Our Family Has Fallen

The masked man sized up the two before him. What stood out most were their eyes. They held no disdain, disgust, or even fear; instead, they were calm, without pity, just like any normal person’s.

But it was this very equality that excited them the most, for it had been a long, long time since anyone had treated them as human...

”Our town once suffered an outbreak of plague, but it was cured by this doctor. Perhaps I can help you.”

Lance gestured, setting the stage for Grendel’s entrance.

”Skin ulceration, muscle atrophy, bone deformities, and the internal organs are likely damaged too—it’s leprosy, and it’s already in the advanced stages.”

Grendel, who came from a Medical Family with a thousand-year heritage and had years of practical experience, was able to diagnose their specific conditions after just a brief observation. However, when it came to treatment options, she felt conflicted.

”This disease has existed for a millennium, with no definitive cure. The common practice has always been to isolate the infected far from populated areas to prevent its spread. This grim quarantine typically ends only when all the patients have died. If we want to treat it, we’d need to use some special methods...”

Lance knew that if she couldn’t treat it, she would have said so directly. Since she didn’t, it meant there was a way.

This was the Extraordinary World, where everything could find a shortcut through Supernatural Power—even diseases that were troublesome in modern times could be treated in this era. But at what cost?

”Are you confident?”

”No, their bodies seem to be completely destroyed, unlikely to withstand the effects of the Potion. Even if they do survive, the damage leprosy has done to their bodies is irreversible,” Grendel spoke calmly.

Simply put, even if cured, these people wouldn’t improve beyond their current state.

Lance understood then that she was considering drastic measures: either the virus dies, or the person dies. Without a host, the virus would perish anyway.

”What if I intervene?”

Grendel looked at Lance strangely. She was unclear on the price of using his abilities but knew that Supernatural Power always came at a cost. Using such power on their own people was one thing, but was it truly justifiable to expend it on strangers?

However, since Lance had said so, she could only nod slightly.

”I can try. I’ve only heard of this disease and haven’t treated it directly. I’ll need some time.”

As Lance and Grendel were discussing the medical conditions, the masked man couldn’t help but shift his attention to Grendel standing beside Lance.

”A Barbarian Wizard...”

Since living in Hamlet, Grendel had given up on many impractical Barbarian styles of decoration. Aside from her green hair and slightly distinct facial features, nothing else markedly unusual could be seen.

The fact that the masked man could easily discern Grendel’s origins showed he had some insight, yet he slowly shook his head.

”It’s useless. The best Healers from the Association of Healers couldn’t do anything, and not even the Bishop’s Divine Arts can heal this.”

”But I am not them,” Grendel retorted, her tone gentle but firm, as if sensing his prejudice against her identity.

”I meant no offense...” He took a ragged breath. ”We don’t have money,” he added, panting, apparently realizing his words might have been misconstrued and hastening to explain.

He gasped for breath after just a few words. Leprosy had likely destroyed the mucous membranes of his respiratory tract, making one seriously doubt how he had managed to pull the cart all the way to Hamlet.

”It’s free,” Lance promptly offered.

”Why?” The pain hadn’t robbed him of his sanity; there had to be a reason for such an offer.

”Because I cannot bear to see a hero tormented by disease and reduced to such a state. You may die, but it should not be like this.”

Lance spoke with convincing righteousness. But in his heart, he added a condition: a hero is only worthy of the title if they possess value.

”There is no hero... only a broken, shattered sword,” the masked man lamented. ”Don’t waste your efforts. This is divine punishment, a Curse that mortals cannot remove.”

The possibility of a cure had certainly brought him a flicker of joy, and perhaps he had once harbored a sliver of hope. But reality had taught him that no one could contend with the will of the gods.

The excitement eventually settled into calmness, or more accurately, into numbness.

He had learned to endure. His reluctance to accept Lance’s help ultimately stemmed from this numbness and a sense of resignation.

”A broken sword can be reforged! Can a hero not return?”

Lance, however, disagreed. His tone grew firmer as he tried to awaken the strong heart that once beat within the man.

”We won’t know until we try,” he said, looking at those followers wrapped in bandages, their limbs twisted like zombies, ”Even if we can’t fully heal you, easing your suffering is worthwhile. Do you really want to relinquish this last chance and drag them into death with you?”

At the mention of ”them,” those figures enshrouded in bandages let out hoarse, unintelligible sounds, yet their meaning was resolute.

”Our loyalty is without regret or resentment. Not even death can sway us.”

Lance recalled Vick mentioning how those who followed the masked man faced death; it was clear the masked man shared a profound bond with them.

Indeed, focusing on this aspect rendered the masked man silent. After a moment, he finally spoke.