Chapter 48: You’ll really help us?
"Why not fetch a priest?"
The moment the question left his lips, Alistair felt like a fool.
The chubby boy gave him a strange look, hesitating for a moment before answering.
"Have you forgotten, my lord? You... you killed all the priests. And even if they were alive, we couldn’t afford one. A single healing spell costs a hundred gold pieces." The boy added quietly, "Not that they ever wanted to heal the likes of us anyway."
Alistair rubbed his nose in embarrassment. It had been a simple calculation at the time. The priests were useless. They refused to serve the civilians, had been unwilling to even look at Abby, and had openly disdained him as their lord.
He’d figured he might as well send those sheepdogs to meet their god.
"Right. I’ll go with you to buy the medicine, and then you’ll take me to your home." Alistair’s tone was decisive. "As your lord, if one of my knights has erred, then the responsibility to make it right is mine."
The boy’s eyes, usually narrowed to slits in his chubby face, widened in disbelief. For the first time, Alistair could actually see the whites around his irises.
"You... you’ll really help us?"
Alistair gave a firm nod.
Frostcrest had only one apothecary, where nearly everyone went for sickness or injury. The healing arts of a priest were a luxury for nobles—a luxury that, now, even they couldn’t enjoy.
The apothecary’s owner was an old man with a shock of white hair. His face was a testament to a hard-lived life, weathered and coarse, etched with deep wrinkles. In stark contrast, his eyes were exceptionally bright and sharp.
According to the boy, the old herbalist had once been an alchemist, but his mana source had been shattered, leaving him unable to craft potions. Yet, Alistair noticed the thick calluses covering the old man’s palms and wrists. He suspected there was more to his story.
"Mister Evander, I need to buy some herbs for an injury," the boy said, scurrying up to the counter, his voice laced with anxiety.
It wasn’t his first visit; he’d been here before to buy remedies for his father’s wounds. He had always been slightly afraid of the sharp-eyed old man. Beneath that hawk-like gaze, he felt as if he had nowhere to hide.
Old Evander had already noted their approach. He sized up Alistair, recognizing his station instantly. "Good day, my lord."
Alistair acknowledged him with a nod, saying nothing.
Evander offered a respectful but proud bow before turning his attention to the boy, who barely reached the countertop. A warm smile touched his lips. "Ah, Aubrey. You look like you’ve gotten fatter. What happened this time? Did your father get himself hurt hunting for you again?"
At the mention of his father, Aubrey’s expression fell. He shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. "Mister Evander... Father can’t hunt for me anymore. He... he fell in battle, three days ago."
Evander’s smile vanished, replaced first by shock, then by a flicker of deep regret. He’d been fond of the lad’s father, who would occasionally bring him a flagon of sour ale. To think he was gone, just like that.
"I’m sorry, Aubrey. I..."
"My father was a glorious warrior, Mister Evander," Aubrey said, shaking his head and sniffing loudly. "I’m proud of him. I’m going to be just like him someday." He straightened up a little. "I’m here to get medicine for my mother. Some bad men hurt her."
Old Evander didn’t press for details. He knew that for those who had been wronged, pointless questions were just another form of torture. Unless you could solve their problem, silence was a mercy. He simply turned and began gathering the necessary herbs from his shelves.
"Here, Aubrey. These are styptic herbs. I’ve measured the dose. Take them home, boil them for an hour, and have your mother drink the brew."
Evander deftly wrapped the herbs in two small parcels and placed them in the boy’s hands. He then paused, his hand resting on Aubrey’s round head. His gaze was complex. "You must grow up strong and healthy... to protect your mother, for your father’s sake."
Aubrey nodded obediently. He pulled a handful of copper coins from his pocket. He carefully counted them, set two aside, and pushed the rest across the counter into a small wooden tray.
It wasn’t nearly enough to pay for the medicine, but Evander said nothing. He didn’t run this shop for profit. With a gentle smile, he picked a single copper from the tray, pushed the remainder back toward Aubrey, and waved a dismissive hand. "This is enough."
After bidding farewell to Evander, Alistair followed Aubrey through a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleys. They finally stopped before a low, tile-roofed hovel in the outer district. This was the boy’s home.
Alistair frowned. The pay for a Sword-and-Shield guardsman wasn’t as high as a knight’s, but it should have afforded better than this.
"Mother, I’m home!" Aubrey called, knocking on the door.
A woman’s weak voice, punctuated by a cough, answered from within. "Cough—Aubrey, is that you? Come in, dear, the door is unlocked. It’s a bit hard for me to get up right now."
Alistair waited, a gesture of respect, until Aubrey re-emerged from the doorway and beckoned him inside.
The moment he stepped through the threshold, he was hit by the cloying scent of herbs mingling with the foul, metallic stench of an infected, festering wound.
In the dim light, Alistair saw a frail woman lying on her side on a simple cot, her face haggard and drawn with exhaustion. Aubrey had clearly explained the situation, but her eyes were still wide with fear as she struggled to sit up.
"My lord, I..."
"Stay as you are. You don’t need to be formal. That’s an order."
Alistair reached out, gently pressing her back onto the cot. At the same time, he sent a wisp of his Aura into her body to assess her condition.
His brow furrowed instantly. It wasn’t just the external wounds. The boy’s mother was also suffering from a severe lung affliction.
Suddenly, their poverty made sense. Her husband’s entire pay must have been spent on her treatment. It was the kind of sickness even priests couldn’t cure, treatable only through a ritual cleansing with Holy Water condensed from pure faith—a priceless resource found only in the Capital. Frostcrest, a remote border town, had no hope of acquiring such a thing.
But it wasn’t entirely hopeless. That power from Abby’s awakening yesterday... that has to be the key. He would have to accelerate her awakening as soon as he returned.
Cutting through pleasantries, Alistair went straight to the point. "I was told your husband’s death stipend was stolen by a group of men, and that they have a knight supporting them?"
The woman’s face crumpled in misery. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded. "My lord, can you help us?" she sobbed. "It was Frank and his men. They’re thugs from the outer district, living off protection money they extort from everyone."
Her voice broke with grief. "The knight who delivered the stipend had barely left when they barged in. They took the money and... and they beat me. Sobs..."
She choked back another sob. "They told me I could report them if I dared. They said they had a knight... they said they had the lord himself watching their backs..."
"Bastards!"
A vein pulsed on Alistair’s temple, his hands clenched into tight fists. These dogs weren’t just committing atrocities; they were doing it under his name.
He would see for himself who this knight was. And if such a man truly existed in his ranks, he would face the most severe punishment imaginable.