Chapter 171: Before the Hunger — The Lord of Mercy (Part IV: The Plague Without a Face)
"A sword wounds one person at a time.
A plague wounds a nation." Records of the Royal Healers of Elyndor.Weeks passed after the Battle of Ash Valley.The fields slowly recovered.The wounded who could walk returned home.
Families buried their dead beneath white stone markers, each surrounded by wildflowers planted by the healers themselves.Myra returned to Rivershade.
But she did not return unchanged.
Every night, she still saw the faces of those she could not save.
Every morning, she woke before dawn, determined to learn more.
She studied anatomy until her fingers cramped.She memorized medicinal herbs from every kingdom.She learned to treat broken bones, poisoned blood, and failing hearts.If there was knowledge that could save a life.
She refused to ignore it.
Master Elian admired her dedication.
Yet...He also noticed something else.
She had stopped laughing.
A Stranger Arrives
One rainy afternoon, a merchant staggered into the House of Healing.
His clothes were soaked with sweat despite the cool air.Dark veins spread beneath the skin of his neck.
His breathing came in painful gasps.
Myra immediately rushed to him.
She had never seen an illness like this.
Within an hour...Two more patients arrived with the same symptoms.By sunset...
There were eleven.The House of Healing closed its doors.No one entered.
No one left.
The Silent Illness
The disease spread with terrifying speed.
It began with exhaustion.Then fever.
Then black veins slowly crept beneath the skin like roots beneath frozen ground.
Finally...The patient lost the ability to speak.
Not because their throat failed.
Because their thoughts became distant.
As if something were pulling them away.
No known medicine slowed it.
No herb eased the pain.
Prayer changed nothing.
Every healer in Rivershade worked until their hands bled.
Still...The illness continued.The First Loss
Three days later.Master Elian collapsed.
He had hidden his symptoms.
His hands trembled.
His forehead burned with fever.
The black veins had already reached his shoulders."Master"
Myra whispered.
He smiled weakly.
"I suppose"
"even old healers forget to care for themselves."
She immediately began treating him.
Every remedy.Every medicine.
Every technique she knew.
Nothing worked.For the first time...
Her teacher had become her patient.
The Council of Healers
Messengers rode across Elyndor.
Within days, the greatest healers in the kingdom gathered in Rivershade.
Scrolls covered entire tables.
Scholars argued.
Physicians compared notes.
Alchemists tested new remedies.
Everyone reached the same conclusion.
No one understood the disease.
One elderly physician finally admitted aloud what everyone feared."We're losing."
The room fell silent.Astraeus' Visit
Late that evening...
A familiar traveler quietly entered the quarantine camp.
Astraeus walked among the sick without fear.
Not because he was immune.
Because he believed no one should die alone.Myra found him sitting beside an unconscious child, reading softly from an old storybook.
She looked exhausted.
"I've tried everything."
She whispered.
"I know."He answered gently.
"There has to be an answer."
"There usually is."
"Then where is it?"
Astraeus closed the book.
"Sometimes"
"The answer hasn't been discovered yet."
Tears filled her eyes.
"That's not good enough."
"No."
He agreed."It never is."
Elian's Final Lesson
That night, Elian asked to speak with Myra alone.The fever had weakened him.
Every breath demanded effort.
"Myra"She immediately interrupted.
"Don't talk."
"You need your strength."
He smiled.
"I don't have much left."
She gripped his hand.
"You will."
He slowly shook his head.
"Listen."
She couldn't stop the tears.
"You once promised..."
"...to save everyone."
She nodded desperately.
"I remember."
"I want you to change that promise."
She looked confused.
"What?"
"Promise"
"to love everyone."
She frowned.
"That's not enough."
"No."
He whispered.
"But it's possible."
His breathing became shallow.
"Never let compassion become control."
"People aren't healed"
"by becoming prisoners of your kindness."
His hand slowly relaxed.
The room became silent.
Master Elian was gone.
The Journal
Unable to sleep, Myra opened her journal.
She stared at the page for a long time.
Then she crossed out the words she had written months ago.
"Let everyone come home."
Beneath them
She wrote something new.
"I will find a world where no one has to say goodbye."
It was no longer a wish.
It was a vow.
Far beneath forgotten stone
The crimson presence awakened once more.
For the first time
It whispered.
Not loudly.
Not forcefully.
Like a comforting voice beside a grieving friend.
"There is a way"
Myra looked up from her journal.
She thought she had imagined it.
The whisper faded.
It had no need to continue.
Not yet.
Seeds do not become forests in a single night.
They simply wait
For grief to water them.