Zora accepted the storage pouch with a faint lift of her brows. She had planned to purchase one after receiving the reward; she had not expected that the palace would present one along with the paynt.
She weighed it in her palm. On the outside, it looked no different from an embroidered coin purse, yet she could feel the spiritual ripple inside—a miniature world folded within cloth. For most people, a Storage pouch was a luxury they might admire but could never hope to possess.
"The one hundred thousand gold coins owed by Aurelius," Rolant continued, "as well as the Royal Family’s hundred thousand, both are inside. Altogether, two hundred thousand gold coins."
Zora bowed slightly. "Thank you, Mister Rolant."
Eric Welsh, standing to the side, could only stare in awe. Two hundred thousand gold coins—enough wealth to change several generations of a family’s fate. Yet it was handed to Zora as casually as one would hand over a bag of herbs.
"Miss Zora," Rolant said again, a note of expectation entering his tone, "His Majesty greatly appreciates your contribution. He has specially instructed to ask whether you would be willing to enter the palace as a doctor. Should you join the Imperial Hospital, I can promise that your work will never be restricted."
The surrounding patients and attendants all paused to listen. The Imperial Hospital was a place most doctors dread of entering but could never approach. Even Eric Welsh’s eyes widened; he knew well that choosing that path guaranteed wealth, status, and influence for life.
Yet before the murmurs could even start, Zora shook her head gently.
"I appreciate the emperor’s regard and your recomndation, Mister," she said, her tone steady and courteous, "but I have no intention of entering the hospital."
Her refusal fell like a stone into still water, rippling through the room.
Rolant, who had been so confident she would accept without hesitation, blinked as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
"You... refuse? Miss Zora, may I ask why?" he pressed, unable to hide his surprise.
"The Imperial hospital is still under the control of the palace, which cos with several rules and restrictions," Zora replied softly. "And I prefer the freedom outside its walls. I opened a dical hall for a reason. That is the path I intend to follow."
Behind her calm tone lay an unspoken truth—her distaste for the royal palace ran far deeper than etiquette could permit her to voice. Whether it was the emperor, Prince Philip, or the politics hidden behind every wall, none of it was sothing she wished to involve herself with.
Rolant frowned slightly. "But with your dical skills, remaining here... is too much of a waste."
"I appreciate your concern," Zora said, her eyes softening. "But I am firm in my decision."
Seeing her resolve, Rolant could only sigh with reluctant acceptance. "Very well. If you ever change your mind, the doors of the Imperial Hospital will always be open to you."
"I will rember your kindness."
After watching him depart, Eric Welsh turned to her with a face full of disbelief.
"Miss Zora... joining the Imperial Hospital is a chance many doctors can’t obtain even in their dreams. How could you give it up so easily?"
She laughed lightly, almost teasingly. "Brother Eric, opening my dical hall is just a side business. It’s a way of supporting myself to earn money."
Eric Welsh blinked again. "Side business? Then what is your main goal?"
"Upgrading my strength and spirit, of course," she answered without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I am, first and foremost, a fighter."
Eric Welsh opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. But no words ca. All the thoughts he wanted to express were tangled beyond repair.
Eventually, he simply stared at her, unable to decide whether he should be shocked, impressed, or simply surrender to the truth: Zora was far beyond the scope of ordinary logic.
Eric Welsh tried his best to understand her reasoning, but the more he thought about it, the more baffled he beca. Zora’s dical skill was at a level that even seasoned physicians dread of reaching, yet she regarded dicine rely as a sideline. If word of that spread, half of the Imperial City would likely spit blood in shock.
But then again, warriors were the foundation of this world. Every resource, every path, every ounce of status ultimately led back to strength. And Eric Welsh, though surprised, could find no fault in her decision. It is just that not many won would want to walk such a path.
He exhaled softly. "If you intend to walk down this road, then most of your ti must be devoted to training. You can’t divide yourself too thinly."
Zora smiled, her expression calm yet full of quiet conviction. "Don’t worry, Brother Eric. I know my limits."
Eric Welsh could only nod. She was not a girl acting on impulse—her plans ran deeper than she let on. There was no point in arguing further.
anwhile, in Prince Kael’s Manor;
"Master," Alder said with awe unhidden in his voice, "this girl’s dical skill is truly extraordinary."
He had suspected her before. He had doubted her age, her identity, her confidence. But after witnessing her cure the Prince’s condition—sothing every other physician declared hopeless—he was forced to accept the truth. She was a miracle worker.
And if she could cure that, then... was it possible she could cure his lord’s long-standing leg condition?
Prince Kael, however, was far calr than the n around him. From the mont she diagnosed his symptoms with a single touch—sothing even the Fengshen Doctor had failed to do—he already knew that Zora was anything but ordinary.
Alder hesitated, then asked carefully, "Master, should we request Lin girl to treat your condition as well?"
If she truly possessed a way to restore the young master’s legs, they would offer anything—wealth, resources, loyalty. Whatever it took.
But Prince Kael only lifted a hand lazily. "No rush."
Alder blinked. "Not... in a hurry?"
The Prince’s lips curved slightly, a faint hint of amusent dancing in his eyes. "I have waited for years. Waiting a bit longer will not change anything."
But that was not the real reason.
His thoughts drifted to Zora—her cold clarity, her sharp tongue, her clever sches hidden beneath an innocent smile.
Philip had hard her, humiliated her, suppressed her for years. Yet she treated him anyway?
No. Not out of kindness.
Her sudden rise, her calculated movents, her timing... it was too coincidental, too perfect. She had cured him only after the entire Imperial City understood how hopeless his condition was.
He tapped a finger lightly against the armrest.
That poison was most likely delivered by her own hand.
She used Philip’s suffering to create her fa, elevate her dical hall, and secure her position. In one move, she avenged herself, profited greatly, and gained a city-wide reputation.
It was a threefold strike.
His smile deepened.
What an interesting woman.
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