The Black Death (3)
When the pestilence broke out, the streets died.
Garbage overflowed in every abandoned alleyway, and demonic beasts spawned from the Black Death slithered out from the dark. At the very least, a beast could be slain with cold steel, but the plague offered no such mercy. Faced with an agony that blackened the flesh from the inside out until breath ceased, the entire Gallery trembled in terror.
“Skreeeech!”
“Senior, over here! Another one!”
“Damn things are everywhere.”
Or rather, that was how it had been until the arrival of the Gallery Doctors—otherwise known as the Plague Doctors.
Crunch!
A ghoul rummaging through the alley trash fell permanently silent under the crushing blow of a heavy iron mace. Contaminated blood and rancid miasma splattered outward in a vile spray, yet the Gallery Doctors didn't even flinch. Zero percent skin exposure: every square inch of their bodies was sealed beneath thick, impermeable protective hazmat suits.
“This gear really is something else. To think it blocks the infection entirely.”
Gallery Doctors typically patrolled in pairs. As one of them, currently sweeping through the streets of Kellierton, murmured in awe, the senior doctor burning the ghoul carcass snorted softly through his beak.
“That's our Head Mod for you.”
Their black, uniform-like trench coats repelled blood and rain alike. Engineered as a single seamless garment from neck to boots, not a single drop could seep inside. And pneumonic plague—transmitted through airborne droplets, infected saliva, and bodily fluids—was utterly neutralized by the contraption strapped to their faces: the gas mask.
With bird-beak filters resembling ravens and pitch-black cloaks billowing behind their towering frames, it had reached the point where the monsters were the ones freezing in terror at their approach.
“To think I used to regret putting on all this bulk,” the junior chuckled.
“Live long enough and you'll see everything. Never imagined I'd end up a doctor raking in this kind of coin.”
After the world fell to ruin, a massive frame had been more of a liability than an asset for survival. Who could have guessed that sheer muscle mass would become the primary hiring qualification for a Gallery Doctor?
“Senior, weren't you once a Knight Commander in Adrian?”
“This beats being a knight any day of the week.”
“Can't argue with that.”
Besides, their job satisfaction was through the roof. Whenever they walked down the stone-paved alleys, they could feel gazes peeking through the gaps in shuttered curtains. Eyes brimming with envy, reverence, and newfound hope—it was a rather pleasant sensation. Compared to being glared at as tax-leeching thugs in plate armor, this felt like true nobility.
“And the pay is absurd.”
“Base salary plus performance bonuses? Pure heaven.”
Base pay was 2,500 Mana Dumplings. Because this pair had racked up the highest eradication numbers, they received an extra 1,500, pocketing a staggering 4,000 Mana Dumplings in total. And that wasn't all.
“Halt! Who goes there?!”
Whenever they crossed paths with the city guards patrolling the sectors, there was never any need for long-winded explanations.
“You idiot, lower your spear! It's the Gallery Doctors!”
“Ah—ah! Forgive us, gentlemen!”
Massive builds, raven masks, and black trench coats parted the crowds without a single word. Wealth, prestige, and even a taste of authority—they had it all.
“Take this,” the senior said, reaching into his satchel to pull out a parcel.
The guard blinked in bewilderment, but his eyes soon went wide.
“Th-This is...”
“Masks and disinfectant spray. An instruction guide is included, so read it carefully.”
“Thank you, Doctor!”
The soldier bent at the waist in a crisp, heartfelt ninety-degree bow—a level of genuine respect he wouldn't have offered to high nobility. The Gallery Doctor waved a gloved hand dismissively and strode onward toward the next district. Sure, the labor was grueling at times, but...
4,000 Mana Dumplings have been delivered!
“Fuck yes. This is what I live for.”
“Man, I could plant a wet one right on the Head Mod's cheek.”
Financial therapy was, as always, the ultimate cure.
A few weeks after the Gallery Doctors began their deployment, they had become such household names that not knowing them in the forum was practically a crime.
I had hired about a hundred of them so far, and their efficiency was terrifyingly absolute. In fact, their performance was so stellar it almost made me feel guilty for working them at such bargain rates.
Fr though, they look scarier than the actual monsters.
I was out on the streets late at night on an urgent errand and almost had a heart attack when I ran into one.
But they're crazy nice.
Handed me masks and disinfectant, then patiently walked me through every single prevention step one by one.
Ever since the docs arrived, all the beasts roaming the streets have vanished without a trace lol
Combat prowess: GOAT
Medical care: GOAT
Stamina: GOAT
Is it you once again, Gallery Doctor?
Advice always hits harder when delivered by someone who has lived through it themselves. Among those who had caught the plague and recovered, not a single soul disregarded the Gallery Doctors. When taught preventive measures, people followed them religiously, even if they couldn't grasp the underlying scientific reasoning.
“And the transmission rate is way lower than expected.”
Normally, an outbreak of the Black Death inside a crowded medieval city spelled doom. As historical records showed, it rarely burned out until at least half the population had perished. Here, however, people consumed clean water and provisions purchased directly from the market. They wore distributed protective masks, and antibiotics were readily available. The plague simply couldn't gain exponential momentum. On top of that, religious influence had collapsed, drastically cutting down on packed church congregations and superstitious gatherings.
If you crawled back from the brink of death, start spamming those upvotes gogogo.
Starting with me.
The overwhelming majority survived. The Black Death, which had loomed like the apocalyptic end of a medieval civilization, was sputtering out like an ordinary, manageable seasonal infection.
“What a relief.”
Implementing the performance bonus system had clearly paid off. The Gallery Doctors were former knights, mercenary captains, and veteran soldiers. They understood the human body, were unfazed by gore, and possessed formidable combat strength. They roamed the alleys well past midnight to earn that sweet overtime pay, putting in grueling hours. While paying them depleted a fair bit of my funds, my point revenue more than made up for it.
10,342 Points earned in the last 24 hours.
Beyond banning trolls, saving users and curing diseases yielded hefty point conversions. In the end, I was raking in more profit than ever before. Still, it hadn't been a bloodless victory.
“Plenty of people still died in the end.”
Those who checked the Gallery too late. Those whom the Gallery Doctors couldn't reach in time. Or those whose illness had progressed so far that even after the plague was eradicated, their frail bodies simply gave out from sheer exhaustion. The death toll easily exceeded three digits. The only mercy we could offer them was a dose of powerful painkillers.
I'm the guy who asked for help the other day.
The Gallery Doctors came and treated her, but she passed away in the end.
She was already well advanced in years,
and she barely had any vitality left to begin with.
I know there was nothing more to be done, but fuck, it hurts so bad.
Still, thanks to the painkillers they gave her at the very end, she was able to leave her last words and passed away with a smile.
“Aigoo...”
Posts that broke my heart popped up from time to time. I held a brief silent prayer hoping she was at peace, tapped the upvote button, and closed the Gallery interface. Overall, things had stabilized immensely.
I reheated some vegetable soup bought from the shop, picked up the tray, and walked into the bedroom. Inside what used to be my room, a little girl lay curled up on the mattress, completely engrossed in a picture book.
“Malphite, you're back!”
“Resting well? How's your body feeling?”
“Healthy as can be, thanks to you. Thank you.”
The book Penny was reading was The Little Prince. For some reason, she couldn't access the Gallery interface, so I had bought her a children's storybook, which she adored. She must have read that single volume at least twenty times by now. As I approached, Penny set the book aside, took the tray, and let her eyes sparkle.
“Vegetable soup!”
“You've been eating nothing but soup for over a week. Aren't you sick of it?”
“It's warm and delicious. That's more than enough.”
Of course, hearing such mature, ladylike cadence coming from that child's body still took some getting used to. According to her, losing her powers had shrunk her physical form, but whatever the case, the self-proclaimed Sin of Lust had fought off the disease and made a near-total recovery. Naturally, that brought up the question of what to do with her moving forward.
I can't just kick her out onto the street.
Though Kellierton had become livable since its founding, rift-born demonic beasts still prowled the back alleys. Even if hunters and Gallery Doctors eliminated them fairly quickly, it was still far too dangerous for an unpowered child. Nor had commerce flourished enough for her to find decent work.
As I stared at her in thought, Penny noticed my gaze and giggled softly. Gone was the terror and suspicion from our first encounter; her eyes were filled with unreserved trust.
“Aren't you scared of me?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it. The squirt gave a cheeky snicker as if she had just heard the silliest joke in the world.
“Scared of you, Malphite? Humans as kind as you are rare.”
“Just who on earth have you been meeting to say something like that?”
“Hmm... A deranged tyrant who ruled with an iron fist before getting booted into the boondocks?”
“Wait, what?”
None of the storybooks I gave her had adult sci-fi fantasy plots.
“Besides, your name is Malphite. It sounds dependable, sturdy, and honest.”
“Well, you've got a point there.”
I waited until she polished off the soup, then carried the empty bowl back out. So, was it just a matter of waiting quietly until the Black Death burned itself out? The Gallery Doctors had even gained enough breathing room to prioritize beast extermination and routine triage over emergency plague containment. Just as a gentle sense of relief began to wash over me—
Ding.
A system chime rang out. Wondering what it could be, I opened the Gallery interface—only to find an urgent message from Lloyd, who had recently become the Queen's Royal Knight in Kellierton.
“Wait, what the hell?”
A photo of the Queen sprawled pale and motionless on her office floor. The beloved fixed-nickname user who had changed her handle from FallenNobleLady to TunaCanQueen was dying.