Yellow Shirt Fatty

Dear tired Reader, it is an honor that you have chosen this book amidst the heavy, gloomy aisles of the Library.
It is with some regret, however, that I must inform you this book is ill.
Your fingers should be able to feel the raised Proliferation of tissues on the surface of the Skin of the book, 
The words written in days of old are like Parasites taking root in the pages, longing for someone to observe their writhing,
To sense, to decipher, and to touch the very essence of this sick story.
If you insist on borrowing this book, please be sure to regularly check your own physical condition.
Keep in mind.

The Gentleman at the End

'Greed' Marquis Greed held a blood-colored cross sword over three meters long in one hand while brushing aside his golden hair with the other, looking at the small medical team not far ahead.


"What's this? Trying to save someone on the brink of death?


I checked that kid's condition myself, even if you throw him into a highly pure blood pool, it would still require at least ten priests continuously performing blood exchanges for at least seven days for him to possibly survive, let alone fully recover.


And you dare to save someone right before my eyes, do you hold me in such contempt?


Though I might not dare to kill a Venerable Tumor Knight, I can still kill you two."


Greed certainly wouldn't foolishly stand by and watch; he started dragging his long sword towards the surgical team,


walking normally for the first half of the distance, then suddenly accelerating to catch the other side off guard.


Chapter 605 Surgery