[Western Fantasy] The black-skinned elf also wants to hug the rich woman’s lap today

In fact, the black-skinned elf was so irritated that his brain was about to explode.

A vicious assassination occurred in the city lord's palace under the eyes of many guards. This was simply unheard of in Gabu City. What's more, the person who was assassinated was a priest of the Holy See of Light. The news has been quickly blocked in a small area on this floor. The dance party downstairs was still going on, and the violin played another song, as if nothing really happened. But the city lord's palace is well-informed, and the witch who has such a big thing has not shown up yet, so we have to doubt her intentions.

But putting aside the mess between the Holy See and the witches, Sylvia, as a member of the Glass Viper team, the leader must seek justice for her.

Aiwen decisively rejected the private doctor sent by the city lord's palace. The cause of the assassination has not been investigated yet. He is unwilling to let the city lord's palace intervene in the matter privately. He is willing to let Flora, who has a good personal relationship with Sylvia, treat the fainted priest. However, this proposal was strongly opposed by the city government on the grounds that they did not want the situation to extend to the church.

The two sides were in a stalemate for a while.

The smart-talking Alvin and Arnold have already gone to negotiate, leaving O'Brien alone as a "useless" thug to take care of the unconscious patient.

Thank God, the City Lord's Mansion at least provided them with a small, quiet room to keep the unconscious injured away from the heat of the quarrel next door. O'Brien sat stiffly on the only sofa in the room, looking up at the empty ceiling, trying his best to ignore the strange feeling on his legs, enduring the goosebumps on his arms, and fantasizing about himself They are those evil dragons guarding treasures in fairy tales.

Damn God of Light, he just thought about how much this rich woman had spent on him recently, so he wanted to make this unfortunate pastor lady feel better even in her sleep, and endured the waves of fear in his heart. Mercifully, she was given the extra lap pillow service.

Ah, he is such a soft-hearted and kind elf.

But now he's faced with one of the biggest problems of his career as a caregiver -

I'm afraid this pastor may have fallen stupid.

"Are you talking in your sleep?" O'Brien couldn't help but test.

"No." The person with his eyes closed spoke like he was talking in his sleep, but his words were clear.

"You are definitely talking in your sleep!" The elf really couldn't figure out what nonsense the patient who finally woke up was talking about. He carefully avoided the scratches on the pastor's fingers and poked the back of her hand that was holding his collar. "It's better if you let go of your hand when you're hungry. It's not good for us to hold each other like this."

The pastor, who was almost half lying in his arms, still didn't open his eyes, didn't answer his words, and didn't let go. He just subconsciously rubbed his cheek against his leg. O'Brien believed that she must subconsciously regard him as A small pillow.

"How about I call a doctor?" He was a little restless, and even said, almost wanting to run away. He couldn't handle a conscious priest, and he was naturally at a disadvantage in front of this female patient. "Or you would rather a cook"

The patient lying confidently on him still didn't respond, as if he had fallen asleep again. After a while, he slowly and quietly said, "Do you know Nora Yamadon? She was an anthropologist who was active at the end of the Forest Era. She proposed A theory about dreams—dreams are the expression process of the subconscious mind.”

what

But the pastor continued to output, "Or the famous 'Dream Stalker' of Korn Mora, whose representative work is the book "Uncanny Awareness", "Only immature or fleeting concepts can enter dreams."

"The one who is better known is probably Vlad. He has done a lot of research on dreams and psychology."

What kind of teacher Sylvia’s small class is this?

The illiterate elf is at a loss. Should this knowledge be common sense?

"Does it matter?"

"Don't you know?" The lying girl raised her lips. O'Brien vaguely felt that the priest was taunting him with personal attacks, but the next second——

"It's okay if you don't know." Sylvia coughed slightly with half-closed eyes. She sounded a little weak, but she still had a smile that seemed like a successful prank. "I made up all the above temporarily."

So this can be considered a bad joke! This is a heart-breaking joke from hell.

O'Brien raised his eyelids and glanced at her quickly, trying to control his emotions. He felt an indescribable annoyance, and his chest was rising and falling, mixed with unclear emotions. baffling. It's really baffling. He didn't want to stare at her anymore and turned his face away abruptly, but in his heart he didn't want to admit that he was worried about this fragile young lady, so he could only look at the gauze that he had temporarily wrapped around her wrist.

Thin gauze, delicate gauze, light yellow lace texture, no matter how beautiful and expensive it is, it is not professional or reliable. It is just a piece of skirt temporarily torn off for emergency treatment. Even the medicine is only carried by the mercenaries. The cheap hemostatic medicine, and the only thing that makes people's eyes shine is the particularly beautiful bandaged bow, all of which were made by him.

He knew, of course he knew, either to comfort them or not to make them worry, the priest in front of him was calmly carrying out this assassination that could lead to death, as if he had just missed death. Not her. Reasonable to a fault, considerate to a fault, and gentle to a fault.

But he has a secret hatred for this.

He is not a sentimental person. As a mercenary who licks blood from the edge of a knife, he never has extra time to analyze his own head.

So maybe even he himself didn't realize that this was an angry accusation.

Why can't you rely on me a little bit?

Even if you let me worry or comfort you, won’t you have a chance?

I'm your companion, right?

He didn't dare to look at her, even though he knew she couldn't see, but he was afraid to look at her, as if the look itself was another kind of touch.

The silent touch transcends the boundaries of danger, like the hazy night fog that anesthetizes the vigilance of a beast. Whether this is good or bad, no one can say clearly.

Finally, he made up his mind and stared directly at Sylvia. This took up almost all his energy. He wanted to pretend to be mean and say bad things. His sharp edge was exposed. He knew that he was breaking a jar, but he was unable to change it. But when he opened his mouth, he was surprised to find that his reproachful tone was so dry and weak, "Thankfully you are still in the mood to make up stories now. Crispy pastor, you don't know that I saw you thrown to the ground like a piece of paper..."

"Spirit - spirit -"

Sylvia's bandaged hand was still on his collar, as if it was meant to be there. She suddenly tightened her grip on his shirt like a mischief, making his throat tighten unexpectedly.

"Don't be so nervous, Mother O'Brien." Sylvia was never harsh, she was always soft and flattering, with no edge at all, just the right amount of likable, harmless enough to be scary, and she quietly changed the subject. , "Be quiet and stay with me for a while. After all, I..."

She tilted her head, gave him a smile, and coughed again. Maybe she wanted to control it within a just right range, but obviously she couldn't do it now, so she started coughing violently, like a white fish writhing due to lack of water.

The elf was awakened by the cough, and those unspeakable emotions disappeared in time. He wanted to hold the pastor's shoulders and lay her flat on the sofa so that she would feel better. But the priest still held on to his clothes tightly, as if he was holding onto some rare treasure.

He had to squeeze in with her on this not-so-spacious sofa.

The priest's face was pale as a result of excessive blood loss, but his cheeks were stained with red again. She breathed hard, and he could feel the ups and downs of her body, and he could hear the slightest gasp in her nasal cavity. Even though she escaped the pursuit of death, she was still lingering on.

"Stay with me. After all, I feel very uncomfortable right now." Her voice was mostly absorbed by the pile of clothes, giving him the illusion that the cold night also had false warmth.

The elf thought that maybe she was still smiling slightly, like she was used to.

But he couldn't see it.

Because he held her in his arms. A quiet embrace, as quiet as the dark night he loves. The cold embrace is just the closeness of the bodies, like two snowflakes that fit together.

So his world was completely wrapped in the dark night named Sylvia.