The Mischievous Doctor (Finnegan and Nuthana) novel Chapter 330

The banquet had come to an end.

As the group made their way to Crutchon's residence, Alisha seized a private moment to converse with Finnegan. In a hushed tone tinged with curiosity, she inquired, “Was your primary motivation for accepting the invitation to the banquet due to Mr. Quinn?”

Finnegan responded with a mischievous grin, playfully remarking, “Ah, I see you've brought along your sharp wits tonight!”

Finnegan had been acutely aware of Crutchon's preoccupation with his left leg since their encounter the previous evening.

When Alisha relayed Marisol's invitation to him, he didn't hesitate for a moment to accept. His objective was clear: he wanted to present Crutchon with a chance to seek his medical expertise.

Alisha, lowering her voice further, probed deeper, “Is it possible that Mr. Quinn's situation holds more appeal to you than the Horizon Villa, valued at a staggering one billion?”

Finnegan, with a hint of sagacity in his response, posed a rhetorical question, “What good are billions in comparison to cultivating a master who is one of the Ten Illustrious and is a Terra Realm Grandmaster of Absolute Rank?”

This revelation struck Alisha with sudden clarity. “Ah, now I understand!”

The implication was profound. No amount of wealth—tens, even hundreds of billions—could reliably produce a Grandmaster of such caliber in the Terra Realm of Absolute Rank.

By healing Crutchon, Finnegan would essentially have a Terra Realm Grandmaster of Absolute Rank at his beck and call.

This would, in no uncertain terms, significantly bolster Finnegan's influence and power.

Finnegan offered a subtle smile, lapsing into a contemplative silence.

His gaze discreetly swept over Norman, hinting at another underlying motive for his actions: the need to restrain Norman's potential machinations.

Norman, a figure of considerable influence and calculation, was known for his meticulous weighing of pros and cons, as well as a certain ruthlessness in his dealings.

Although he appeared to have temporarily withdrawn from matters involving Jacqueline, his future actions remained unpredictable.

However, should Crutchon, the Dunn family's esteemed patron, align with Finnegan, Norman's likelihood of causing future disturbances would diminish significantly.

The strategic advantage of this alliance was unmistakable.

As they arrived at Crutchon's residence, the scene in the courtyard was one of quiet anticipation. Crutchon was seated, his left leg submerged in water.

At first glance, the leg seemed no different from the right, but closer inspection revealed a slight disparity in length.

The lower part of the leg exhibited an unnatural pallor, a testament to prolonged inactivity and insufficient circulation.

Finnegan, assessing the situation, called out to Celine for assistance. “Could you please fetch a stone slab? It will serve to support Mr. Quinn's leg adequately.”

As Finnegan prepared to commence his treatment, those present respectfully gave him space.

A marble slab, approximately seventy centimeters in height, was promptly brought and positioned beside Crutchon.

“Please rest your leg here,” Finnegan directed.

The older man complied, gingerly placing his left leg on the marble surface.

Finnegan then proceeded to examine the knee area, inquiring, “Is there any sensation in this part?”

Crutchon indicated the point just below his knee, where sensation began. “Above this point, I can feel.”

Finnegan issued a gentle reminder, tinged with seriousness. “It's not too late to reconsider. The pain that follows could be excruciating.”

Yet Crutchon's determination was unwavering, firmly dismissing any suggestion of retreat. “Proceed,” he insisted.

Seeing Crutchon's resolve, Finnegan ceased any further attempts at persuasion.

With a precise grip of his fingers, he applied pressure, resulting in a sharp sound as Crutchon's kneecap was efficiently crushed.

The onslaught of intense pain was immediate, draining the color from Crutchon's face and prompting sweat to bead on his skin.

However, he stoically endured it, not letting out a single grunt of discomfort.

Despite the severity of the pain, Crutchon endured it stoically, not uttering a single sound of agony. He clenched the armrests of his chair, his hands quivering under the strain.

Those witnessing the scene could feel the tension palpably, their own hands clammy with empathetic anxiety.

Is he going to break the right one as well?

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify