“And Mother, I... don't seem to feel their presence anymore.”
Elena froze.
Her hand trembled as she reached out to lift the back of Dorothy's collar.
The light from the blue lantern illuminated that pale patch of skin, revealing absolutely nothing.
There were no red patches, no bumps, and none of those dark, root-like veins that had once wound their way out from beneath her skin. It was perfectly clean, like a patch of land covered in fresh snow.
Elena pressed her hand against Dorothy's back. Beneath her palm lay warm, smooth skin—the skin of a normal human child.
“Dorothy, you... you're back to normal?!”
She practically shrieked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
How... how was this possible?!
Sprouting tentacles meant that the contamination had seeped deep into the bone marrow. Purifying such contamination was virtually impossible. At the very least, she had never heard of anyone successfully doing so!
The moment those tentacles had burst from her daughter's body, she knew she would only have two or three more years with her at most. After that, Dorothy would completely turn into a monster, and even the last trace of humanity in her eyes would vanish.
She had never expected that despair could be shattered!
Dorothy tilted her head, a few strands of hair sliding off her shoulder.
“Normal?”
Before she could understand what her mother meant, Elena pulled her into a tight embrace.
The hug was so tight it made her ribs ache, but Dorothy did not struggle. She could feel her mother's shoulders shaking, and the warmth of tears dripping onto her neck.
At that very moment, Elena understood.
The Saintess, who had knelt on the floor with her hand resting on Dorothy's head, hadn't been trying to harm her child. She had been saving her—and saving Elena herself, the lady of the territory.
And yet, she had actually driven them away?!
“Mother drove them away,” Elena murmured, trembling, unable to accept this reality for a moment. “Mother yelled at them and made them leave the lord's manor...”
Dorothy's eyes widened.
“Where did they go?”
Elena released Dorothy and suddenly stood up.
She hurried out of the bedroom, her footsteps echoing on the cold flagstones. Her voice rang through the empty corridor, urgent to the point of hoarseness.
“Where is Her Highness the Saintess staying? Who arranged accommodations for them?”
At the end of the corridor, a young maid poked her head out from a side door. Catching sight of Elena's face, she shrank back in fear and lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper.
“My Lady, you... you didn't make any arrangements. You ordered them to leave the lord's manor, and the guards didn't stop them.”
Elena's face turned stark white. She quickly rushed back into her bedroom, flung open the wardrobe, pulled out a thick cloak, and threw it over her shoulders without even taking the time to tie the straps.
She bent down to pull a blue-light lantern from under the bed, her fingers fumbling several times before she managed to light it.
“Follow me. We are going to find them.”
Returning to the corridor, she threw a quick instruction to the maids standing along the hallway, then opened the front doors and stepped out into the dark night.
Sitting on the bed, Dorothy listened as her mother's footsteps grew more and more distant, blinking innocently.
For some reason, she wasn't worried that the Saintess sister wouldn't return.
Perhaps because... she was kind enough?
She looked down at her rosy palms, remembering the scene of the Saintess stroking her hair. Slowly, she pressed them against her own cheeks.
They were very warm.
Just like a human.
...
Inside the inner city clinic of the Oswell territory.
The air was thick with the scent of iodine and medicine. In the waiting hall, about twenty to thirty patients sat, most of them groaning softly as they clutched their wounds, while others held their medical records with faces full of worry.
Wint stood in front of the counter, his crippled right foot hovering slightly off the ground. His entire weight rested on a wooden crutch worn smooth and shiny from use, and his coarse cloth coat was washed out to a faded white.
“Including the medicine, that's thirty silver coins in total. No credit.”
The female doctor, Vera, sat behind the counter, twirling a quill in her hand. Her gaze behind her gold-rimmed glasses swept from Wint's face to his crippled leg, then to his worn-out coat, carrying a hint of disdain.
With just one glance, she knew the man in front of her came from the territory's slums.
Wint's lips trembled.
“Thirty silver coins? That... that's too much. I didn't bring that much money. Could you make an exception? T-twenty silver coins?”
As he said “twenty,” his Adam's apple bobbed violently.
That was almost his entire life savings, silver coins he had scraped together and saved one by one, kept in an iron box hidden under his bed.
He had originally planned to use it to buy winter clothes for his child.
“Twenty silver coins? Do you think our clinic is a charity? There are so many patients in the territory; we don't have the energy to save every single one of them.”
Vera set down her quill and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Her gaze bypassed Wint, sweeping over the patients queuing behind him.
“If you don't have money, don't waste everyone's time here. It's almost lunchtime, and I need to eat. There are plenty of other patients behind you.”
After saying this, she pulled a small brass bell from a drawer and tapped it lightly against the desk.
Ding—
That was her habitual action before lunch every day, meaning “outpatient services are finished for the day.”
Wint's shoulders slumped.
He opened his mouth, his voice dry. “A-about the medicine...”
“You want medicine without paying?”
Vera sneered.
She stood up and began tidying the medical records on her desk, preparing to leave for her lunch break. Behind Wint, the queue of people began to stir.
A plump woman cradling a child raised her voice and yelled:
“Just leave already! Don't waste our time! Why come to a clinic if you have no money? You're just holding us up!”
“Exactly! We all paid our share! A cripple should just stay home instead of coming out here to cause trouble!”
A few people chuckled softly. It didn't seem to be out of outright malice, but those laughs pierced Wint's ears sharper than any knife.
Vera finished gathering her things, stepped around the counter, and walked up to Wint. She looked down at him, a faint, mocking curve playing at the corners of her lips.
“Heh, if you can't scrape the money together, why don't you head over to the slums west of the clinic? Word has it that a Saintess from the Church has arrived. Maybe if she prays to the Lord of the Morning Light for you, your illness will miraculously clear up.”
When she spoke the word “prays,” her tone was dripping with mockery. Several more bursts of laughter erupted behind her, and this time, they were loud.
Who didn't know that within the Church of the Morning Light, only ordained priests possessed the ability to heal? If any other nun came across an injured person, the most they could do was pray before a statue of the Lord of the Morning Light on their behalf.
And as far as their medical conditions were concerned, it did absolutely nothing.
Not to mention that in their Oswell territory, barely anyone believed in the Church of the Morning Light to begin with.
Wint didn't laugh. He only lowered his head, his hand trembling as it gripped his crutch.
He turned and limped out of the clinic. The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the noise inside and the dim glow of the blue-light lantern.
The night sky was pitch black, the evening breeze cold, and his crippled right leg throbbed with a dull ache.
Rate on N.U.
