Const Orphanage 30

"The hundred and first?" Altair looked down at Georgewill, who was on the ground, covering his eye in agony, and couldn't help but sigh.

He was Georgewill, but also George and Will struggling to survive on a winter night.

He pulled out the Laurel Crown from his chest, the silver leaves of the laurel cradling a moonstone.

The Laurel Crown, a family heirloom of the Sterling werewolf lineage, symbolizes the glory and dignity of the Sterling family.

The moonstone atop was said to be a tear shed by the Moon Goddess Celine, moved by pity for a frail, dying werewolf cub.

The Laurel Crown is also known as the Mercy of the Moon Goddess.

Elvira, observing him pull out the palm-sized brooch. It was the piece of jewelry that Lorcan had entrusted him to give to Altair. He couldn't help but be curious, "You want to use this?"

Altair gave Elvira a look, then placed the Laurel Crown over Georgewill's eye, saying, "Yes."

He removed his mask, picked up a flying knife from the ground, and cut a deep wound on his left hand. Blood wound its way down, dripping onto the crown.

The moonstone absorbed the nourishment from the blood, shimmering with an even more lustrous sheen, gentle like the rippling waters under the moonlight.

Altair murmured a complex spell. "Selene, ego kallō menē kallistē, sanguine doxo, pientō nāvis, lixas pathos, anapsūze psychē." (Goddess of the Moon, I call upon you with Laurel Crown. Consecrate with blood, have mercy on the weak, cleanse the pain, and rest the soul.)

Above Georgewill's eyes, the Laurel Crown blossomed into dazzling light, slowly healing his body and soul. The radiance was like the first moonlight of the night, gentle and sacred, filled with endless vitality and hope.

Elvira silently watched the scene unfold, the dim light casting a serene and resolute shadow on Altair's face, revealing a hint of compassion in his brow, like an ancient deity.

Altair silently tended to his wounds, pulling a white coat from the wardrobe and swiftly tearing a strip of fabric to bandage himself. His movements were efficient, managing the bandaging single-handedly, finishing off with a bite to secure the knot.

He stepped into the storage room within the wardrobe, with Elvira following curiously. Altair quietly regarded the bottles, then began to open each glass bottle. The gas from each bottle seemed to come alive, turning into dozens of silver butterflies that fluttered in the air before gradually vanishing.

This was the most mysterious and beautiful sight Elvira had ever witnessed at Const Orphanage.

Altair's features were stern and solemn, his gaze as indifferent as an iceberg, yet filled with compassion. He resembled a deity atop a snow-capped mountain, pure and sacred, commanding awe.

Silver butterflies fluttered from his fingertips, lightly touching his lips as if they were the holy flowers blooming on the mountain. Their beauty took Elvira's breath away.

"What is this?" Elvira curiously touched the glass bottle of Francesca in his arms.

"Imprisoned souls, send them to rebirth," Altair said, intently watching the silver butterflies.

"Landric locked the soul fragments here, so he could control them." Altair unscrewed all the glass bottles one by one, releasing all the souls.

"There's one girl's soul fragment left, with brown hair," Altair's gaze locked onto Elvira, stating confidently, "You have it."

Elvira bent down, picked up the flying knives from the ground, and with a cynically amused smile, said, "And if it wasn't me, what then?"

Altair glanced down at his watch, then looked up at Elvira, "Time is almost up. To the hall."

"Are there any new activities?" Elvira leaned against the wardrobe, idly twirling the flying knives in his left hand.

"Specific investment projects, Landric's experiments," Altair replied succinctly, about to step out of the wardrobe.

However, Elvira blocked Altair's path with his foot. Altair turned to look at him, silent.

Elvira's lips curved into a rebellious smile, the dim yellow light casting a golden veil over his features, imbuing him with brilliance.

With a flick of his left hand, he tossed the flying knife, catching them in reverse with his right, and pushed Altair into the wardrobe, pressing the knife against his carotid artery.

Altair felt the cold blade on his neck but did not resist. Leaning against the wood, he looked directly at Elvira, his gaze deep and serene.

Elvira stared into Altair's pupils, only up close could he see a hint of eerie blue.

It was an enchanting and mysterious color, like the deepest ice abyss of the Arctic, beckoning one to plunge in.

The distance between them was so close they could nearly touch each other's eyelashes. Altair could clearly feel the warmth of Elvira's breath and the lingering scent of birch trees around his nose.

That was the purest scent of a snowy night, making his spirit feel refreshed.

"Last night, that person was you," Elvira said almost pressing his face against Altair's, whispering with a low chuckle, "My Mr. Sterling."

After speaking, he held the flying knives even closer to Altair's neck, an inch away. Raising an eyebrow, he continued, "I lost something yesterday. It was you who picked it up, wasn't it?"

Altair did not respond immediately, silently gazing into Elvira's eyes. Those eyes held a dazzling aurora, swaying with deep green lights amidst the vast glaciers, both brilliant and affectionate.

"What could you possibly do if it wasn't me?" Altair returned Elvira's earlier words.

Elvira paused, a strange sensation of ticklishness washing over him as if a feather had lightly touched his heart.

Then, Altair, looking directly into Elvira's eyes, gently flicked the blade of the knife with his left hand, causing it to emit a crisp sound.

Subsequently, he slowly pushed away the flying knives pressed against his neck.

Elvira had no intention of harming Altair, so he wasn't gripping the flying knives tightly. With just a gentle push from Altair's injured left hand, he easily broke free from the constraint.

Slightly embarrassed, Elvira faced the wardrobe and slid the flying knives back into his sleeve.

Altair emerged from the wardrobe, picking up the Laurel Crown from the ground and tucking it into his chest before heading out.

After a few steps, he halted, turning back to look at Elvira with a cold voice, "This is the last time. No more allowances."