Sylvara's Rebirth: A New Dawn for Abel novel Chapter 58

**Chapter 58: The Mutated Whip-Spider Mother**

The air was thick with tension as Sylvara observed Aslan, his expression a mixture of confusion and distress. “The plants cultivated by a Level-7 Plant Healer—the very ones you offered me yesterday—contained an astonishingly pure form of mental energy,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. “After consuming them, I felt a temporary reprieve from the pain caused by my genetic breakdown. It was as if my mental faculties had been mended, if only just a little.”

He paused, his brow furrowing deeper as he continued, “Yet, I remain unsure whether the fruits from that Level-7 Plant Healer can genuinely restore mental energy.”

Sylvara couldn’t help but notice the strain in his gaze, and she hesitated before reaching for the lemon. “Aslan,” she said gently, “you mentioned earlier that once classes commence, you’d assist me in signing up for a few auditing courses. Would you be able to register me for those in the Healing Department?”

At her words, Aslan’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, a glimmer of hope igniting within him. He thought she was finally relinquishing the lemon. “Should I also add some courses from the Combat Department? Or perhaps the Strategy Department? You could just sit in occasionally—it’s quite entertaining!” His excitement was palpable, and he began to retract the fruit, a playful grin on his face.

Sylvara, however, was quick to snatch the lemon from his grasp, her expression shifting to one of exasperation. “I lack mental energy, Aslan. If I were to attend the combat or strategy courses, wouldn’t I just be a source of amusement for everyone?”

With a sigh, she declared, “Alright, I think our conversation has reached its end. I’m heading back now.”

“Wait a moment, sweetheart!” Aslan called out, his voice booming with faux authority.

Startled, Sylvara turned, her eyes wide. “What is it now?”

Aslan, still clutching the lemon tree, shook it playfully, the fruits swaying precariously. “You’ve pilfered every vibrant red mascot fruit from the Fifth Military Academy. Surely, you owe me a tribute in the form of some lemon chicken!”

With a smirk, Sylvara slipped the lemon into her pocket and raised her hands in mock innocence. “I’m sorry, senior. All the lemon chicken has been given to my husband.”

Aslan felt a familiar pang of irritation wash over him, an all-too-frequent occurrence. It baffled him how, time and again, he found himself in this position—requesting affection that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. His heart boiled with frustration.

What a dilemma it was to feel such fondness for someone so infuriating; to strike her would be a shame, yet to refrain left him seething. He mentally cursed himself, spitting out words of disdain. “That manure you mentioned—wasn’t it supposed to be buried? So, how do we proceed now?”

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