"The angel’s heart?" Solomon repeated, his voice trailing off as he stared at the eccentric professor in complete bewilderment. "What are you talking about? I didn’t touch its heart."

For a few agonizing seconds, Solomon’s mind drew a complete blank. Then, like a physical blow to the head, the mechanical voice he had heard upon waking up violently echoed through his skull.

[ The Eden heart has been synchronized with your body. ]

Solomon’s breath hitched. His hands began to tremble. He slowly lowered his gaze to the center of his own chest, directly to the spot where the phantom ache still lingered.

The memory of the ruined cathedral flashed before his eyes. He remembered the exact sensation of Prince Vlad driving the celestial dagger between his ribs.

He finally understood what had actually happened. He understood exactly what Vlad had done while he lay paralyzed and bleeding out on the marble stairs.

Vlad had not stabbed him to kill him. Vlad had carved his chest wide open to forcefully insert Uriel’s severed heart into his body.

The pieces slammed together with terrifying clarity. The absence of a surgical scar and the instant regeneration knitting his palm back together made perfect sense now. The immortal regeneration of Uriel coursed directly through his human veins. Since Solomon also had the Eden Bloodline ability, the process was boosted.

A wave of revulsion washed over Solomon.

Thanks to the Inheritance talent of the Paladin and his memories, he had lived through the ancient memories and witnessed Uriel slaughtering the Kingdom of Eden.

He had felt the agonizing despair as Uriel burned citizens to ash and laughed at their ruin. He had seen how brutally Uriel had killed the Paladin’s wife and daughter. Uriel was the sole entity Solomon hated more than anything else in existence.

That borrowed rage had physically possessed his body earlier in the vault. When his greatsword finally severed Uriel’s head, Solomon felt the inherited hatred dissolve. His mind had finally found peace after long torment.

Now, the immortal core of the bastard angel that destroyed an entire civilization was currently beating inside his own ribcage, directly feeding him its power.

Solomon’s knees buckled. He collapsed back onto the edge of the mattress and violently dug his fingers into the skin of his chest.

"No..."

He desperately wanted to tear the foreign organ out with his bare hands.

A hollow breath rattled past his lips as his vision blurred. The psychological weight of the ultimate violation crashed down upon his mind. Unable to contain the suffocating disgust tearing him apart from the inside, Solomon threw his head back and let out a scream.

Balzac watched Solomon’s agonizing breakdown without a single change in expression. He leaned against the cart and waited for the screaming to end.

Solomon gripped the white bedsheets, pulling erratic breaths into his lungs as the horrifying reality settled into his mind.

"Tell me exactly what happened," Balzac demanded, crossing his arms. "I need every detail regarding your fight with Uriel and the immediate aftermath. Do you know where the three World Rankers went?"

Solomon wiped a trembling hand across his sweating forehead. He recounted the entire sequence of events from the ruined cathedral. He detailed the brutal combat in the cathedral, and full-on battle outside, the severing of his arm, the decapitation of Uriel, and the final betrayal.

He explained how Vlad had driven the celestial dagger directly into his chest.

"After that, I completely blacked out," Solomon said, staring down at the pristine floor tiles. "I have absolutely no idea where Vlad, Zoro, or Miro went."

Balzac listened attentively to the entire story. He nodded along with each new piece of information, carefully absorbing the chaotic variables of the expedition. A wide, eccentric grin spread across his face.

"You should honestly be thanking Vlad for saving your life," Balzac commented, gesturing toward Solomon’s chest. "He gifted you an absolutely incredible ability. While it is known that the heart of beings possess origin power, no one has been able to prove it. True regeneration is a genetic miracle. Only one in a hundred million awakened individuals ever manifest a healing factor like yours."

Balzac walked over to the medical tray and picked up the bloody knife again. He spun the metal blade between his fingers with genuine excitement. "We definitely need to test the limits of your new regeneration. We must figure out exactly how far we can push your physical body, how fast you can rebuild destroyed tissue, and what other biological factors this foreign heart actively affects."

Solomon glared at Balzac. His hands curled into tight fists, his fingernails digging deeply into his unblemished palms. He felt zero gratitude toward Vlad. The blinding fury inherited from the Paladin had faded, leaving his own personal rage burning violently in its place.

He wanted to track down Vlad and beat him into the dirt. He needed to grab Vlad by the collar and force him to explain the real reason behind this cursed blessing.

Balzac pushed himself off the medical cart and glanced toward the hallway. "Your scream earlier definitely alerted the entire medical wing. The Grandmaster and his staff are probably rushing here right now to check on you."

Balzac walked straight toward the exit. "I am leaving before they arrive and hand me more work to do."

As he walked to the door, Balzac paused and turned back to face Solomon.

The eccentric grin had completely vanished from his features. "They are going to ask you a mountain of questions about your expedition. You can reply to them however you want regarding the labyrinth or the stream snipers and the world rankers/ However, if anyone asks about the angel and what happened, you must never tell them the truth."

Solomon unclenched his fists and paid close attention.

"The Church will inevitably send someone to investigate. Perhaps, their inquisitors might already be on their way," Balzac continued. "They will try every trick available to make you confess exactly what happened to the angel. You must never let a single soul know that you killed an angel. It does not matter what psychological methods the Church pulls or what rewards they offer you. Keep your mouth completely shut."

Balzac stepped out into the corridor. The doors closed behind him, sealing the infirmary and leaving Solomon completely alone in the room.

Solomon sat on the edge of the mattress with mixed feelings churning in his mind. He now had to navigate an angel’s heart, the sudden betrayal of Vlad, and an impending interrogation from religious fanatics.

He raised his right arm and flexed his hand once again, watching his perfectly unblemished fingers move under the sunlight.