Forcing down the heaviness in his heart, Hewitt placed the medicine box he had been carrying on his shoulder on the bedside cabinet.
He spoke, "Sir, I will now proceed with your medication treatment!"
Just as Hewitt was about to open the medicine box, Donovan struggled to open his mouth, his words halting and intermittent.
"Hewitt... no need, there's no need anymore..."
Listening to Donovan's words, Hewitt hurriedly replied.
"Sir, what nonsense are you talking about?"
"With your injuries, it's vital to change the medicine at a fixed time weekly, or else the injuries will worsen!"
Donovan smiled faintly, his voice still weak.
"Hewitt, my body... I know it well myself."
"There's no need for any more treatment..."
"Instead of spending money on a dying man like me, it's better to..."
"It's better to forge an extra set of armor, an additional weapon, for the Ducas Clan, for Mark..."
Hewitt fell silent.
After a moment.
