Chapter 413
In a quiet nook, Oliver’s small figure was curled up, visibly in agony. He couldn’t suppress the dry heaves, his bony hands pressed against his lips. When he released his hands, they were stained with blood.
Contrary to his usual behaviour of reacting dramatically to minor injuries, he appeared composed as he observed his bloodied hands. He methodically rubbed them against his clothes repeatedly, gradually turning his grey shirt a deep shade of crimson.
Soon thereafter, his discomfort appeared to intensify. His deeply creased forehead remained tense, and with a bewildered look, he started to repeatedly strike his head against the wall. Despite the wall’s solid concrete structure, each impact resonated with a loud “thud”.
It seemed as though he was impervious to the pain, or perhaps, it provided some form of relief.
“O… Oliver?” King’s voice quivered with disbelief, hesitating where he stood, reluctant to approach.
Upon hearing his name called, Oliver halted abruptly.
Gradually, he lifted his hand, streaked with blood, and ran it through his hair in a slow, deliberate motion. With meticulous care, he used the cleaner edge of his clothes to wipe his face, maintaining his usual attention to appearance.
Once satisfied with his appearance, he turned his head gradually as usual, offering a foolish smile at the two of them. Yet, his face, now pallid and streaked with blood, bore an unsettling silence in his eyes.
King shivered as he beheld the scene, a cold sensation creeping over his entire body. Just moments earlier, this person had been full of life but now lay in utter silence.
He stood frozen, his legs unsteady, afraid to move even an inch closer.
Oliver appeared to notice that they hadn’t come over, his brow furrowing as if he intended to rise and reprimand them for their ingratitude. But as he attempted to stand, he abruptly collapsed with a resounding thud.
In a swift reaction, Leon and King rushed to his side, their voices fraught with concern. “Oliver!”
Leaning on by Leon and King for support, Oliver attempted his customary humour. However, as he parted his lips, a metallic taste flooded his senses, rendering him too frightened to utter a word.
Oh, that’s right-I couldn’t speak anymore!
Leon was the first to grasp the situation, gazing at Oliver with concern. He asked the question directly, “Oliver, did you take poison? What kind of poison?”
Upon hearing this, King, sensing trouble, almost
exclaimed, “Are you out of your mind? Why would you take poison randomly?”
The poison in the prison’s laboratory, left little doubt as to what kind of poison it was.
Oliver shook his head, a smile on his face as he wiped away the continuously flowing blood, gesturing with his hand as though trying to appear nonchalant.
Leon was not easily fooled. He reached out directly, searching Oliver thoroughly, eventually extracting a small glass vial from the innermost pocket of his trousers, containing white pills.
Oliver realised he had indeed located it, a momentary pallor crossing his face as he reached out to snatch it back. Yet, he could barely stand firm, let alone retrieve something from another. Leon simply adjusted his hand slightly, keeping it just beyond reach.
Upon seeing the label on the side of the small bottle in the laboratory, Leon’s typically calm and composed demeanour changed instantly.
Beside them, King steadied Oliver, his concern evident as he urgently questioned Leon, “What kind of poison is that?”
Leon tightened his lips, his expression darkening as he cast a scrutinizing glance at Oliver. Under his gaze, Oliver instinctively recoiled, shrinking back.
King was visibly agitated. “Please, just tell us what kind of poison it is. If it’s a common one, our Ghost Sect doctors can manage it on their own. Plus, most poisons in the lab have antidotes.”
His voice quickened, unsure if he was reassuring himself, but speaking with an uncommon certainty.
The poisons made in the Ghost Sect’s laboratory were typically designed to induce physical discomfort in stubborn criminals. Once they reached their threshold and confessed, they would promptly receive the antidote.
If Oliver had ingested those, it wouldn’t pose a significant issue.
Even if it was something more unique without an existing antidote, the Ghost Sect’s researchers would probably find a solution. They weren’t conventional doctors but skilled researchers. And if they couldn’t resolve it, the high priest could always find the solution.
There shouldn’t be any problem, right?
King could only find solace in this thought.
But why did Leon appear so troubled?
After a prolonged silence, Leon spoke slowly, his eyes bloodshot and his voice trembling. “It was Silent Poison. This poison… has no antidote.”
Upon hearing this, King’s complexion immediately drained of colour. “Silent Poison …
Silent Poison was the name bestowed by Mr. Yarbrough, and it was a poison he had formulated, named after Halturia’s ‘Records of the Grand Historian: Empress Scarlett’s Annals’, a poison-induced muteness.
It’s a poison that, when ingested, causes a person to lose their voice and become mute.
Nevertheless, this poison had been fortified by the grand preceptor. Anyone who consumed this poison would severely harm their vocal cords and throat, rarely regaining the ability to speak. The poison was so strong that even he could not devise a cure for it.
King stared at the glass vial in Leon’s grasp with anguish, his fingers clenched tightly around Oliver’s arm, veins throbbing. “Why did you take this poison? Do you comprehend its formidable potency? Are you attempting self-harm? Merely due to a few remarks I uttered? Are you so distraught that you resort to physical violence? What kind of poison did you consume?”
He held on firmly, the veins on his wrist distinctly noticeable, yet Oliver remained unaffected by any discomfort.
In contrast to his throat, this was insignificant.
He lifted his head, gazing at King, eager to convey something, yet his quivering lips could only falter, incapable of even forming a simple ‘ah’. Eventually, he resigned himself, extending his hand to begin signing.
‘I’ll be fine, I won’t die.’
‘My manager always mentioned my excessive chatter and how I’ve offended many in the entertainment industry. Now that I’m voiceless, he must be relieved!’
‘I can communicate through sign language and writing, so I won’t feel suffocated. Moreover, I don’t have to fret about getting in trouble for swearing during gameplay or being caught up in controversial subjects.’
‘Don’t be sad. It’s actually a positive change.’
Oliver’s proficiency in sign language is not very precise. He picked it up briefly from a sign language instructor before shooting a role, but his playful nature limited his learning. It’s already remarkable that he can now write these words.
He never imagined that someday he would also be using sign language.