Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

She meticulously recorded the condition of each patient, and the more she observed, the more convinced she became that this epidemic was closely related to the extraordinary individuals.

Having finished the basic tasks, Charlotte took a short break and went to one of the wards.

Her gaze swept across the room, taking in several patients lying on the simple hospital beds. Their faces were ashen, and their breathing was shallow; clearly, they were deeply ill. Her eyes then moved inward, settling on a bed in the corner—Ryan, the nurse's younger brother, a thin boy, was curled up in the blankets, his forehead covered in fine beads of sweat.

The high temperature and persistent cough had left his body extremely weak.

"Ryan".

Charlotte called softly as she walked to his bedside.

The boy opened his eyes slightly, his pupils somewhat unfocused, but a faint light flashed in them the moment he saw Charlotte.

“Ms. Valenti…”

His voice was hoarse and weak, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat; clearly, the other person had already learned about him from his relatives.

"You will get better, child."

Ignoring the dirt, Charlotte simply held the thin, bony hand, feeling its burning heat.

Without saying it aloud, her voice grew even softer. Admittedly, Charlotte was not a virtuous person, but Isabella was a gentle healer, noble and incorruptible.

She took out a piece of candy and gently placed it in the boy's palm, leaving only a simple word of comfort.

"Only when you're fully recovered can you appreciate the sweetness of sugar, child."

Even though this epidemic has nothing to do with her, it's not difficult to uncover the truth and save a small family. This is all she can do. After all, she measures things by what she gives and what she receives, and that's her selfishness.

Da da.

It's the footsteps fading into the distance.

After she left, the boy slowly closed his eyes, as if falling asleep, but he never let go of the candy in his hand.

As dawn broke and dusk approached, time always seemed to fly by. In the blink of an eye, Charlotte had left the asylum and headed to a tavern in the nearby neighborhood.

She was gathering information, and the drunken patron's unrestrained words perfectly matched her expectations.

"I heard that a junior sheriff has come to the Lorraine Street area."

"That red hair, what a rare color."

P.S.: I'll write this much for now and finish it when I wake up.

Meeting for the 134th time? (Cavenn)

The title of sheriff is not uncommon, nor is a completely new face, but with a head of bright red hair, Charlotte is almost certain.

The people chatting among the drinkers were talking about the little peacock she hadn't seen in a long time.

Sure enough, just like the well-worn novel "The New Noble of Mossy Lands," Sophby finally embarked on the path of regaining her glory and avenging her grievances. But does she really have the same support as the Count of Monte Cristo now?

I'm afraid that's not the case.

In such a short time, without external assistance, it would be difficult for her to digest the potion, and she would most likely only remain at the initial sequence nine.

The inconvenience of her identity and the taboo surrounding her surname already made the little sparrow lose her uprightness in the open. A wild extraordinary being, an unknown source of magic potions, it would be difficult for her to gain a foothold in Florence, a city shrouded in darkness.

Will she be ostracized? Will she be bullied?

With such a bright face and such a spoiled and lovable personality, it's hard to imagine that she could calm down and deal with trouble.

Is she living well? Is she eating well? Can she live a good life without my company?

Charlotte paused, tilted her head back, and drank the bitter wine in her glass, letting the intoxicating feeling rise slightly.

Her thoughts raced, and she listened to the words of those around her, even those boastful and uninformative phrases that were filthy and grating.

It wasn't a misperception; I couldn't help but feel an instinctive worry for birds that had left their nests.

After leaving a tip and receiving the waiter's profuse thanks, Charlotte quickly left the noisy tavern.

In the vast sea of ​​people and the huge city, it is not easy to find a peacock who has the heart to hide. After all, she has folded her feathers, concealed her brilliance, and grown remarkably under her own tutelage.

At least, I've learned to express my feelings and show my vulnerability when appropriate.

As night deepened, the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow, illuminating her alternating steps.

It wasn't that she was anxious or impatient; it was just that no one was special, not even the extraordinary in this city. Even she couldn't protect herself. She was just using her identity to be reckless and not afraid of danger, let alone talking about that peacock who wasn't deeply involved.

So, to find her, to bring her into sight, wasn't out of concern, nor to savor the bittersweet pain of losing someone, but simply because Charlotte found it difficult to bring herself to say it...

lonely.

----

The view widens to Lorraine Street, 'Police Station'.

A girl with long orange-red hair was holding a pen in one hand behind her back, her head slightly bowed, but her waist was straight. She was filling in the colors with ink marks one by one on the clean white paper.

She was drawing the suspect's likeness.

This was a job in the police department. After leaving Tingen and entering Florence, he abandoned his glorious surname, put on a sallow face, and, with the help of his father's former subordinates, joined the military intelligence department in a legitimate capacity to lie low.

The purpose of all this is to uncover the truth of the past, whether it's the father's sudden death or the unjust charges leveled against him...

In the bright full-length mirror, the red-haired girl still had a full figure, but her face was no longer as fair as before. Her skin was rougher, her cheeks were covered with freckles, and even her heels were thicker and higher, highlighting the difference.

An ordinary face is a necessary disguise, and the increase in height has its own little stubbornness. They come at a considerable cost, and even have some aftereffects on the appearance after the makeup is removed.

However, whenever she recalls that time, when Watson smiled so brightly, encouraging her to regain her confidence and hoping that she could shine in her own way, yet said nothing and left without saying goodbye, resentment and sorrow would linger in her heart, overshadowing these trivial matters.

Yes, she did want to prove that Sophie Dill could become the cunning man hoped she would be, but whenever she recalled the moment the gunshot rang out, the gray-haired girl's body would slowly slump down, slipping from her arms, and she would remain silent and serene, her resentment building up in her heart, suppressed and unexpressed.

She had not repaid the debt of gratitude for her sister being saved, nor for the kindness of her relatives being helped and for the extraordinary favors she herself had received. She undoubtedly owed Watson a debt that could never be repaid.

Even wood becomes heavy when soaked in water, let alone the human heart. On that night, when Watson was carrying Samuel, wounded and on the verge of losing consciousness, she felt a strange stirring in her heart.

She didn't know what to call that feeling, but to this day, she still can't forget it.

Putting down her paintbrush, Sufby rubbed her slightly sore wrists. The suspect's portrait on the paper was finished, but she hesitated to hand it to her colleague.

"Lena, are you finished drawing?"

The voice of another came from behind, interrupting my fluctuating thoughts.

Lena is the pseudonym she has adopted.

"kindness."

Quickly regaining her composure, she handed over the portrait, her voice calm and indifferent, as if her momentary lapse in concentration had never occurred.

"Not bad, the details are very well done. Lena, your work is... well, I think it's much better than those who just boast and act like they're old."

With a faint smile, Sufby didn't reply. She knew it was just a polite remark from a colleague. In this city, no one truly cared about her past, nor would anyone delve into her inner world.

Her disguise was so successful that she herself was somewhat dazed—the once arrogant and bright Sofby, the pearl of Florence, seemed to have truly disappeared, disappeared from her own heart, and disappeared from everyone else's heart.

"By the way, there's a mission I need you to take on these next few days."

Suddenly, her colleague sitting next to her seemed to remember something, and took a document out of the drawer and handed it to the girl.

Sofby took the document, glanced at it, and frowned slightly: "The abandoned factory on Suer Street? Wasn't it sealed off half a month ago?"

"Yes, but recently, a doctor at the almshouse submitted a report saying that it might be the source of the epidemic. The higher-ups didn't pay much attention at first, but after reviewing it, they did find some clues and suspected that there might be interference from extraordinary beings, so they sent you and Chalot to take a look."

After a pause, the man explained, "As a sheriff, I will be doing some basic surveys. The 'craftsmen' of the Mechanical Heart will assist you. If there are any problems or dangers, retreat immediately."

"I know, I will be careful."

Sofby nodded and carefully put away the document that Valenti had written.

Despite her words, her gaze remained fixed on the eyes and brows of the person in the painting, as if she saw a familiar figure through that unfamiliar face.

hehe......

If we meet again, I won't put on that airs, I won't doubt your goodwill, I won't care about your cunning, as long as you treat me well—

sincere.

Chapter 135 Doctor and Patient

Tick.

Blood dripped from the knuckles, down the veins in the palm, onto the candlestick, causing the flickering flame to sway gently.

Charlotte is testing the limits of the 'monster's' abilities, as this will determine how she should fight in the future.

Pressing down the gleaming silver scalpel, I held it against my forearm with a pen-holding motion and lightly drew a line along the skin's texture.

Human skin and flesh are very resilient, and it takes a certain technique to cut them open smoothly. Of course, this was no challenge for her, who used to do this skill often.

Apply the expected force to the normal level that the skin's resilience can withstand, and a bleeding mark appears, but it heals and closes up very quickly.

For an ordinary person, it would take at least several steps to heal, including stopping the bleeding, forming a scab, and peeling the skin. Three days is a rough estimate. But for Isabella's body, the wound was back to its original pale white color in less than half a moment.

With a calm expression, Charlotte then applied force, making a sharp cut along the muscle fibers, revealing a sizable scar on the entire muscle group due to the sudden gap.

The capillaries bled profusely, quickly flooding the skin and beginning to overflow.

Seeing that the flickering candlelight was about to go out, she was ready to stop the bleeding, but before her fingertips could touch it, the blood suddenly trembled violently as if it had a life of its own, and stretched out its tiny abdominal feet, wriggling back into the wound to suture the cut.

It is clear that the healing speed of a severe injury is much slower, but the resulting situation is even more bizarre.

"Compared to simple hemostasis and healing, this is more like a high degree of activation of the body's tissues."

Having confirmed the sequence's extraordinary self-healing ability, Charlotte directly severed a complete bundle of muscle fibers at the waist, which would make the wound even more difficult to heal and might even cause severe weakness after healing.

A burning pain spread through her mind, but in order to explore the changes in her body, she simply frowned slightly and quietly observed the state of the cross-section.

After a brief retraction, the ruptured muscle fibers emerged like ants leaving their nest, intertwining together with a faint hissing sound, sprouting fine granulation tissue, and reconnecting.

As before, the blood writhed and receded.

"Indeed, the reason why this sequence can create subordinate creations with its own flesh and blood is that after drinking the magic potion, its own structure has broken free from the limitations of the human body."

At that time, Watson was able to defeat Sequence 8 Extraordinary beings within the realm of ordinary people, mostly because the opponent underestimated him and his kicks hit his head, shattering his skull and causing his consciousness to collapse.

With two more cuts, this time she severed the two attachment points of the flexor pollicis longus muscle, and before the wounds had healed, she used tweezers to pick out the muscle.

Certainly, the pain reminded her of the passing of life, but she was ruthless to others, and even more ruthless to herself.

pat.

The blood-stained muscle landed on the prepared platter, stiffened for a moment like an earthworm, then suddenly jumped up, stretched out its belly legs and began to crawl.

Its color began to change rapidly, and its size seemed to want to grow but was suppressed. It leaped forward like a coelenterate, arching and jumping, until it reached the brown-haired beauty.

"Little guy, come here."

Charlotte spread out her slender fingers, bent slightly, and lowered her right hand to the height of the table.

Without resistance or opposition, the creature formed from flesh and blood raised its tip, timidly yet affectionately touching the former's palm. Under the gaze of the former, it wriggled back to the original site of the wound, soaked in the overflowing blood, and returned to the place of its birth.

Raising your arm and making a grasping motion is like returning something to its rightful owner; the wound heals quickly, and movement becomes effortless.

"The flexor pollicis longus exhibits a high degree of dedifferentiation, possessing a certain degree of autonomy, but still retains an instinctive affinity for the mother."

After closing her eyes and sensing for a moment, she could feel her body becoming slightly weaker, but it did not affect her normal movements.

However, when Watson fought against this extraordinary being in the port area, the flesh and blood monsters created by the other party did not obey the original owner's orders at all, and even showed signs of resisting and devouring their master.

Just as the strength of the law far exceeds that of the same sequence when one becomes an arbitrator, the extraordinary characteristics of the 'monster' also undergo a certain degree of alienation within himself, which is of course in a good direction.

This distinction cannot be ignored. In fact, Charlotte is deeply confused about her own existence. Not only are the images of her relatives very vague in her mind, but the memories of her past life are also slowly fading and being filled by her experiences in this life.

Charlotte unbuttoned her blood-stained white coat, straightened her collar, and wiped away all the previous marks.

Such healing ability is undoubtedly a powerful weapon in head-on combat. It is not elegant, but it provides more room for error. As long as it is a physical injury, it can slowly recover during the fight, eroding the opponent's hope of delaying.

She was truly a terrifying monster; at only Sequence 8, she far surpassed mortals. It was just a pity that her internal organs died too early, missing the opportunity for repair.

Picking up a bright lantern, Charlotte dressed appropriately, and accompanied by the sound of horses' hooves, passed through the high walls of the outer and inner city, stopping in front of a luxurious and magnificent mansion.

"Madam, may I ask who you are?"

The attendants standing on either side bowed slightly, showing no disrespect for the simply dressed beauty before them.

After all, superficial attire cannot conceal inner beauty; Isabella's elegance shines through in every gesture.

"Isabella Valenti, a doctor, and a friend of Miss Farlinger."

As her words suggest, Charlotte had come to see her new, delicate acquaintance, Eliza. After all, Eliza was not only Charlotte's temporary doctor but also a curious young woman eager to learn about the secrets of the Dickbadov family.