Chapter 9 Can It Really Be Cured

• “Take off... my clothes? W-What for?”
• Winona's complexion turned crimson, her heart thudding violently against her chest as her voice quivered with apprehension.
• He's not harboring any ulterior motives, is he?
• But then she considered his own severely burned body, which bore scars over eighty percent of its surface. Winona understood that her appearance might be unsettling to others, so what else could the man be thinking?
• Before she could voice her refusal, Franklin reached out, his hands moving toward her mask.
• “Ah! No!” Winona exclaimed, instinctively recoiling as if jolted by electricity. Her body was marred by burn scars, her face even more so, and the thought of revealing her disfigured visage filled her with dread.
• What would Franklin think if he saw my true face?
• Despite her reaction, Franklin persisted gently and carefully removed the mask from Winona's face.
• As her scars came into view, Winona squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, wishing she could vanish.
• She knew all too well the grotesque appearance of her burns—more terrifying than any creature of horror, more hideous and frightening than any nightmare she had ever had.
• A solitary tear escaped Winona's eye, a symbol of the deep-seated injustice she felt.
• Witnessing this, Franklin felt his heart clench with pain, particularly as he observed the severe burns that marred her beautiful face.
• A deep, empathetic sorrow overwhelmed him, knowing that these scars were a result of her bravery years ago when she saved him, leading to her current plight.
• “You must be terrified seeing me like this,” Winona murmured, her voice breaking with a mix of anger and sadness. “When others see me, they scream as if they've seen a ghost. They've struck me and cursed me.”
• Franklin responded with a calming tone, “True beauty, Winona, is more than skin-deep. It's the beauty of your heart that truly matters.”
• “B-But other women get to adorn themselves, showing off their unmarred, beautiful faces. And me? I look like a monster covered in scars, resembling a toad. You must find me hideous too, right?” she challenged, her voice laden with insecurity.
• “No, you are far from ugly. In my eyes, you are the most beautiful woman,” Franklin reassured her, tenderly cradling her face.
• Winona shook her head, unable to accept his words.
• Overwhelmed by emotion, she suddenly stood and stripped off her clothes, exposing her scarred body to him without a shred of embarrassment. “And now? With my body covered in these scars, do you still find me beautiful?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
• The sight deeply moved Franklin. He stepped forward, enveloping her in a comforting embrace, his voice filled with conviction. “Don't worry. You've suffered enough. From now on, things will get better. And remember, even if your appearance were to change, I would never think less of you because you will always be the woman I love the most.”
• Winona was stunned, hardly believing that Franklin did not despise her appearance.
• “Don't worry, there's a lot you don't know yet. I have skills in medicine,” Franklin revealed with a light chuckle, then retrieved the ointment he had prepared.
• He knelt beside her, gently applying the ointment across her scars.
• He then wrapped her in gauze, making her resemble a large burrito.
• This special ointment, a secret remedy from Empyrean, was designed for nightly application to regenerate and heal damaged skin.
• After tending to her, Franklin helped Winona back to bed, assuring her, “Just ten nights with this treatment, and you'll see your original beauty restored, perhaps even enhanced.”
• “Really? Do you actually know medicine? Could this ointment truly heal my scars when the hospital said nothing could?” Winona's voice trembled with a mixture of hope and skepticism.
• What will I look like if I'm cured?
• “In this world, people may deceive you, but I will never lie to you,” Franklin stated solemnly, sitting beside her.
• That night, Winona experienced a profound sense of being cared for, the first in a very long time.
• She slept soundly, even dreaming of Franklin arriving in a grand wedding car to marry her, their wedding celebrated before the entire city.
• The next morning, Winona awoke from her dream, her cheeks warm with the blush of the vivid images. Franklin had already left the room, allowing her some privacy.
• She felt a sticky residue from the ointment and decided to take a bath, quickly dressing afterward and heading to work.
• If only she had looked in a mirror, she would have seen the noticeable improvement in her skin's texture.
• Sadly, ever since the tragic fire six years ago, no mirrors graced her home.
• After Winona departed for the day, Franklin set out for the residence of Charles Weatherby, using the address he had secured the previous day.
• The destination was actually a grand private estate, its courtyard meticulously landscaped with an Epean-style garden that boasted vibrant, lush vegetation. The manor stood regally, its value undoubtedly reaching into the tens of millions.
• “This Charles guy certainly holds significant status,” Franklin mused to himself, casting his eyes over the property with a discerning glance.
• However, he soon diverted his attention away; as the leader of Empyrean, little could impress him.
• Guided past the opulent lobby, he was ushered into a private recovery room that was nothing short of extravagant.
• The room was equipped with top-tier medical facilities imported from abroad, featuring a comprehensive range of both traditional and modern medical tools and treatments. It was so well-furnished that it surpassed the capabilities of many standard hospitals.
• In the room, a tension-filled gathering of family members and house staff clustered around a sickbed where Delia stood, her complexion ashen with worry.
• “Mr. Callier... you've arrived,” Delia greeted him with a strained politeness.
• Franklin nodded in acknowledgment and turned his attention to the figure lying on the bed—Charles. The old man's face was tinged a disturbing shade of blue and purple, his form still, hovering on the brink of death.
• Suddenly, the tranquility was shattered by the piercing sound of medical alarms. The machine connected to Charles blared, signaling a critical condition.
• “The patient has slipped into a deep coma, and his blood pressure continues to plummet... Hurry, call for Dr. James, we're losing him!” shouted a private nurse, panic stricken.
• The medical team sprang into action, bustling around in preparation for emergency procedures.
• Shortly after, a figure in a white lab coat entered—James, a renowned foreign physician hired at great expense by the Weatherby family. With blond hair and green eyes, he carried an air of professional urgency.
• “Everyone clear out,” James commanded briskly, his tone firm. “All non-essential personnel must leave the room immediately.”
• As he pushed Franklin to one side, he began a thorough examination of the medical apparatus. After a few moments spent listening with his stethoscope, he sighed deeply and turned to the anxious relatives gathered outside the room.
• In fluent Clusian, he delivered a grim prognosis, “You should prepare for the worst and begin mourning arrangements.”
• His words hit the Weatherbys like a thunderbolt, their faces draining of color. Delia, overwhelmed by the dire news, broke down in tears.
• It was shocking how quickly Charles' health had deteriorated, with no time for effective treatment. Furthermore, the medical team had yet to diagnose the exact nature of his sudden illness.
• As James contemplated the situation, finding some relief in preparing for the inevitable, it seemed that the Weatherby family patriarch's time was drawing to a close.
• However, Franklin, initially unmoved by the circumstances, now approached the sickbed with a more somber demeanor.
• He reached out and took Charles' wrist, his sensitive touch probing the faint, erratic pulse.
• “His old ailment has relapsed, leading to severe vitality and blood stagnation. All his major meridians are blocked, and the condition has escalated to a critical stage,” he observed, his brow furrowing in concern.
• Charles seemed to be teetering on the edge between life and death, with little hope of recovery unless a miraculous intervention occurred.
• While Franklin initially didn't consider Charles' condition to be of grave concern, a closer examination revealed a complex medical challenge.
• Amidst the despair and chaos, Franklin's voice carried a note of calm assurance, “I believe there's still a chance for him.”