Paul and Ron are sharply contrasted in personality. Ron likes to drink and play cards; today, as soon as he finished his work in the basement, he slipped out of work and is probably hanging out at some tavern right now, while Paul stayed behind to wipe down the car.

　　"Let's go back." Dennis glanced at Karen and repeated, "Let's go home."

　　As usual, Paul drove, with Karen and Dennis sitting in the back. Since there were no seats, the two of them sat face-to-face on cushions.

　　"Do we need to notify Mr. Hoffen's family, Grandpa?"

　　"No need. His children cut ties with him long ago and don't live in 罗佳 City. In a few days, remember to come by and check on his situation again."

　　"Okay, Grandpa."

　　After this brief exchange,

　　Karen saw Dennis reach out and roll up his sleeve.

　　What shocked Karen was that a third of Grandpa's left hand was "charred black," as if it had been rolled over burning coals.

　　"Pliers," Dennis said.

　　"Hm?" Karen was momentarily stunned, then quickly came to his senses, stepped forward, and opened the black box next to Grandpa. Inside was a set of small surgical instruments, as well as some items clearly not meant for normal use—

　　For example, several bottles of strangely colored liquids, crystal beads, oddly shaped iron plaques, a whip made of some unknown material... Most eye-catching of all was a sword hilt with a hollow center.

　　On either side of the hilt were two exquisite carvings: a twisted skull on the left, and a kind-looking saintess on the right.

　　Although the hilt had no blade, Karen was still careful to avoid touching it when taking things out, as if an invisible blade might really slice off his fingers.

　　Karen handed the pliers to Grandpa.

　　Grandpa took the pliers in his right hand, clamped a corner of his charred skin, and slowly tore it off.

　　Even though the car was moving, Karen could still clearly hear the crisp sound, like paper being torn.

　　The golden retriever that had come back with them stared with wide dog eyes, curled up in the corner, trembling.

　　Grandpa, as if no one else was present, used the pliers to tear off two pieces of charred skin and said,

　　"Tweezers."

　　"Oh, okay." Karen handed over the tweezers.

　　But Grandpa didn't take them. Instead, he placed his hand in front of Karen, and at the same time, handed the pliers over with his right hand.

　　In "Karen's" memory, there had never been a scene like this before.

　　However, after pursing his lips, Karen still took the pliers in his right hand and the tweezers in his left, first using the tweezers to pull open a gap in the charred skin, then using the pliers to pull the whole piece off.

　　Beneath the charred skin was tender, red flesh, faintly oozing blood.

　　From start to finish,

　　Dennis never cried out in pain,

　　His expression didn't even change.

　　Once all the charred skin had been cleaned off, Dennis's left forearm looked as if it had just been boiled in hot water.

　　"All done," Karen said.

　　"Mm."

　　Dennis reached for a bottle of purple liquid, flicked the stopper off with his fingertip, and poured all the liquid onto his left forearm.

　　"Hiss..."

　　That sharp intake of breath came from Karen.

　　Because he saw white smoke begin to rise from Dennis's left forearm, accompanied by the crackling sound of hot oil hitting a pan.

　　After a long while,

　　Dennis let out a long breath and lowered his sleeve.

　　Karen asked with concern, "Don't you need to bandage it?"

　　Dennis shook his head.

　　Karen said nothing more and sat quietly.

　　At this moment, the car stopped—they were home.

　　Karen led Mr. Hoffen's golden retriever out of the car, while Paul parked the car by the roadside near the gate.

　　"Mr. Dennis, Young Master Karen, I'll head back now. Tomorrow I'll come early to set up the mourning hall."

　　"Alright," Dennis nodded.

　　Having received a raise, Paul happily ran off toward his own home.

　　Karen remained at the gate, not in a hurry to go in, because Dennis hadn't gone in yet.

　　Two people, one dog,

　　stood at the gate like that.

　　On the third-floor windowsill of the villa, Peter stood up, her cat eyes staring intently at them.

　　For some reason,

　　it was as if the background music of a stage play had suddenly changed style,

　　so abrupt,

　　yet so clear;

　　Karen felt his lips begin to tremble, and his breathing grew rapid.

　　The golden retriever being led by Karen looked up at him in confusion, because it noticed its leash was shaking... the reason being, the person holding it—his hand was shaking.

　　Humans have a sixth sense,

　　It could be the wind telling you, or the sunlight, or even the flowers and grass inside the fence;

　　Karen didn't know if a person's sixth sense would become stronger after "dying" once and coming back to life. In fact, he had no mind to think about such things right now.

　　He felt as if he were an egg just taken from a chicken coop, being tossed back and forth between the hands of a mischievous child;

　　Run?

　　Karen tried his best to turn his head to the side, where the road was, a place where he could break into a run all the way to the end...