FT DR Chapter 80: Prelude to Hunting

Chapter 80: Prelude to Hunting

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Jin Xuan left Planet Dunkirk, taking his special squad to the Second Army Group’s jurisdiction—the Tianque Spaceport—to run instances, leaving Wu Chenghe alone to handle the daily routine at Aston Medical College.

The initial days were very difficult, having been accustomed to being together. The bond they shared had left a profound mark on his body and consciousness. However, perhaps due to his relatively calm and restrained personality, Wu Chenghe gradually adapted to this solitary state over the course of a few weeks. Though he often felt physically empty and psychologically depressed, outwardly, he seemed no different from before.

Chen Miaomiao often invited Wu Chenghe to hang out, playing chess, basketball, swimming, hiking… After Marlow’s military training ended, Chen Miaomiao would also invite him along. Wu Chenghe didn’t want to see Marlow, yet he didn’t want Chen Miaomiao to distance himself from other friends on his account, so he often made various excuses to politely decline. Eventually, they stopped inviting him as frequently.

Wu Chenghe was naturally more inclined towards quiet activities due to his physical condition, unsuitable for intense sports like baseball. Chen Miaomiao, on the other hand, displayed exceptional talent in this regard despite his slender physique; his physical strength and agility were top-notch. Obviously, he had inherited some traits from his mother, Popova, but unfortunately, he wasn’t a sentinel and was far from being as influential as Marlow.

Without Jin Xuan around, even Chen Miaomiao became somewhat distant. The prolonged period of loneliness often left Wu Chenghe feeling empty and depressed. Seeing his prolonged despondency, Mu, who was deeply immersed in the study of guide medicine, easily noticed his melancholy. Hence, he started taking Wu Chenghe with him to the affiliated hospital for rotations every week to help out.

The Aston Affiliated Hospital had a high reputation within the Federation, and many graduates from the college would apply to stay there. Consequently, a good portion of the doctors were Mu’s classmates or students. Although Wu Chenghe didn’t have the qualifications to practice medicine, nobody would give him a hard time, especially considering Mu’s influence. They would often assign him simple tasks such as arranging beds, receiving relatives, or fetching tools.

Frequent interaction with patients provided great relief for Wu Chenghe’s depression. The “halo effect” because of his weekly assistance to others greatly alleviated his despondency. Wu Chenghe felt increasingly grateful to Mu, realizing that guides understand guides the best. He tried to help him with chores every day, allowing him to rest more—Mu was over four months pregnant and nearing childbirth, which was quite challenging with his large belly and heavy body.

“A significant reason I pursued medicine was to fulfill my own healing desires,” Mu whispered during a night shift while inspecting the emergency department with Wu Chenghe. “Most guides have a serious craving for healing. This problem becomes more apparent in adulthood. So, in the absence of a sentinel pairing, many people choose professions like doctors or veterinarians. Even if they do something else, they often volunteer part-time.”

Wu Chenghe nodded. Helping others in the hospital often alleviated his despondency or using a small amount of consciousness to comfort emotionally distressed patients.

“You’ve grown accustomed to being with Jin Xuan. With him gone, you have no outlet for your energy, naturally feeling empty,” Mu spoke gently for once. “Don’t worry, it’s a normal phenomenon. Just redirect your feelings toward other patients.”

Seeing Wu Chenghe still looking gloomy, Mu rubbed his head and said tenderly, “Don’t worry, he’s a strong sentinel, and quite cunning. Nothing will happen to him. He’s the president’s brother, and the Commander-in-Chief of NTU would worry about him more than you. Just wait for him to come back, don’t be anxious.”

Moved by Mu’s words, Wu Chenghe nodded repeatedly. After rubbing his head for a while, Mu’s queenly disease flared up again, so he tossed him a handful of Federation coins. “Don’t be touched, I’m not comforting you for free. It’s almost midnight, go get me some snacks!”

Wu Chenghe took the money and went to the vending machine in the outpatient hall to buy nutritional supplements and milk for him. Just as he retrieved the items from the dispenser, the alarm of an emergency vehicle suddenly sounded outside, followed by a large group of nursing staff pushing seven or eight floating stretchers rushing in, urgently calling for the emergency department to admit the patients.

It turned out that there was an accident at a construction site near Twin City. Due to the wind, a partially constructed building collapsed, trapping over a dozen workers underneath. Rescuers used mechas to dig them out, fortunately with no fatalities, but two were severely injured, and six sustained minor injuries.

The entire emergency department staff sprang into action, calling in orthopedic and thoracic surgeons for consultation. Mu was the night shift supervisor and had been on-site, directing the operations. By the time everything was sorted out and the seriously injured patients came out of surgery, it was almost dawn.

Wu Chenghe still had his snacks in his pocket. Seeing him free, he helped Mu to the rest area to have something to eat. Mu didn’t look too good; it was only after he had some nutritional supplements that he began to recover slightly, lying back in the chair with his slightly protruding belly, pretending to nap.

“It’s almost quitting time. You should go back first,” Wu Chenghe stood behind him, massaging his head. “Those patients with serious injuries will be fine.”

Mu fell silent for a moment before saying, “I’m worried about the two severely injured sentinels; they might go into mania after the anesthesia wears off.” 

Six out of the eight injured were only lightly wounded because of the two sentinels. During the accident, they used their exceptional muscle strength to hold up a large piece of collapsed floor, saving the lives of several colleagues. Sentinels were particularly prone to experiencing mania when severely injured. These two individuals might cause serious trouble once they woke up from anesthesia.

“The psychiatric department has prepared stabilizers; they should be effective,” Wu Chenghe reassured him. 

Mu sighed, saying, “I hope so. Both of them underwent amputation surgery, and it will be hard for them to accept reality after waking up. For sentinels, there’s nothing more painful than losing part of their limbs. Mania triggered by such disability is the most difficult to control.”

Just as Mu was changing clothes, preparing to go back to rest, the head of the orthopedic department hurried over, “Dean Mu, those two sentinels have gone into mania! The psychiatry doctors are trying to control them, but they’re erupting severely, and standard procedures might not work!”

Mu had to put on his doctor’s gown again, saying, “I’ll go take a look.”

Wu Chenghe accompanied him to the orthopedic ICU. The two sentinels had already been secured to specially made diagnostic beds. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they had distorted the metal rings restraining their wrists, ankles, waist, and neck. A psychiatrist stood nervously nearby, holding a syringe gun capable of continuous firing, as if ready to increase the dosage at any moment.

“Dean,” the psychiatrist sighed in relief when Mu entered. “They’re having a severe episode. Even with triple the usual dosage of stabilizers, I can’t fully control them. We might need to call in the ‘Euthanasia Bureau.'”

The “Euthanasia Bureau” was tasked with handling sentinels whose mania couldn’t be subdued. In practice, it meant administering extremely high doses of stabilizers and letting them fend for themselves. After this treatment, most sentinels would peacefully pass away, while a few who survived would sustain brain damage, becoming mentally impaired. Only an extremely rare few would recover to normal, but they were one in a thousand.

“Let’s wait a little longer,” Mu frowned. Sending them off for euthanasia like this wasn’t fair, especially considering they were injured while trying to save others. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Try combining some other medications. There have been cases where this has been more effective than just injecting stabilizers.” 

With that, he opened his personal terminal and wrote a prescription for the psychiatrist, asking him to prepare the medications.

With only the two of them left in the ICU, Wu Chenghe looked at Mu, asking, “What are you planning to do? Why did you ask him to leave?”

“They need consciousness soothing; stabilizers aren’t working,” Mu said softly, walking to the bedside of the sentinel who had lost his right hand. The man struggled on the bed like a beached fish, causing the bed legs to creak under the strain. Mu grabbed his remaining left hand, his eyes narrowing gradually into irregular ellipses. Wu Chenghe could feel his consciousness cloud surging, suppressing the patient’s consciousness with an extremely powerful sense of tranquility. Though Mu didn’t delve deep into his mind with mental tendrils to extinguish sparks, even this level of suppression eased the man considerably.

Within a minute or two, the man calmed down, although he was still struggling, it was noticeably less intense than before. Mu breathed a sigh of relief, releasing his hand. He told Wu Chenghe, “Guides can usually only stimulate and attack unmarked sentinels, but if controlled well, they can also use suppression to calm their consciousness clouds slightly. By doing this, combined with a mixed stabilizer, we should be able to save his life.”

Wu Chenghe nodded, looking at him with some concern. Mu had been busy all night, his complexion was very poor, and his eyeballs hadn’t returned to their normal round shape, looking very eerie.

“This one is a bit trickier,” Mu said, walking to the bed of the other frenzied sentinel. This man was the most severely injured of the eight patients, with his right thigh severed at the base, half of his right arm missing, and paralysis below the chest due to a severe impact on his spine. He wouldn’t be able to sit up in the future unless he underwent a spinal transplant.

“It’s too pitiful; he didn’t need to be so severely injured. With his explosive strength, if he hadn’t jumped straight down from the building during the accident, he would’ve at most suffered a fracture. It’s all for the sake of saving people,” Mu’s eyes showed a sympathetic expression. He pressed his right hand on the man’s forehead, using his consciousness to temporarily control his body. Then he leaned down, bringing his nose to the man’s face.

“Dean!” Wu Chenghe exclaimed in shock. The nose was a markable area; what was he planning to do?!

Mu gestured to Wu Chenghe to stay silent, indicating not to speak. He closed his eyes and waited silently for a moment. The sentinel smelled his scent, and the red mist in his eyes deepened suddenly. Struggling, he raised his neck and licked Mu’s nose.

Mu’s body trembled slightly. When he opened his eyes again, they had turned into narrow vertical pupils. He stood up, wiped his nose, and used the faint temporary mark to extend mental tendrils, forcefully piercing into the consciousness cloud of the sentinel in mania.

Wu Chenghe was completely stunned. He had thought he was quite saintly, but Mu was the epitome of it! Looking at Mu’s calm and skillful demeanor, it seemed he had done this countless times. In his medical career, he didn’t know how much sacrifice he had made to rescue those crumbling sentinels.

Suddenly, Wu Chenghe felt that his ideals and sentiments were like hollow jokes compared to Mu’s actions!

Although the mark established by the nose was weak, Mu’s mental power was too strong. In just a short while, the sentinel had completely calmed down. The red mist in his eyes dissipated, leaving only a thin layer of faint blush.

Mu’s forehead was sweaty as he stepped back. Wu Chenghe faintly saw a faint red mark appearing in the center of his clavicle, which was the brand left by the temporary mark.

Mu noticed his gaze, buttoned up his collar, and said, “This mark is very weak and will disappear within a day or two. There shouldn’t be any risk.”

For an undisclosed invisible guide, any mark was extremely risky. Wu Chenghe knew he was just comforting himself and didn’t want him to worry, so he nodded and said, “I understand. But the psychiatrists are coming soon. When they finish administering the mixed stabilizers, he’ll wake up. You’d better leave now and not show up in front of him until the mark wears off.”

“Of course,” Mu said with a faint smile, then paused. He patted Wu Chenghe’s head and said, “You overstep your bounds! I’m not your peer. A teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime. Got it?”

Wu Chenghe rubbed his head and had nothing more to say to this super saint draped in queenly garb. He said with a pained expression, “Okay, I was wrong. Please, just go. When he wakes up, he might go looking for you everywhere!”

“You’re crossing generations! Once a mentor, forever a father. Understand?” Mu glared at him, knowing he couldn’t stay here for long. He said, “I’m leaving. You shouldn’t linger either. When the psychiatrists finish dealing with them, go back to school. Just let me know the outcome of the follow-up treatment.”

“I will.”

After Mu left, the psychiatrists injected the two sentinels with the mixed stabilizers. Sure enough, half an hour later, both of them woke up. Although they found it difficult to accept reality due to their severe injuries, they didn’t trigger any more mania after their family members arrived.

Wu Chenghe stayed in the ICU to help, closely monitoring their condition until all their vital signs stabilized. Then he wrote an email to Mu and went to the locker room to change clothes, preparing to return to the dormitory.

“Hey, it’s you!” At the entrance of the locker room, Wu Chenghe was suddenly slapped on the shoulder. Turning around, he found it was the funny guy he had met at the welcome party, one of the Twelve Masters of Tungusic, Hans.

“What are you doing here?” Hans had a deep impression of Wu Chenghe and shook his hand warmly. “I’m Hans. I forgot to tell you last time. What’s your name?”

“I’m Wu Chenghe.” Wu Chenghe guessed he might be of German descent because Hans was a common name in Germany, like John or Mary in English. “I’m here with our Dean for a hospital inspection. His health isn’t good, so he needs someone to run errands.”

“Oh, I see. They all say you’re Dean Mu’s favorite disciple.” Hans was sociable and quite talkative. “My colleagues and I came here today to observe a surgery. Hey, I heard two sentinels with severe mania were brought in last night. How are they now? Were they sent to the Euthanasia Bureau?”

“No, they’ve been brought under control,” Wu Chenghe replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable with Hans’ enthusiastic attitude. He made a few perfunctory remarks and then excused himself.

Hans rubbed his chin, opened his personal terminal, and sent a message. Soon, Mrs. Balon arrived with another teacher. “You said you found something suspicious? Is it about Dean Mu?”

“Well, I’m not certain yet,” Hans lowered his voice and said to Mrs. Balon, “Two sentinels with severe mania were brought in last night. The psychiatrists were preparing to send them to the Euthanasia Bureau, but Dean Mu changed the prescription formula and managed to control them. It seems fishy to me.”

Mrs. Balon pondered for a moment and said, “This hospital has dealt with many cases like this before. When other hospitals couldn’t handle maniac sentinels, they were sent here and usually managed to calm down through various methods. Although they’re outstanding in sentinel medicine, this situation is indeed peculiar. That’s why I have suspicions about the Aston Medical College. Mr. Chen had some doubts about Dean Mu earlier, and now it seems… this matter is too serious. Mu’s status and identity are not as simple as those of other guides. With no concrete evidence, we can’t jump to conclusions.”

“Maybe we should go to the ICU,” Hans raised an eyebrow, “and ask the attending physicians in orthopedics and psychiatry. Maybe they have some surprises.”

“Yes, we must go and see. Since we’re here for exchange, they shouldn’t hide anything,” Mrs. Balon agreed.

The three of them discussed and then arrived at the orthopedic ICU. The two sentinels were already asleep, lying quietly in the sterile ward with their families comforting them. The attending orthopedic doctor had gone to perform another surgery, leaving only the psychiatrist observing.

The Tungusic’s people had been frequenting the hospital lately, so everyone knew them. Mrs. Balon inquired about the patients’ conditions and then shifted the conversation to Mu. “I heard they were personally handled by Dean Mu?”

“Oh, you could say that,” the psychiatrist replied. “I initially used traditional stabilizers, but even triple doses couldn’t calm them down. Later, Dean adjusted the prescription, and when I administered the medication again, their conditions improved significantly.”

“Truly miraculous,” Mrs. Balon exclaimed. “Dean Mu is truly a master healer, with results comparable to guides.”

“Absolutely,” the psychiatrist agreed, praising Mu’s medical skills. “Dean Mu has made outstanding contributions to the improvement of stabilizer formulas. Every formula that comes from him is excellent. He once said that if he could develop a medication comparable to guides, he could die in peace. When that day comes, the Federation should award him the Nobel Prize in Medicine without hesitation.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Balon nodded, smiling. “Dean Mu is a role model in the medical field… Speaking of which, were the conditions of the two patients the same as when they first woke up after the second injection of the mixed stabilizers?”

“Well… not exactly. Maybe the efficacy of the first injection was delayed. When I came over with the mixed stabilizers, they were already somewhat better,” the psychiatrist pointed to the sentinel who was more severely injured. “Especially him, the red haze in his eyes had dissipated somewhat.”

“I see,” Mrs. Balon pondered for a moment. “Could it be because Dean Mu used other treatment methods? Please, forgive me, I’m just curious, because our guide often has to deal with other sentinels who develop mania. If your hospital has any confidential treatment methods, I hope you don’t hesitate to share.”

“No, no,” the psychiatrist shook his head quickly. “We’re a teaching hospital and strictly forbid creating technological barriers. As long as there are good methods, they will be published on the tech websites in a timely manner. You’ve misunderstood, Mrs. Balon. Dean Mu doesn’t have any special treatment methods. His research results have all been published online. And he left after writing the prescription in the morning, leaving his student here to report on the treatment progress.”

“Oh, I might have overthought it. I’m really sorry if I doubted your hospital’s integrity,” Mrs. Balon apologized sincerely. “Please, don’t take offense.”

“Not at all,” the psychiatrist had no grudge against the Tungusic’s group. After all, they only operated within the Tungusic’s territory and posed no competition to the hospital.

“I won’t disturb you any longer. We’re scheduled to observe another surgery,” Mrs. Balon got the information she wanted and left.

As they entered the elevator, Hans couldn’t help but say, “I’m sorry, Principal. It’s my fault for not understanding the situation. I thought Dean Mu was still in the ICU.”

“No, your caution was correct. Please, continue to be vigilant,” Mrs. Balon said expressionlessly. “I just watched the video recordings on the holographic case files. When the two sentinels first woke up, their mania was indeed very severe. I also find it strange that only medication couldn’t calm them down, especially the patient with high-level paralysis… and the psychiatrist actually said his condition was better than the other person’s. It’s too suspicious.”

“Such cases do exist, where some people recover quickly after falling ill,” another teacher interjected.

“It’s better to catch the wrong person than to let them go,” Mrs. Balon said to Hans. “Your suspicions are justified. We’re guide teachers and also guide hunters. We need to broaden our horizons and not just focus on predetermined candidates. Dean Mu is naturally suspicious, but it doesn’t mean there are no other possibilities. He left after writing the prescription, but his student is still in the ICU. The patients were calmed down, but it may not necessarily be Mu’s doing.”

“Are you saying…” Hans’ face gradually showed a surprised expression. “Are you saying it’s Wu Chenghe, the student? But that’s impossible. He’s just a bit skinny; I couldn’t feel any guide aura from him at all.”

“After all, we’re just ordinary people and can’t observe high-dimensional space. Based on observational experience alone, it may not be accurate,” Mrs. Balon said solemnly. “It seems that Aston Medical College is much more complex than we imagined. Perhaps we should use more precise methods to hunt…”

“You mean…”

Mrs. Balon nodded grimly. “The end-of-term meeting is in four weeks. At that time, the school will organize a few guide students to participate as representatives. This is our last chance—only guides can better hunt guides.”

As the elevator reached the floor, Mrs. Balon walked out of the elevator and headed towards the teaching operating room. She whispered to Hans as she walked, “Change the list of students. Ask them to send two hummingbird guides. Also, I remember there’s a ragdoll female guide sent by the Voyager Army’s First Group, named Monica, in the twelfth grade. Wu Chenghe once saved her in the Mayflower hijacking case. Arrange for her to come as well. I want more people to have a chance to get close to Wu Chenghe. The more familiar you are with someone, the more likely you are to discover their flaws.”

 

 

 

 

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