Chapter 9: The Courtyard

"How did you find me?" After stepping out of the building with the three men and getting into their car, Maxwell turned to them with a question. "We checked the surveillance footage from that day and saw you leaving the Strand Group building, so we went there to look for you." The young man scratched his head sheepishly as he spoke. Maxwell nodded at the explanation but said nothing more. "Um, Mr. Hewetson, I wanted to ask... What exactly happened to my Grandpa?" The car moved steadily down the road. The young man hesitated, biting his lip, but eventually summoned the courage to ask. Maxwell, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them slightly, glanced at the man, and shook his head. "I don't know." At this moment, his abilities had yet to recover. Yesterday, he had only read the old man's face and sensed that trouble was imminent. As for the exact nature of the situation, he couldn't predict it. He wouldn't have settled for such a small reward without that kind of foresight. "I was too presumptuous." Hearing Maxwell's response, the young man looked visibly disappointed. Maxwell had already foreseen his Grandpa's impending crisis, so he had assumed Maxwell might have more answers. But now, it seemed that wasn't the case. A heavy silence filled the car, broken only by the steady hum of the engine. Half an hour later, they arrived at an estate. A mansion of this scale in the city's heart signified that this family was anything but ordinary. After passing multiple security checks, the car finally stopped at the entrance. The young man quickly got out, opened the door for Maxwell, and led him inside. The house was packed with doctors in white coats, men in suits, and elegantly dressed women—all gathered anxiously in the grand hall. "Dr. Lewis, Dr. Clooney, you've examined my father for hours. What's the verdict? How is he?" A middle-aged man, impeccably groomed, implored, his gaze fixed on the doctors. "Well... It seems that the patient's condition is due to insufficient blood flow, which led to his collapse." Dr. Lewis hesitated before giving his answer, bracing himself. "Nonsense! Insufficient blood flow? My Grandpa's diet and health are meticulously monitored every day. How could he suffer from a lack of blood flow? And after all the transfusions you've given him, why is he still unconscious?" The young man who had clashed with Maxwell the other day immediately turned cold at the explanation, glaring at the doctor in outrage. Lewis lowered his head, not daring to argue. He internally sighed—offending the family was not an option. He hadn't wanted to come in the first place, but refusing them would have been just as dangerous. Now that he was here, he realized the case was far more peculiar than expected. He would have rather offended them than taken the risk if he had known earlier. "Emmanuel, mind your tone!" The middle-aged man shot his son a sharp look, reprimanding him. Emmanuel shut his mouth, though his expression remained indifferent, showing he wasn't affected by the scolding. "Dr. Clooney, do you have any other insights?" The middle-aged man turned to another doctor, who awkwardly shook his head and remained silent. Lewis' earlier experience was enough warning—his conclusion would likely be dismissed. Truthfully, he found the condition baffling. The old man's illness was too strange. "Dr. Hayde is here!" At that moment, a voice rang out. A young man with an air of arrogance strode past Maxwell and into the hall. Lewis and Clooney's expressions shifted instantly. They had already felt disrespected when another doctor was called in while they were still working. But now it was clear—this new doctor had been summoned before they finished their examination. If they were so distrusted, why even invite them in the first place? "Mr. Lousvet, I can do nothing for the patient. I'll take my leave." "Same here. There's nothing I can do. I'll be going now." The two doctors addressed the middle-aged man briefly, then packed their things to leave. "At least you have some self-awareness. If you can't treat the patient, the least you can do is get out of the way. Let's hope you haven't made things worse." Milo Hayde, the newly arrived doctor, sneered at them. His words stiffened both doctors, their faces flashing with embarrassment and anger. Without another word, they turned on their heels and left. "Odin, why did you bring this fraud here? Grandpa is critically ill, and you bring in a con artist? What exactly are you trying to do?" Emmanuel smirked at the departing doctors, but his gaze landed on the doorway just as he was about to turn away. His expression stiffened. Then, turning to the young man beside Maxwell, he snapped angrily. "Before Grandpa fell ill, Mr. Hewetson had already warned him. That's why I brought him here—maybe he can save Grandpa." Odin stiffened and shot back at Emmanuel. "Hah! A young guy like him? Do you expect him to cure Grandpa? Do you want him dead faster? And let's not forget—this guy made ominous predictions that day. Maybe Grandpa wouldn't have fallen ill if it weren't for his words. Someone, grab him! We need to investigate whether he had anything to do with this!" Emmanuel let out a cold laugh, his eyes flashing with hostility as he looked at Maxwell. He had disliked him from the start—now that he was here, there was no way he was letting him walk away freely. Several men in black suits rushed forward at his command, closing in on Maxwell. Maxwell's expression darkened. Since he became an Immortal Emperor, no one had dared to treat him this way. Even though his spiritual energy was depleted, the dignity of an Immortal Emperor was not something mere mortals could trample on. A wave of energy began to stir within him. "He's under my protection! You dare lay a hand on him?" Before Maxwell could act, Odin stepped forward and barked at the approaching bodyguards. The men hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. As members of the Lousvet family's security, they weren't sure whose orders to follow. "Enough! He's a guest in our home! Is this how we treat guests? This is disgraceful!" The middle-aged man scolded them. Right now, they should be focused on saving the old man—not fighting among themselves. Waving his hand, he ordered the guards to stand down. The bodyguards sighed in relief and quickly retreated. Maxwell's expression softened slightly, though his cold gaze lingered. This hall would have been drenched in blood if Odin hadn't intervened. "Dr. Hayde, please check on my father's condition." Emmanuel's frustration spiked as Odin disrupted his plans. His gaze darkened with resentment as he shot Odin a sharp look. Then, his eyes flicked to Maxwell, a glint of cold intent flashing within them. No one he set his sights on ever escaped his wrath.