Giving up the pursuit of truth, just like that?

On one side is life and on the other side is truth, how should one choose?

The Plague Doctor thought as Lawrence approached him, he closed his eyes, as if surrendering to the arrival of death.

Finally, the footsteps came to a halt, along with the heartbeat of the Plague Doctor. That restless heart grew cold, residing in the shattered chest, without a trace of response.

Lawrence didn’t expect this outcome. Wearing a mask, no one knew his thoughts. He grasped the Broken Sword, and in the entire dim underground, it seemed he was all alone, lifting his head, feeling somewhat lonely for reasons unknown.

Then claws ripped along his chest, tearing Lawrence’s entire left arm away.

No roars, and no warning, a furious counterattack erupted in this silence, like an assassination planned long ago, with no chance of defense. The blow also struck Lawrence’s face, shattering a corner of his mask and revealing lifeless eyes.

Reflected in those eyes, the Plague Doctor, who was supposed to be dead, stood up again. Through the ghastly fissure on his chest, one could see his heart beating anew.

"I’m truly sorry, Lawrence, that thing was just too enticing, even if there’s a slightest possibility, I want to give it a try."

The Plague Doctor said as he bit down on Lawrence’s throat with his ghastly mouth, under this feigned death surprise attack, Lawrence’s head twisted at a bizarre angle.

Whimpering growls continued, the Plague Doctor used teeth and claws, employing all weapons at his disposal, like a wild beast tearing its prey, destroying Lawrence’s body. His blood burned, turning into raging fire scorching the Plague Doctor, yet none of it could stop his rampage.

The Plague Doctor was determined to leave here, no matter what price he had to pay, he had to see what was called truth.

Lawrence weakly wielded the Broken Sword, yet before he could stab at the Plague Doctor, claws pierced his chest, like strangling his abdomen, the Plague Doctor twisted apart his heart, twisting all the organs in his chest into gore, then thoroughly snapped his spine.

Teeth exerted force, completely severing the trachea and spine.

Like a broken doll deprived of support, the Plague Doctor tossed Lawrence into the darkness below, the shattered body fell in without reaction, followed by sounds of devouring, Demons greedily feasting, biting Lawrence into pieces.

Witnessing all this, the Plague Doctor finally relaxed, the mutations on his body gradually stabilized, returning to a normal human figure, but still exposed was that crimson flesh.

He was somewhat tired, leaning against the wall, sitting for a while, waiting for his body’s Self-Healing. After some time, the Plague Doctor seemed to finally regain his strength. He picked up the tattered bird beak mask, put it back on, then walked out of that dim underground.

Returning to the initial watchtower, sometime after, tables and chairs were already arranged there. On the table was a set of clean brown coat, beside it was an open box with several vials of Secret Blood.

The Plague Doctor glanced at it, put on the coat to cover his crimson body, then sat down, injecting himself with several vials of Secret Blood. Fresh blood surged within, healing the shattered body.

After finishing all this, the Plague Doctor let out a long sigh, he quieted down, like waiting for something, after a while, footsteps were heard from behind.