Empty words wouldn’t give them hope. Lance gestured to Grendel beside him and said, "This is the doctor I’ve brought here. She has studied this field extensively and will undoubtedly be able to treat the patients as quickly as possible."
"Doctor, please save my child."
"Doctor!"
"..."
The mont Lance spoke, their attention swiftly shifted to Grendel. The family mbers surged forward, all pleading for help.
This scene put enormous pressure on Grendel, who didn’t know what to say in the face of these helpless relatives.
Lance observed without taking much action. He intended to use the patients’ relatives to put her under intense pressure, essentially a moral blackmail, and in a way, it was also a stress test.
Being a witch was a perilous identity, especially one from the Barbarian Tribes. Ordinary people considered such individuals inherently evil; discovery in a regular town ant being reported to the Church.
If Lance chose to offer her Sanctuary, he would need to help her build so renown, establish a connection with the populace, and change the common perception of her kind as ’representatives of evil.’
At the sa ti, Lance also needed to gauge her personality in these circumstances. If she truly felt nothing, or even showed disdain or annoyance at the scene, then he would have to consider whether such a person was suitable to stay.
Of course, he couldn’t apply too much pressure, or it would backfire. He only stepped forward to ostensibly shield her when he judged the mont right.
"There’s a risk of infection here. To provide a good environnt for the patients, please leave for now. The doctor will do her utmost to treat them, and I will give her my full support."
Only at Lance’s urging did the restless crowd calm down. They were willing to trust their Lord, as he had always delivered on his promises.
Grendel, finally free from the crowd, breathed a sigh of relief. The scene of desperate pleas and sorrow reminded her of so unpleasant mories...
"Please, let’s check on the patients." Lance was about to lead her into the camp when he turned his head, surprised to see Paracelsus standing at the entrance.
The commotion outside the camp had attracted Paracelsus’s attention. Just as she stepped out, she saw Lance standing protectively in front of that oddly dressed woman, dispersing the patients’ relatives.
"This is Paracelsus, and this is Grendel, the... Pharmacist I’ve just brought in to deal with the plague," Lance introduced them briefly. He found it awkward to reveal her identity as a witch, so he quickly corrected himself.
"This is an infirmary, not your playground," Paracelsus said coldly, her gaze fixed on Grendel.
For the past few days, she had been single-handedly caring for nurous patients while also conducting research. The sheer volu of work had already made her irritable, and now her frustration boiled over.
She had overheard him. What was that about a ’doctor he brought in’? Her? Dressed so bizarrely, and wearing that strange mask... she looks just like one of those Barbarian Tribes witches. It reminded her of patients who, instead of seeking doctors, turned to such charlatans for shamanistic rituals, ultimately losing both their money and their lives. She’d seen many similar cases at the dical academy. But she never expected Lance to resort to this sort of thing. He clearly doesn’t trust my abilities!
Even through her Beak Mask, Lance could sense Paracelsus’s inexplicable resentnt. If he knew what she was thinking, he’d probably have a sarcastic remark ready.
Lance mused, Uh... doesn’t it occur to you that ordinary people might find your getup eccentric too?
Her reaction was understandable, though. As soone who revered ’science,’ she naturally looked down on those who used herbs and strange witchcraft.
If this were an ordinary world, Lance would share her views. But unfortunately, this was a world where Supernatural Power existed, and these plague viruses themselves were creations of witchcraft.
"Let’s be scientific about this. The facts will speak for themselves," Lance said with a smile, attempting to placate her. He then gestured for Grendel to enter.
Grendel didn’t understand why this woman harbored such strong hostility towards her, but it was no concern of hers. She just needed to heal the patients, get what she ca for, and leave.
Paracelsus hesitated for a mont but followed them inside. Let’s see what this charlatan is really capable of, she thought.
Even before entering, they could hear the soldiers coughing. Inside, the true horror of the plague was apparent. The soldiers lay on their sickbeds, groaning in agony, though they didn’t have pustules or similar sores on their bodies.
Their exposed skin had turned sallow and their muscles had atrophied. Breathing itself was a struggle, as if each inhalation drew in knives instead of air. They couldn’t eat and frequently coughed up bloody phlegm.
In just two days, the plague had tornted them until they resembled living corpses. Lance couldn’t help but frown at the sight.
"Most patients were infected via respiration. They’re starting to exhibit the sa symptoms as the earlier test subjects: fibrosis is setting in throughout their respiratory systems, causing severe breathing difficulty..."
Paracelsus, noticing Lance’s reaction, began to describe the developnts of the past two days, then added coldly, "More than one has wanted to commit suicide to end this tornt."
Her words struck Lance deeply. Physical wounds can heal, but how does one nd a shattered spirit? Even if they’re cured, how many will be able to take up arms and fight for again?
"It’s Withering Disease." Grendel’s voice pulled Lance from his thoughts. While he and Paracelsus had been talking, Grendel had already begun her work, quickly diagnosing the specific illness after examining the patients.
"Can they still be saved? How should they be treated?" Lance asked urgently.
"If it were the initial stages, I could have treated them quickly. But too much ti has passed; their bodies have suffered irreversible damage..." Grendel said, pausing briefly. "Eliminating the disease itself isn’t difficult. However, a complete cure will require far more resources, more ti, and will also need your abilities."
Lance was on edge during her pause, only letting out a sigh of relief when she finished speaking.
"Cure them! Tell whatever you need," Lance declared with a decisive wave of his hand. It’s just resources, and I have plenty, he thought.
According to his original plan, the townsfolk were supposed to gradually settle down and, over ti, fully integrate, becoming true mbers of Hamlet.
But the Witch’s surprise attack, coupled with the plague, had thrown the populace into a panic. Though not outwardly apparent, he could sense their fear.
He had to prove, at any cost, that Hamlet was a good place, worthy of them staying and dedicating themselves to it.
He wasn’t just saving these few individuals; he was saving the hearts and minds of his people.
"And how do you propose to treat it?" Paracelsus stepped forward, challenging her. So things couldn’t be solved with re words; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so stumped by this bizarre disease herself.
"Stabilize their condition, eliminate the Withering Disease, and reawaken their failing organs," Grendel stated calmly, unperturbed by the skepticism.
Her earlier pause had been due to the realization that a complete cure would likely require her to stay in this land for so ti, a prospect that made her uneasy given her knowledge of the region.
She made it sound so simple, Paracelsus thought, her skepticism deepening. Forget the first two steps; reviving diseased organs was unprecedented! If it were as simple as she claid, her own ntor, a professor at the dical academy, wouldn’t have collapsed and died at his lectern.
"No, I am only responsible for eradicating the disease," Grendel stated, her pride evident. She didn’t deign to explain further.
Lance, however, understood. Grendel could treat the Withering Disease, but she couldn’t repair the physical devastation already wrought by the virus. However, she had experienced and witnessed the power of his Flesh Reconstruction ability, which is why she had proposed this particular treatnt plan.
"No problem," Lance declared, making the decision instantly. "You just cure the Withering Disease. I’ll take care of the aftereffects."
Besides, he thought, this ability consus very little Spiritual Essence. That batch of parasites brought in a windfall, so this is nothing.
After they discussed and confird the treatnt plan, Lance raised his voice, proclaiming to the patients:
"We’ve found a way to cure you! I swear I’ll do everything in my power to see you all healed!"
Lance’s words and deanor greatly uplifted those on the sickbeds. Disease might take their lives, but it couldn’t take away their loyalty to their Lord!
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