Our Family Has Fallen

As time went on, the effects of the potion grew stronger. Baldwin’s body trembled incessantly, and black blood began to seep from his mouth and nose. His eyes turned an unnatural crimson, even purplish.

It was then that Grendel handed over the second potion, which was not for oral administration.

Lance took it and immediately picked up the rough iron syringe, injecting the preparation directly into Baldwin’s neck.

Indeed, such medical tools already existed, albeit relatively rudimentary. Still, they were serviceable enough.

The injection contained the antidote. The key was to administer it at the precise moment the poison had nearly killed him but hadn’t yet, maximizing the potion’s effect without proving lethal.

The antidote’s effects seemed even more intense than before. Baldwin’s limbs curled uncontrollably, and his fingers twisted into grotesque positions.

The black blood from his mouth and nose not only didn’t stop but flowed even more profusely.

Prepared, Lance, his hands gloved, supported Baldwin onto his side and passed over a wooden bucket. The next second, a large amount of indescribable filth gushed from Baldwin’s mouth and nose; bizarre, wriggling worms were visible within it. This too was part of the treatment. Before taking this potion, he had already consumed another herbal concoction provided by Grendel, which included worms. The state of these worms served as an indicator of the disease’s condition.

Grendel came over for a look and said, ”Judging by the situation, there’s already improvement. I expect another four to five treatments for his gradual recovery, and I can increase the dosage of my potion a bit.”

Hearing this, Lance couldn’t help but look toward Baldwin lying on the bed, who was now only exhaling, not inhaling. He felt a chill. Even watching from the sidelines, I can barely stand it, Lance thought. After four or five more rounds of this, he probably won’t even be exhaling anymore. No wonder Grendel said there was no certainty; this therapy is far more severe than any bloodletting or Leech Therapy.

Finally, Lance took action, employing Flesh Reconstruction to repair Baldwin’s body, though only to a minor extent. He didn’t repair it outright, focusing mainly on mitigating the side effects of the potion. He had noticed something interesting: the stronger the target, and the more vitality they possessed, the more Spiritual Essence was consumed. Moreover, I cannot allow this treatment process to be so simple; the more difficult it is, the more he will owe me.

With Lance’s intervention, Baldwin’s condition visibly improved. At the very least, his pupils could focus again, and after exhaling, he would also inhale.

After a short wait, consciousness slowly returned to his body, and he regained the ability to move autonomously.

”How do you feel?” Lance asked, bringing a basin of clean water for him to clean himself.

”My condition is really improving!” Baldwin exclaimed, sensing his own body. His voice was no longer as hoarse as before, and his words were filled with undeniable excitement.

This wasn’t the first treatment, but the impact on him remained profoundly intense. Despite the painful process, he could genuinely feel the burden on his body lightening—a sensation never experienced in prior treatments. Could I actually find salvation in this place?

The two doctors, who had been discussing the illness nearby, refocused their attention on him, questioning him to obtain details about the treatment’s effects.

They left behind an external potion for soaking. Mycobacterium leprae is sensitive to heat, so warm water combined with the potion could also kill the virus and alleviate the skin condition. This was also the strategy for treating other patients: starting with milder measures to control and prevent the disease from worsening. Baldwin, to some extent, was a test subject for these potions, as only his constitution could withstand them. Grendel would adjust the potions based on his reactions, and these findings would influence the treatment plans for others.

After completing a treatment cycle and conducting their research, Lance and the others left the tent, giving Baldwin time to recuperate.

Once outside, they saw the leprosy patients, all now clad in sackcloth. Without their ragged cloths and bandages, they revealed a horrifying sight.

Their constitutions were evidently not as robust as Baldwin’s. The virus had not only attacked their skin and respiratory mucosa but had infiltrated their bone marrow, causing deformities and contortions in their limbs.

This means treating them will be even more challenging, not to mention the cost of materials for the potions, Lance mused. It also means I’ll need to expend more Spiritual Essence, and I’m uncertain if the cost is worth it. If they were alone, I might not have bothered with these people, but their value increases now that they’re linked to Baldwin.

Seeing Lance and the others emerge, the patients reacted. Their faces, like rotting flesh, were unable to show any expression, but their murky, diseased eyes still betrayed a hint of worry and fear. This was an indescribable mix of emotions: they worried if Baldwin could withstand the treatment, and at the same time, they feared that this place—which had finally sheltered them and given them hope—was all a lie.

”Baldwin is fine,” Lance said, comforting them. ”His condition has already started to improve. But you’d better not disturb him. It’s a critical time for his isolated treatment.”

As part of the treatment plan, Baldwin was being isolated to prevent reinfection, and anyone entering or exiting his tent had to be disinfected.

Lance’s words carried little authority with the lepers. But then, he wasn’t one of those protagonists who could simply exude an overpowering aura and have others bow in submission. It was normal for these people, who had only recently arrived and were still in isolation, not to be familiar with him.

”I’m fine. The treatment is indeed effective; my condition is improving,” Baldwin said, pushing aside the tent flap as he emerged.

It was impossible to discern expressions on their faces, but the vitality in their movements and posture clearly indicated that his condition had indeed improved.

Baldwin’s firsthand account deeply shook the lepers. Previous treatments had been mediocre at best, eliciting hardly any significant response. The hope that had ignited in their hearts had been steadily worn down, almost extinguished by constant disappointment, but today, these words rekindled it.

”There has never been any divine punishment or Curse! This is simply a disease. Everything else is merely suffering imposed upon you through the shackles of religion.

”We overcame the plague after those from the Church fled. I saw through their tricks long ago. There’s nothing to fear from this disease; what is truly frightening is ignorance and moral decay.

”And in Hamlet, this journey of yours will end. You will be reborn in Hamlet!”

Ideological transformation cannot be a short-term endeavor, Lance thought. It must be long-term. Changing their religious views requires a continuous infusion of new ideas.

At his words, the lepers actually burst into tears. Some uncontrollably fell to their knees, letting out strange, choked sobs.

They had been repressed for far too long, sunk in darkness, some even resigned to barely surviving.

But now, they saw hope—the hope of being rescued from the darkness.

Suffering itself isn’t terrifying; what’s terrifying is suffering with no end in sight. Similarly, hope, no matter how faint, provides endless motivation as long as it’s visible.

Facing the kneeling lepers, Lance stood motionless. His face was expressionless and calm, yet he somehow exuded a very sacred aura.

He is hope! The people around him couldn’t help but feel this.

But I am no saint, Lance thought, at least, I don’t consider myself one. Soon, he left with Grendel and the others.

「...」

”Report! Assembly complete!”

”Fall in.”

Lance swept his gaze over the thirty people before him; they were the first members of the Heart of Steel.

Among them were many familiar faces from the recent awards assembly: outstanding newcomers like Barrett and Sobray, as well as old hands like Andrew and George, who had been in the army from the very beginning. There were also soldiers like Rhodes, who had demonstrated tenacious will and formidable strength in past battles. Even soldiers like Kael, who had made mistakes but proved their loyalty in war, were present.

They had all been through rigorous selection processes. Standing here already signified their superiority over most.

But that is not enough!

”This is Bounty Hunter Tadiff,” Lance said, gesturing. ”And this one is a true heavyweight: Witcher Master Geralt. In the coming days, you will learn from these two instructors how to kill people and how to hunt monsters.”

Tadiff was a natural-born killer. Lance had accompanied him through the Beast Lair once and had seen his extraordinary talent; it was no wonder he could single-handedly massacre an entire gang. Geralt, on the other hand, had received systematic Witcher training from a young age and was adept at hunting monsters.

Lance had spent a fortune hiring these two instructors and was determined to see results.