Elara knew she did not have the luxury of time. In at most another four or five months, Physician Morus would force a definitive confrontation. She had to possess a certain degree of self-preservation capability before that critical juncture.
Therefore, she ultimately resolved to cultivate only a few relatively simple, quickly mastered techniques from the "Blink Strike Sword Skill"—those that could be immediately applicable—setting all others aside for the time being. It would not be too late to undertake a systematic study after she had truly managed to escape the tiger's maw this time.
This approach significantly condensed the time required for cultivation, enabling her to master several readily learned, life-saving secret techniques as swiftly as possible.
In truth, Elara was also acutely aware that even if she mastered every single one of these secret techniques, she might still be no match for Physician Morus.
If Physician Morus had not been untruthful during their last encounter, then given his prominent former status as a regional hegemon and his deeply seasoned experience, who could say how many more formidable and malevolent methods he had kept concealed? The skills he had displayed then were likely but a meager fraction of his true strength.
Even so, the mere recollection of those ghostly, almost spectral movements sent shivers down Elara's spine, instilling in her an extreme wariness of Physician Morus.
She understood with stark clarity that what she could learn in such a brief period was inherently limited, and the threat she could pose to Physician Morus was minimal, almost negligible. However, Elara would never commit the folly of surrendering without a struggle or allowing herself to be manipulated like a pawn.
Elara knew that if she were to clash with him again, her sole conceivable chance of victory lay in his underestimation of her. Only if he grew careless, became lax in his assessment of her, and she then struck with utter unexpectedness, might she carve out a sliver of hope for survival.
In the ensuing days, Elara firmly committed the entire contents of the "Blink Strike Swordplay" manuals to memory. From them, she selected several secret techniques pertinent to her current needs and began her research, attempting to devise a cultivation path that could yield rapid results.
After several days and nights of intense concentration, she succeeded in compiling a preliminary set of cultivation methods from those disparate, complex volumes. She felt a distinct sense of pride in her learning efficiency and analytical prowess for completing such a cumbersome task in so short a span.
Over the subsequent half-month, Elara meticulously addressed various miscellaneous matters, ensuring she was thoroughly prepared, striving to leave behind as few loose ends as possible.
First, she returned the original copies of the secret manuals to Rory Stormblade, untouched, on an agreed-upon day. Seizing the opportunity, she recounted in detail her encounter with the Shadow Wolf spies. Naturally, she also divulged her discovery of the main kitchen steward's true identity.
Upon hearing her account, Rory was, as expected, both astonished and overjoyed. He threw an arm around Elara's shoulders, exclaiming, "Elara, my truest friend!" He was deeply moved that Elara had freely presented him with such a significant opportunity for merit.
He was unaware, however, that Elara was currently scrambling to secure her own survival; how could she possess the slightest inclination to personally apprehend any spies? To accomplish her goal without personal exertion, while simultaneously doing someone a convenient favor – what was not to like?
Having settled matters with Rory, Elara then made a series of personal visits to several highly skilled blacksmiths within the outpost.
From them, she separately commissioned a number of sheathed daggers, each of different styles, requesting that they covertly incorporate some minor modifications. In addition, there were several peculiar metal components whose specific purpose she could not quite articulate, and a few small, exquisitely crafted brass bells, all of which she requested be forged with utmost haste. For these, Elara expended a considerable sum of silver coins, making her feel a familiar twinge of expense.
Several days later, Elara retrieved her custom-made items from the blacksmiths' shops. Gazing upon the gleaming daggers and the finely wrought small brass bells, she was profoundly satisfied, repeatedly lauding the blacksmiths' craftsmanship, certain that her silver coins had not been squandered.
That night, Elara vanished from her small hut without a trace, leaving only a note on her bedside table. It read: "Physician Morus, there is no need for undue alarm or anger. I am not attempting to flee or to hide. I simply feel that residing in the same valley as you creates an atmosphere too oppressive for the cultivation of the 'Breath of Eternity.' Therefore, your disciple has decided to find another secluded place within these mountains for dedicated, closed-door cultivation. You may rest assured; on this very day, four months hence, I shall return punctually to meet with you."
—Respectfully, Elara
Leaning back in his comfortable, high-backed armchair, Physician Morus held Elara's note in his left hand, scrutinizing it, his face a mask of thunder. On the table beside him lay another slip of paper, detailing the order Elara had recently placed with the blacksmiths.
At that moment, apart from the rhythmic "tap-tap" of Physician Morus's right fingers gently drumming on the tabletop, an unnerving silence filled the room.
Suddenly, he let out a cold, sharp snort. The paper in his hand crumbled to ash, drifting to the floor like dark snow.
He rose with rising agitation, pacing back and forth within the confines of the room several times, his brows deeply furrowed, evidently mulling over some complex calculus. After a few turns, he halted and began to mutter, his voice a low growl, "Little wretch… although I cannot fathom what schemes you're concocting, no matter what games you intend to play, you'll not escape my grasp! You, little wretch, are mine!"
Having spoken, Physician Morus spun on his heel and strode to the window. A low, protracted whistle issued from his lips. Instantly, a small, nondescript bird with pale yellow plumage darted in nimbly from outside. After circling the room a few times, it landed lightly upon his shoulder.
As soon as the small bird found its footing, it affectionately nuzzled its tiny beak against his cheek repeatedly, emitting clear, melodious "coo-coo" sounds.
"There, there, I know you're famished. Here, this is your favorite 'Canary Seed Biscuit'."
Only upon seeing this small bird did a rare flicker of a smile touch Physician Morus's grim features, a hint of doting affection softening his eyes. He retrieved a small piece of specially prepared, golden-yellow bird feed from his pocket and carefully placed it in the small bird's beak.
"Go now, my little messenger," Physician Morus instructed the bird, his tone akin to one addressing a human subordinate. "Just as before, follow that person closely. The instant she ventures beyond the confines of these mountains, fly back and inform me without delay."
Once the small bird had consumed the morsel, it chirped with excitement, "coo-coo," and flitted about the room with brisk energy. After processing his words, it circled once more, then shot from the window like a feathered bolt, vanishing into the vast expanse of the sky in a heartbeat.
"Hmph! Under the surveillance of a 'Cloudwing Scout,' rumored to fly swifter than an arrow loosed from a mighty bow, let us see what tricks you can truly play!" he hissed, his voice dripping with sinister amusement.
"Four months, is it? I shall eagerly await that day! It appears my plan… is on the very cusp of fruition! Now, whoever dares to stand in my path, to obstruct the consummation of my design, I shall obliterate them! If gods stand in my way, I shall slay gods; if demons bar my path, I shall slaughter demons!"
"Haha! Haha!" Physician Morus suddenly erupted into a peal of wild, exultant laughter, his eyes burning with a crazed, fervent light.