Chapter 250
Chapter 250
"Calm down and explain slowly. What did you say? What kind of data?"
Gasp. Gasp.
Gilbert, his face flushed from running in such a hurry, panted heavily before finally showing the documents he had brought and began his explanation.
"Seventy years ago, during the outbreak of a plague similar to this one—Lestaboom—there was a territory in the east that suffered no casualties whatsoever!"
"What?"
"Fifteen eastern territories were devastated, but in Baron Grant's territory, located at the easternmost edge, not a single death was reported."
Gilbert's eyes gleamed as he thrust the documents forward, but Logan frowned as soon as he read them.
"......Couldn't it just be that the plague ended before reaching that far?"
Unless it was the epicenter of the outbreak, it seemed insufficient to conclude that the territory had resisted the plague just because it was spared while being at the farthest edge.
However.
"These records only cover Grandia—ah, my apologies—MacLaine Kingdom's situation, but when combined with the old documents our guild has collected, it's highly significant."
"Significant?"
"At that time, five western territories of the Small Kingdoms Alliance beyond Grant's borders were also ravaged by Lestaboom. Here, and here. If you follow this pattern..."
Gilbert drew a circle. Tracing it revealed—
"Huh?!"
"Out of all the territories affected by the plague, only Grant's territory reported no deaths."
This was a clue significant enough—no, groundbreaking.
"If we investigate what in that territory prevented the plague, we might be able to definitively stop this outbreak as well."
"......I'll order an immediate investigation of Grant's territory."
"I—I'll go myself!"
"You personally?"
"Grant's territory is about two days north of here. I can make the trip easily."
Logan hesitated internally as he saw Gilbert's confident expression.
Honestly, the most unnecessary personnel in overcoming the plague in Raphtan territory right now were himself and the knights.
It would make more sense for him, rather than Gilbert the healer, to personally investigate. But recalling yesterday's conversation with Bishop Ilia, that didn't seem like a good idea.
- Is there nothing I can do myself? I'm still a Transcendent, after all.
- ......Your Majesty, your mere presence here is already a great help.
- What do you mean by that? Don't bother with pointless flattery...
- It's not flattery. The people draw strength just from knowing you remain here. It reassures them that the kingdom hasn't abandoned them. But conversely, if you leave before the plague is contained...
'They'll see it as me giving up on the plague. That makes sense.'
The burden of kingship was nothing but inconvenient at times like this.
"......Very well. Proceed as you wish. However, leave the other healers here. There are already those showing symptoms."
"Ah... yes, of course. This is..."
Gilbert answered, but his troubled expression remained unconcealed.
"Instead, take knights with you. Intermediate-level Force users and above have never contracted the plague..."
"Your Majesty. Knights would be helpful, but we need people with knowledge of medicine or herbs. Or personnel specialized in investigations... I could request assistance from the guild in the capital..."
"Ah, in that case, I have suitable personnel. Don't worry and head straight to Grant."
Logan dismissed Gilbert's concerns and continued.
"I'll assign specialists to accompany you—not from here, but from Grant. They'll find you there. Determine the reason Grant's territory was spared as quickly as possible."
Though still somewhat doubtful, how could he refuse the king's command?
"......Understood, Your Majesty!"
Gilbert, a 4th-Circle mage and physician, set off northward toward Grant's territory with five intermediate knights in tow.
"Halt!"
"Whoa, whoa!"
Neigh—!
"Who goes there?"
The soldiers guarding the gates of Grant's territory stopped the group of galloping riders.
Their composed demeanor was impressive for rural soldiers, but—
"By order of His Majesty the King! Baron Larry Grant is to comply with His Majesty's command!"
—even they couldn't help but pale at the knight's sharp declaration before rushing into the castle.
Not long after, Gilbert and the knights were granted an audience with the lord of the territory.
"Haha, you've had quite the journey. Coming all the way from Raphtan..."
A middle-aged man with a square jaw and sturdy build greeted Gilbert with an awkward smile.
Royal envoys from a plague-stricken territory.
It was hardly a welcome sight.
'Are they here to demand support from us...?'
But Gilbert, too anxious to soothe the baron's concerns, had no time for pleasantries.
"Baron, I'll be direct. Seventy years ago, while plague ravaged this region, your territory alone suffered no casualties. We've come to uncover the reason."
"Huh?"
Larry Grant's expression turned bewildered.
"Such a thing... happened?"
Gilbert suppressed a sigh, his stiff eyebrows twitching.
The only saving grace was that assistance arrived shortly after.
"I'm Damian. From the royal investigation unit. My subordinates and I will assist you in your task, Lord Gilbert."
"......Pleased to meet you."
Though initially skeptical, Gilbert soon realized the brown-haired, blue-eyed man was undoubtedly a master of information gathering.
Within half a day, Damian had compiled details about the territory even its lord, Larry Grant, didn't know.
The problem? None of it revealed anything unusual.
"Local specialties... apples, I suppose. But Raphtan has those too."
Gilbert ruffled his hair in frustration as he flipped through Damian's reports.
"What else?"
"The residents' diets, housing, clothing materials—nothing stands out. It's all average by kingdom standards."
Damian's words drew another sigh from Gilbert.
'There must be something special. There has to be.'
According to his—no, the guild's research, regions with strong resistance to specific diseases must have distinguishing characteristics in their flora, lifestyle, or environment.
'The guild's records can't be wrong... They just can't.'
Biting his lip did little to ease his anxiety.
Failing the mission wasn't the only concern.
This moment was a crossroads for his lifelong dedication as a healer.
Yes, a crossroads.
'Success in curing this plague will finally silence those accusations of being a quack priest. I must prove the Healer's Guild can become a true force for the people.'
And that power comes from accumulated knowledge.
So rather than doubting its accuracy—
'If nothing stands out in the territory now, it must have disappeared over the past seventy years.'
The right approach was to search for what the records couldn't capture.
Thus—
"Damian, I'd like to speak with the elders of this territory."
"Elders?"
"We need to find what existed here seventy years ago but has since vanished."
"I understand. I'll request the baron's cooperation."
The day after arriving in Grant's territory, with Baron Larry Grant's assistance, they met the oldest residents.
But the process wasn't easy.
First, fewer than ten people alive seventy years ago remained in the entire territory—and they were scattered across various villages centered around the castle.
Moreover—
"Seventy years ago? Tch, how am I supposed to remember that?"
Some elders shook their heads dismissively.
"Same as always. What could possibly change in a backwater like this?"
Many understood the question but gave negative responses.
And occasionally—
"My memory's fuzzy in my old age. What was the question? Ah, seventy years ago? My memory's fuzzy in my old age. What was the question?"
"......"
Frustrating, infuriating answers.
Yet, after persistent inquiries, they found a few promising leads.
However—
"Back in my day, hunting was popular."
"Hunting?"
"Yeah. Especially deer. They'd trample fields and devour crops, so folks would gather to hunt 'em when the season came."
"Deer?"
"And now?"
"After decades of that, they must've died out. Don't see 'em much anymore."
The only coherent answer came from a diminutive elder of ninety.
Still, it didn't seem particularly meaningful.
"......What does deer hunting have to do with the plague?"
Damian was right.
Killing deer cures the plague?
Or more deer means the plague doesn't spread?
Even without deep analysis, it sounded like nonsense.
As Gilbert's expression darkened, the last elder they interviewed said something intriguing.
"The deer didn't vanish because their numbers dwindled."
"Huh?"
"Back then, this place had... unsavory customs. The temple issued warnings—called it sacrilege and whatnot. That's why hunting stopped. Deer are still plentiful."
The elder, though over eighty, was sharp-eyed and clear-spoken.
"Unsavory customs?"
"......Well, it's hard to say. The priests condemned it as sacrilege, threatened us fiercely..."
He seemed hesitant.
'This is it!'
Simultaneously, a glimmer of hope lit Damian and Gilbert's weary faces.
"Please tell us, elder. We're not affiliated with the temple. We're not here to accuse."
"......Fine. I was just a kid then, only did it once. But the priests forbade even speaking of it, said it was unclean..."
"Unclean things must be purged with light. Here's a talisman. Please, elder, speak freely."
Gilbert urgently pressed a glowing talisman into the elder's hand.
A 5-gold coin's worth of purification dispelled the "unclean" aura.
"Ahem. Back then... it was customary here to drink the blood of hunted deer. Every resident likely tried it at least once. It was meant to ward off evil and pray for longevity, but the priests declared it even more sacrilegious and banned it..."
Deer blood.
The moment those words were spoken, Gilbert and Damian's eyes flashed in unison.
"Deer blood?"
[Yes. It's worth testing.]
"Hmm... plausible, but deer aren't abundant here, are they?"
[Grant's territory is teeming with them. Once efficacy is confirmed, we'll hunt them in bulk and transport them.]
"......Fine. Nothing to lose anyway."
Logan nodded at Gilbert's report. Soon after, Raphtan's knights scoured the mountains for deer.
"Deer? All of a sudden?"
"Dunno. Nobles must be bored."
"The king, as expected..."
Amid plague-fueled unrest, even this was met with skepticism.
But three days later—
Squelch.
Logan's hands moved with utmost care as he slit the throat of a fallen deer and collected its blood.
"Here. Drink."
"......Yes, Your Majesty."
A man with tearful eyes knelt, looking up at Logan.
His face was flushed crimson, oozing pus—a severe case.
Such critical patients were multiplying rapidly in Raphtan, beyond the priests' reach.
If deer blood failed, mass casualties within days would be inevitable.
'That must not happen.'
Logan's intense will bore down on the man like a weight.
Grimacing, the man lifted the bowl brimming with deer blood and gulped it down.