Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 50: Who is the killer?

With the morning sun shining brightly, the Alexander Langton slowly sailed into the familiar waters of Genoa.

The hustle and bustle of the harbor could be faintly heard through the sea breeze; it was still the scene of fishing boats returning to port and merchants gathering, the air filled with the smell of the sea and the noise of the crowd.

The ship smoothly slowed down, furled its sails, and glided precisely to its berth, just as it had last time. Heavy mooring lines were thrown out, caught and secured by dockworkers. The heavy clanging of the gangway being erected echoed precisely on schedule.

Harry followed the Duke of Langton and Miss Catherine down the gangway and onto the solid dock floor.

The sea breeze carried a familiar salty scent, and Harry walked briskly, feeling relaxed.

The entire process was exceptionally smooth.

On the upper deck, only a few ordinary crew members were conducting routine checks after docking; the tall, silver-haired figure was nowhere to be seen.

Prince Arthas did not appear.

His weakened body was still lying in the cabin. Under Xiao Bei's precise control of the treatment, he was neither in danger of death nor had the strength to cause a tragedy.

Harry did it.

There was no sudden deathly silence, no terrified gazes converging upwards.

The two sword energies that tore apart the ship and took away many lives did not come through the air.

Lawrence was still alive, and with questions about Harry, she carefully looked after the frail elf prince.

The walnut staff that Cavill gave him was not destroyed in the battle.

All of this was because of his choice on the ship, and because of Beckham's help.

The invisible rope that had been tightly binding the spine suddenly loosened at this moment.

When Harry stepped onto the dock, he even felt his knees go a little weak. It wasn't fear, but rather the physical reaction of suddenly releasing the high tension he had been under for so long.

The immense sense of relief wasn't intense, but rather like the damp sand left after the tide recedes, heavy and filling my chest.

This time, I should be able to survive.

The Duke of Langton's smile when he said goodbye to Harry was noticeably more genuine than the last time.

Harry and Miss Catherine finally had the opportunity to bow and thank the Duke.

The port officials came over to discuss the follow-up arrangements with the Duke, and the noise level rose slightly.

Harry took one last look at the large ship. The oak hull gleamed heavily in the sunlight, and the upper deck was empty, as if the memories of the forest assassination, the elven curse, and the cold smiles were temporarily locked away deep within the ship's cabins.

He turned around without looking back and joined a caravan outside the port that was preparing to head to the capital.

Before long, the caravan set off, its wheels rumbling over the stone road, gradually merging into the bustling flow of people heading inland from the port.

This time, there was no piercing whistle of sword energy cutting through the air behind us, nor the terrified screams of the crowd.

Only the usual hustle and bustle of Genoa's port, and the slightly salty farewell carried by the sea breeze.

……

Harry chose the same hotel again this time. He had a good experience last time, so there was no need to bother looking for another place.

Strangely, not long after he checked in, there was another knock on the door. The invitation was handed to him again, and the handwriting was the same as before:

Dear Harry:

I'm so glad to know you're back. Lots of interesting things have happened in the capital, and I've been wanting to share them with you. I'm also really curious about your life at the magic academy. I'm sure you're just as excited about this reunion. Tomorrow at noon, I'll be waiting for you on the second floor of Lionheart Hotel for lunch.

My beloved Veranika

Harry was puzzled by the identical invitation.

Last time, Veronica said she saw him on the list of passengers from the port massacre published by the church, so she sent someone to wait for him, and that's how she found out he was back.

But this time, the Elf Prince didn't kill anyone in Genoa. How did she know he had returned to the capital? And where he was staying?

These questions will probably only be answered when I see Veranica tomorrow.

After finishing his meditation, exhaustion finally overwhelmed everything. Harry collapsed onto the hotel bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

However, sleep was not peaceful.

A cold sensation suddenly exploded from deep within my left back.

It felt like I was back in that night in the forest.

The smell of damp, rotting leaves filled my nostrils, shutting out the warmth of the campfire, leaving only the all-consuming darkness behind me.

He could feel the killer approaching silently, hear his own heartbeat stop due to extreme fear, and even see the firelight casting his distorted shadow on the ground.

And that fainter, more blurred shadow belonging to the assassin was quietly overlapping with his own shadow.

Then—pfft.

The sharp, cold, and cruelly efficient piercing sensation struck him again.

The blade slices through the skin and muscle, squeezes through the gaps between the ribs, and precisely pierces the heart.

The excruciating pain didn't explode instantly, but rather was a cold, rapidly spreading numbness, followed by a rapid loss of strength and body temperature. His vision spun, and he crashed heavily onto the decaying leaves. Warm blood gushed from his mouth and nose, the dripping sound particularly jarring in the deathly silence…

"Ugh—!"

Harry suddenly sat up in bed, letting out a short, suppressed groan of pain.

Cold sweat instantly soaked through my thin clothes, clinging tightly to my skin and bringing a sticky chill.

He clutched his left chest tightly with one hand. What he felt was not a hallucination after waking up, but a real, sharp, throbbing pain, exactly where the knife had pierced him in his dream.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to shatter my ribs, and each beat made the pain worse.

He gasped for breath, the damp, cold air filling his lungs, but he couldn't shake off the trembling that rose from the depths of his soul.

"Little...Bei..." he gasped, his voice hoarse, filled with barely concealed panic.

A soft white light flashed, and Xiao Bei's quiet figure appeared beside the bed. Her gaze fell on his face covered in cold sweat and his hand tightly clutching his chest.

Beckham didn't say much; she knew what Harry needed most right now.

She quickly raised her right hand, palm down, and placed it lightly on Harry's left chest, which he was still tightly covering.

A very faint, almost milky white, soft halo flowed from her palm, like warm water, gently covering that area.

The moment the halo touched his skin, Harry's tense body trembled violently.

It wasn't a stinging pain, but a cool, soothing sensation that quickly seeped in, diluting the burning, phantom pain within. My wildly beating heart felt as if a gentle hand was softly stroking it, and the rhythm slowly slowed down.

The sharp pain that almost suffocated him subsided and disappeared quickly, like the receding tide, leaving only a slight throbbing pain from overexertion and a body covered in cold sweat.

Harry took a few more deep breaths, and this time it went much more smoothly.

He loosened his grip on his clothes, his arm hanging limply at his side, and leaned against the foot of the bed, looking up wearily.

"Thank you..." His voice was still hoarse, but much steadyer. "Thank you, Xiao Bei."

"It's what I should do." Xiao Bei withdrew her hand, and the healing aura dissipated. She floated slightly lower, now at eye level with Harry, who was sitting on the ground. "Had a nightmare?"

"It's not just a nightmare..."

Harry gasped for breath, loosening his grip, his fingertips unconsciously clutching the front of his pajamas. His blue eyes were filled with lingering fear and deep confusion. "It's...it's that feeling. I dreamt about it, no, I 'experienced' it again...in the forest, the feeling of that knife stabbing into my back. Exactly the same! And it still hurts here!"

"Dreams sometimes awaken memories deep within the body, especially... memories of past traumas," Xiao Bei said slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "Do you think Arthas recreated the assassination attempt on you in his dream?"

"I...I don't know." Harry shook his head vigorously, trying to shake off the chilling feeling of impending death. "But the dream felt so real. And it seemed...not quite the same as the way he killed someone at the port last time."

He paused, a thought clearly forming in his mind: "An assassination in the forest—precise, silent, and without warning. Nasus had a reason to kill me, and Arthas might have had one too. Now they probably both have no chance, but..."

Little Beck listened quietly, then asked softly, "So, you think the killer might be someone else? Not Nasus, and not Arthas?"

"That's possible." Harry took a deep breath; the sharp pain in his chest eased slightly, but the chill intensified. "Someone we haven't noticed yet."

"Could it be Miss Veronica, whom you're meeting tomorrow?" Beckham asked directly.

Harry paused for a moment, then thought about it carefully. He remembered Veronica's carefully feigned kindness and the calculation hidden in her soft words during their last meeting.

There is indeed a long-standing, almost instinctive, discord between them, and his response to her last time was hardly amicable.

but……

"No, it shouldn't be her." Harry finally shook his head, his tone more certain. "Although we don't get along, and our last meeting wasn't pleasant, in the end... she actually got what she wanted. By arranging my meeting with the goddess, the goddess arranged for a white-robed archbishop to be her godfather and even attend her baptism. In any case, she not only received an invitation to join the church, but this invitation carries considerable weight."

The room fell silent for a while. The intense physical reaction to the nightmare was slowly subsiding, but the psychological shadow and deeper doubts were spreading.

Having ruled out the two most obvious targets, and even old acquaintances with whom he had a grudge, the cold knife from behind seemed to be hidden in a deeper darkness, one that even Harry himself had not yet noticed.

It was still some time before dawn, and it was pitch black outside the window; not a single ray of light could be seen.

For the first time, Harry realized how long the night could be.