Sir Kaelen stared at the figure behind the iron bars with a furrowed brow. Alistair stood up slowly; prison dust stained his clothes, yet his chin was held high. His gaze did not reflect that of a wretched convict begging for mercy, but rather an expert waiting for his assistant.
"Take me to the palace," Alistair said calmly. "But before that, let me wash my hands. A doctor does not work with prison germs under his fingernails."
"Germs?" Sir Kaelen frowned at the unfamiliar term, but he signaled Silas to open the cell door. "You have courage, Julian Vance. Or perhaps you've truly lost your mind."
As Alistair stepped out, Baron Cedric stood in the distance, his face nearly blue from suppressed rage. Alistair walked right past him, offering only a fleeting glance that made the Baron flinch.
However, as his feet moved through the dark corridors of Ironspire, a sharp throb struck Alistair's temples. His vision blurred. The sound of Sir Kaelen's footsteps faded, replaced by the sound of falling rain and a laughter he knew all too well.
[Flashback On: Three Months Ago]
"You're too meticulous, Julian. No one is going to check these numbers," Cedric laughed while pouring wine into his silver goblet.
Young Julian Vance, with cracked spectacles and a ledger in hand, shook his head firmly. "But Lord Baron, the budget for Quinine and Antiseptics in the border regions has been slashed drastically. The people there are dying of swamp fever. If these medicines aren't sent on time—"
"Then they will die. Such is the law of nature," Cedric interrupted, his voice turning cold. "That money has been reallocated for the construction of a new wing at my manor. You are my assistant, Julian. Your job is to make the report look plausible, not to be a moral hero."
"I cannot do it," Julian whispered, his voice trembling yet steadfast. "This is indirect mass murder. I will report this to the Royal Council if you do not return the funds."
Cedric went silent. He set down his glass and smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes. "Is that so? You are very loyal to your principles, Julian. A true pity."
Two days later, Lady Isabelle—Cedric's fiancée, who was beloved by the people—collapsed in the ballroom. Cedric screamed for Julian, ordering him to perform first aid with his favorite scalpel.
"Quickly, Julian! She's choking on something! Perform that tracheotomy you're so proud of!" Cedric cried out in front of dozens of eyewitnesses.
Julian, panicked and desperate to save Isabelle, immediately made the incision. However, the moment his blade touched her skin, the woman had already stopped breathing. Blood splattered across Julian's face. It was then that Cedric shrieked.
"Murderer! Look! He's slit my fiancée's throat!"
Guards swarmed in. The bloody scalpel was still in Julian's hand. He looked toward Cedric, searching for a defense, but all he found was a gaze full of triumph.
"You wanted to report me to the Council, Julian?" Cedric whispered as the guards dragged Julian away. "Now, let's see if the Council will listen to the words of a noblewoman's killer."
[FLASHBACK OFF]
"Julian! Wake up!"
A rough jolt to his shoulder snapped Alistair back to reality. He gasped, his breath hitching. He had just felt the original Julian's despair—the agony of being betrayed by the man he trusted as a mentor.
Sir Kaelen eyed him suspiciously. "You were spacing out. We've reached the outer gate."
Alistair wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The memory felt so real. He could feel the remnants of Julian's fury lingering in his brain cells. Julian hadn't just been framed; he was made a scapegoat to cover up corruption that had cost thousands of lives.
"I'm fine," Alistair said, his voice now sounding deeper, laden with the residual anger he borrowed from Julian.
He stared at his hand wrapped in filthy cloth. This hand was once used by Julian to save people, but Cedric had twisted it into a murder weapon.
Do you hear that, Julian? Alistair whispered internally, speaking to the fragments of the soul that might still linger in this body. He didn't just steal your future; he destroyed your dignity.
Silas approached, handing Alistair a bottle of water before he boarded the prisoner transport carriage that would take him to the palace. "Be careful. The Palace is more dangerous than this prison. There, they don't kill you with whips, but with words and poison."
Alistair drank the water, then looked at Silas. "Thank you, Silas. Keep your neck clean."
The carriage began to move. Alistair gazed back at the receding Ironspire Tower. The image of Julian's weeping face from the memory still haunted him.
As a surgeon, Alistair Thorne always worked with anatomical truth. He loathed irregularity, he loathed infection, and above all, he loathed rot—whether it was inside bodily tissue or within human character.
"Cedric Halloway," Alistair muttered, his eyes glinting sharply in the darkness of the carriage. "You thought you buried the truth along with Julian."
He clenched his newly recovered hand. The pain was still there, but it served as a perfect reminder.
"I will cure that Princess," he said with a lethally cold tone. "And after that, I will dissect every single one of your lies in front of the entire kingdom."
Alistair closed his eyes, allowing Julian Vance's memories to merge fully with Dr. Alistair Thorne's medical expertise. "Rest easy, Julian. I won't let your death be in vain. I promise... I will take back your honor, even if I have to dissect the heart of this very kingdom to find it."