were you hospitalized later?"

"Of course not. The doctor who treated him, Dr. Summers, was a young boy who had only recently arrived at Rose Clinic. Baron Karls did not believe the young doctor's diagnosis at all; he thought he just had a common skin condition."

"I heard that after his doctor's visit, he went to a brothel to vent his frustrations and played with several young children—sigh, I wonder if this disease... will really spread..."

……

After visiting the medicinal herb market, Vera was fairly certain that her abilities had indeed been upgraded.

Andorra remained unusually silent throughout the journey.

The silence lasted until he walked into the newspaper he had recommended and handed the manuscript to the printer, and until the two of them walked back to the street, the setting sun casting long shadows.

Why aren't you saying anything?

Without the chattering of teenagers around, Vera found the streets rather quiet.

"Vera."

He suddenly spoke, his voice somewhat strained:

“Do you think… there might be a sudden outbreak of plague in the future?” Vera turned her head sharply.

The boy didn't look at her; his gaze was fixed on the cracks in the stone pavement.

Why do you ask that?

Andorra took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage:
"...You know, many things don't happen without warning."

However, those omens often circulate quietly only within certain circles.

Just like the matter of Baron Karls, it was only whispered among a few families who had dealings with Rose Medical. The common people had no way of knowing about it—they weren't even qualified to approach the doors of Rose Medical.

Vera looked at the boy's clenched fists and his lips pressed into a line under the brim of his hat, and suddenly understood where his silence had come from.

"you're right."

She heard her own voice, which sounded exceptionally clear in the twilight:

"There will indeed be a pandemic in the future...and many people will die."

Andorra seemed rooted to the spot by those words.

He slowly sat down on a bench by the roadside, his back ramrod straight, but his gaze was vacant as he stared at the end of the street.

The setting sun gilded his exquisite clothes, and the tiny, sparkling diamonds on his hat brim suggested that he must have come from a wealthy and noble background.

Vera waited, waiting for him to say something indifferent like, "Oh dear, what a pity," or "What a shame," just like the other young noblemen.

But he didn't.

The boy suddenly tilted his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.

Then he suddenly raised his hand and pulled his hat down hard, covering his entire face.

"..."

Vera saw him sit there motionless for a long time, until the sun had sunk another inch, until the streetlights came on one by one.

Finally, he slowly and solemnly put his hat back on.

When he raised his face, his eyes shone brilliantly in the twilight:
"Then... can the little prophet save the world?"

Vera was stunned.

Those weren't the eyes of a nobleman scrutinizing a lowly commoner; they were eyes so clean they were almost transparent—belonging to a boy who hadn't yet learned to measure life by class, whose kindness hadn't yet been corrupted by arrogance.

He was willing to defy public opinion to expose the conspiracy between the god of wealth and the papacy, and he would be furious that the newspapers' refusal to publish his articles was simply due to the editors' blindness.

He did not understand that plagues first devour the poor, nor did he understand that nobles always have a way out.

He couldn't distinguish between the beggars on the street and the young masters in the carriages.

Young Andorra only knew that the plague would kill many people.

—And he didn’t want the world to become like that.

"I can only foresee things, I am not a god."

Vera heard herself say, her voice a little hoarse:
"But I will do everything in my power to stop it."

"Perhaps you need a sponsor."

Andorra said.

“My family started out gambling, and my elders often told me that every gambler needs some start-up capital.”

He raised his eyes and looked directly into hers.

Do you need any medicinal herbs?

Vera suddenly felt a tightness in her throat.

She looked at the boy wearing a floral hat and exquisite clothes, at the almost innocent flame dancing in his eyes, at his impulse and kindness that had not yet been dulled by the world.

After a long while, she slowly nodded and said, word by word:

"need."

As night completely enveloped the street, she bowed slightly to him:
"Well then, thank you—"

"The patron of the future savior."