Surprisingly Normal Proceedings

"75 silver. No higher."

Fifteen silver a head. I was aiming for twenty at most, though, and had my eye on a clean one-gold total. Fantasy worlds were convenient like that—hit a hundred and copper flipped straight to silver, silver to gold.

"Even for specimens this healthy? Look at them. Plump, bright-eyed—the very picture of long, disease-free lives."

Before heading to the meeting, Malcolm had mentioned we still had a little time, so I'd swung by a livestock merchant to offload the five piglet brothers. And just like that, I was deep in hard bargaining.

"Ahem. Serena. Perhaps save the haggling for another day? Our appointment's drawing near. The pigs and the merchant aren't going to vanish into thin air—let's get to the council chamber."

Malcolm's point was solid. The market and the meeting place sat in completely opposite directions; we'd already burned more time than we could afford. I glanced down at the piglets ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the basket.

"Oink!"

Honestly, selling such adorable little things pricked my conscience. But I couldn't let myself be fooled. Fall for the cuteness while they're still piglets and you end up stuck with a lifelong nuisance.

"Hold on—those clothes of yours… are you a nun?"

"Yes. Circumstances have me on pilgrimage at the moment, but I am most certainly a nun."

The merchant asked carefully; I answered in a matching soft voice.

"My wife's come down with the plague. You fix her and I'll pay double market."

"Let's just call it one gold flat. And while I'm briefly away, look after these little ones for me, would you?"

"Deal."

I was an opportunist, sure, but not the kind of scumbag who'd skim off someone's actual health.

Ah, if it bothers you that much, go be a human yourself.

With that, I left the pigs in his care and followed Malcolm's lead, pushing open the door to the council room.

Inside sat a walking broth-fountain of a man—sweating freely even while still, mopping himself with a handkerchief, draped in luxurious clothes. A proper paohu.

A lot of empty seats. And the one dead center at the table has to be Neid's.

The realization that I'd killed him hit me anew. No guilt, though. He'd been an enemy, he'd tried to fuck me over, and a man who'd sold his own ass to orcs for that kind of business deserved to die.

"Ooooh, Malcolm. Your words were true after all."

The broth-paohu rose with exaggerated flair and seized my hand in both of his. Ugh, fuck… his sweat was all over me.

"……I'm Serena, a pilgrim."

"This is Kubil, merchant representative of the village. Ordinarily more people would be present, but with the plague and all the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chaos, and since this is simply a matter of military service and negotiation, if you, Kubil, and Serena can just align your opinions, the problem will be solved."

Honestly, I'd rather discuss this with Malcolm alone and leave the paohu out of it. Sweaty hands, and the second he got close the stench hit like a truck.

"Kubil, let's settle the urgent matters first before—"

"Ahaha, a man of my standing… Sister, you are simply so beautiful that I momentarily lost my wits."

"…You flatter me."

With Malcolm mediating, the three of us took our seats. A modest spread of sweets and what looked like black tea waited at mine.

After a quick look around the market earlier, even these desserts were rare enough that it was clear Neid's bastard self hadn't wanted to offer me so much as a scrap of hospitality.

Fucking prick.

I kept my face neutral, plucked a cookie, and let the sweetness spread. My mood improved a fraction.

"Very well. I'll brief you on the plague."

"So the specific remedy was originally a cure for a completely different disease?"

"Exactly. That illness—Red Fingertips—is an occasional southern affliction. Low contagion, mild symptoms; two days of proper rest and you're fine."

Commonly called Red Fingertips. Basically a cold, except the fingertips turned red. The problem was that the disease was so rare and so weak that neither the specific remedy nor its ingredients were stocked in any real quantity.

And the punchline? The plague currently sweeping the village could be cured by that same remedy—or by the miracle of healing, Cure.

No issue. I bought Cure without hesitation and refocused on the meeting.

"But Cure is only a one-dimensional fix. If we don't address the root cause of how this plague is spreading, patients will just keep multiplying."

Treating two hundred people by myself would be painfully slow. Even if I managed it, without immunity or stockpiled medicine against the germs or virus, it would simply flare up again.

"Transmission route? Age distribution of the patients?"

"Route still under investigation. We brought pharmacists and alchemists to check the water sources—clean. Droplet or airborne infection looks unlikely; most caregivers who skipped precautions show no symptoms. Primary age groups are the weak-immune children and elderly, followed by women."

Strip away a few details and it was a textbook plague scenario.

"Then, as expected…"

"Yes. Demon King's army. And not the frontal-assault type—the kind that works from the shadows. Right now the prime suspect is the succubus who absconded with the village's only priest."

Given that Neid had already been a Demon King army plant, the conclusion had been locked in from the start. Still, something niggled.

"Are we certain it's a succubus?"

Usually the backstabbing types were careful not to reveal their identity. This felt far too sloppy.

"Yes. In the middle of the night the priest bellowed, 'I'm cumming in the succubus pussy!' using the amplification magic he normally reserved for sermons."

"…?"

I stared at Malcolm, momentarily unable to believe it.

"…It's true."

Even though he hadn't done it himself, Malcolm looked faintly embarrassed and lowered his head.

"Let's look on the bright side. At least we know it's a succubus."

A dead man walking either way—I offered a silent prayer of thanks for at least naming the culprit.

Appreciate it, but that was a little embarrassing!

"First, gather the patients at the church. And we'll need a subjugation party."

"I'll issue the official notice in Neid's place."

"We'll coordinate with the rangers and scout locations a succubus might hole up. There are a few abandoned watchtowers and old bandit dens near the village."

Once the framework was set, everyone naturally claimed the tasks that fell within their own roles.

"Cure."

The woman's fingertips shifted from red back to normal at high speed.

"Honey, are you all right now?"

"Yes. Thanks to the sister, my body's completely recovered."

She flexed her hands, checking, then sprang up, confirmed everything was fine, and broke into a bright smile.

That made seventy. Last patient of the day. Each cast only cost thirty points of holy power, but after seventy uses and the short rests needed to recharge, the sun was already setting.

The merchant couple thanked me profusely and, calling it pig money plus a little sincerity, added five silver on top of the one gold. Offerings like that had piled up nicely; I'd made a decent haul.

"Incredible. My knowledge of clergy is limited, but I've never seen anyone work miracles on this scale."

"Big sis is amazing!"

Stan, the guard I'd first met when I entered the village, had been assigned as my escort. He and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his daughter beside him both gushed with praise.

"Ahaha, thank you. And our little lady's name is…?"

"Vena!"

Vena answered brightly, hand shooting up.

"Even if the sickness is gone for now, don't overdo it. Proper rest is important."

I offered a slightly adult piece of advice and ruffled her hair. Big sis, huh. Still an unfamiliar title. But looking at that radiant smile, I finally understood why people volunteered or did good deeds.

Creeeak—

The church door opened and Malcolm appeared.

"Serena, got a moment?"

"Yes. I just finished today's patients."

"…Not today's—several days' worth, more like. Anyway, we've located the succubus. Orcs were spotted near the watchtower I mentioned earlier. Sloppy, but organized, and the quality of their weapons was overall high."

Fast. Either the rangers were that good, or…

"And the chance it's a trap?"

"Exists. But now that they know a skilled cleric has appeared in the village, they'll prepare countermeasures."

"In other words, we strike first."

Some might call it too hasty, but if we missed this window the relationship of attacker and victim would simply continue. And just like with Neid, attempts to convert villagers to the Demon King's army would proceed.

"Preparations?"

"Me and twenty elite. We hit them at first light."

Far better than facing a succubus at night. And my holy power…

"I'm ready as well."

Well, if we failed, I'd just get a little used and that would be that.