Chapter 863
A bright, sunny afternoon.
The farmers, having straightened their backs from working the fields, gazed toward a distant hill. A strange carriage was rattling closer. Taking a break, they gathered in the shade, searching for cold water.
“Is another doctor coming from the capital?”
“Seems like it. The visits are getting more frequent.”
“They still don’t know what the illness is, right?”
The carriage didn’t pass by but came to a stop. The farmers exchanged uneasy glances, wondering if they’d said something wrong. The coachman pointed toward the road’s end and asked,
“Could you tell me the way?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Is the lord’s manor this way?”
“Must be your first time here. This carriage’s different from the last doctor’s who came.”
“I’m just asking if this is the right way.”
“Oh, sorry. We’re just worried about the lord’s health. Go straight ahead. You’re almost there.”
“Thank you.”
With a sharp flick of the whip, the coachman drove past the farmers. They gulped down the cold water, watching the carriage disappear into the distance.
“Looks like the doctor’s changed again.”
“No one’s been able to cure him, so they keep switching. But this is serious, isn’t it? The lord only has that little boy—what, five years old?”
“Hey! Watch your words!”
“Just saying, I’m worried.”
The farmers shook their handkerchiefs and tried to distract themselves.
This place, about five hours by carriage from the capital, had fertile land perfect for self-sufficiency. The mountain range surrounding the estate was rich with mines, big and small. They’d never had trouble making a living—until now. This was a calamity like no other.
“By the way…”
One farmer glanced toward where the carriage had vanished.
“Did you see her?”
“…Yeah.”
“Me too.”
“The woman inside the carriage? She was beautiful.”
“Never seen anyone that stunning in my life.”
They nodded in strong agreement, then shook off their thoughts, grabbed their tools, and headed back to the fields.
Time to work again.
Meanwhile, where the carriage had stopped—
“Where are you from?”
“From the capital. I’m Doctor Kelly.”
The gatekeeper opened the manor doors at the coachman’s request, and soon the steward, having been informed, came down to greet them.
“Welcome, Doctor Kelly. Thank you for coming all this way.”
“No trouble at all.”
“And your companions?”
“My apprentices.”
“Right this way.”
A small, thin old man with white hair shook hands with the steward and entered the manor.
As he walked, Kelly took in the estate. Though somewhat remote from the capital—more like the outskirts—it was still a branch of the royal family. This manor was more magnificent, grand, and beautiful than any he’d ever seen. His apprentices followed quietly behind.
“I’ve heard the details by letter, but what exactly are the symptoms?”
“Fever, chills, and severe headaches that just won’t subside. He can barely eat. His strength is failing; sometimes his hands and feet tremble. Occasionally, he coughs up blood.”
“Hmm.”
Kelly adjusted his glasses and quickened his pace.
Knock, knock.
“Madam, the doctor from the capital has arrived.”
“Bring him in at once.”
“Excuse me.”
A man lay in bed, guarded by a woman—Lord Hadel and his wife, Jeria.
Despite her long platinum hair neatly pinned up and adorned with jewels, she looked elegant rather than ostentatious. She nodded in greeting.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor.”
“Not at all. I’ll begin with a brief examination.”
Kelly hung his stethoscope around his neck and pulled back the lord’s blanket. The man’s body was exposed—though just over fifty, he was as gaunt as a withered tree. So weak, he barely kept consciousness, coughing lightly with every small movement.
Cough! Cough!
“Oh dear, water—”
Gag! Hack!
Without warning, the lord vomited bright red blood, trembling violently. Kelly’s apprentices rushed forward to assist, while Jeria stepped back, frozen. Fear flickered in her blue eyes.
“Breathe, my lord. Can you hear me? Please breathe. It’s going to be alright.”
Gag! Hack!
Jeria watched her husband’s face pale as he fought for life. When she could no longer bear it, she slowly backed out of the room, leaving only the servants carrying hot water behind her.
She sighed and leaned against the empty hallway wall. Her legs gradually gave way, but her back remained straight.
Wasn’t this a marriage without love, built only on purpose? Yet seeing her husband dying like this twisted something deep inside her.
Was it fear? Fear of what would become of her and her son if the lord died? Or pity? Worry?
‘No way.’
She let out a bitter laugh.
‘He was never truly healthy, but it wasn’t this bad. Since last summer, it’s been steadily getting worse—’
Her chain of thoughts was abruptly cut off by a presence. Jeria turned and met the eyes of a child with the same platinum hair and blue eyes.
“Mother.”
Her son.
“Ian.”
“Are you alright?”
For a five-year-old, his question was surprisingly mature.
Jeria rose as if nothing had happened and looked down at him. The worry in her eyes vanished, replaced by her usual stern expression.
“You should be in class right now.”
“The teacher left early.”
“Acting on your own without consulting me.”
“Mother.”
Ian trailed off, looking up at her. He wanted to ask again if she was alright but dared not. Her silence meant no questions allowed.
“Your father is stable. A skilled doctor from the capital has come. He’ll stay here for a while to care for your father, so focus on your studies without worry.”
Jeria noticed Ian fidgeting but deliberately looked away. Someone in the manor might be watching.
‘You mustn’t know anything.’
The boy had to remain a five-year-old, distant from his father’s pain and struggles. If anyone sought to harm her husband—or even her—she would face them herself.
‘That’s how you survive. Even if I die.’
“Go back to your room now.”
She gently nudged Ian’s back and turned away. The hem of her dress brushed lightly as she disappeared down the hall. Ian stood there for a long time, watching.
Later, in the lord’s bedroom, past the worst of the crisis.
The doctor and his apprentices stepped into the hallway, discussing the diagnosis. The condition was worse than expected. They sighed as they wiped blood from the lord’s skin with damp cloths.
“When did this start exactly?”
“Since last summer. He’s been bedridden since then.”
“Could it be Adeluke’s disease from the northern continent?”
“The blood’s too clear for that.”
While the senior doctors debated outside, the youngest apprentice sat by the lord’s side, recording notes. She dipped her pen in ink and wrote the first line:
—Year 1184 of Bariel, first examination at the Hadel estate.
She checked the lord’s breath, still as if dead, and carefully documented his complexion and symptoms.
After filling two pages, footsteps approached.
“Oh.”
A young boy stood there, expressionless. She immediately recognized him as the young master of the manor. As she rose to greet him, he raised a small hand to stop her.
“Sorry to disturb you.”
“No, young master. I’m an apprentice of Doctor Kelly from the capital. You came because you’re worried about your father?”
The boy nodded slightly. She looked at him, silently asking if it was alright to come closer. She put down her pen.
“Of course. But he just fell asleep, so please be careful.”
Ian stepped forward cautiously and placed his hand on the bed—no more was allowed.
“Is he very sick?”
She hesitated, unsure how to answer. Honestly, he was deeply poisoned by something unknown. Forget returning to normal—she couldn’t even guarantee he’d survive today or tomorrow. But telling the boy the truth—
“Tell me straight.”
Ian’s clear eyes met hers. For a five-year-old, he was remarkably composed.
“My mother won’t tell me, so all I can think about are bad things.”
“Young master.”
Ah, poor child. She smiled faintly and bowed to Ian.
“It’s true your father is very ill. But there is still hope. That’s why we’re here. We will do everything we can to save him. So please don’t worry too much.”
The boy pondered something silently.
‘Why, though?’
It seemed as if he didn’t even know the name of the illness. He lived in the same mansion with his mother and father, ate the same food—so why was it only his father who had fallen so ill? And suddenly, no less, with even the most renowned doctors powerless to help.
“Could it be…?”
Ian glanced toward the door. Could someone have deliberately made his father sick?
Just as the child’s expression grew serious, a woman reached out to take Ian’s hand.
“Ian, young master?”
A servant’s voice called from outside, and Ian turned away, stepping out of the bedroom. It was time to hurry back—he had far too many tasks awaiting him.
The child, still holding the doorknob, looked back at the woman.
“Please take good care of my father.”
“Of course. I will do my utmost with all my heart,” she replied.
“And if possible, I’d like to visit him sometimes.”
“My mother won’t allow it,” Ian added, a little downcast. The woman smiled gently, touched by his words.
“Come whenever you like. I’m usually the one in charge of the bedroom.”
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
Her smile was as radiant as her golden hair. Ian’s question made her emerald eyes sparkle.
“Philia.”
“Philia. I’m Ian.”
“Yes, I know, young master.”
“I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise.”
After exchanging brief greetings, Ian left. Philia shrugged lightly and picked up her pen once more.
Such a charming and mature child. The finest noble child I’ve ever seen.
“Ian, young master.”
“Quiet.”
“If the lady finds out you’re in the bedroom, I’ll get scolded.”
“The doctors didn’t wear masks either. That means it’s not contagious. And you should worry more than I do. I just saw my father for the first time today, but you come and go from the bedroom several times a day, don’t you?”
The servant pursed her lips at the child’s sharp retort. He was only five, but it was hard to argue with him. So she resorted to pleading.
“Still, young master, you’re young and more vulnerable to illness. If you get sick, I’ll be punished by the lady.”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, young master!”
In an age when the name Hielo had faded into the mists of time, remembered only faintly by the few elders who had witnessed the great war against the subterranean gods—
Thus began the story of Ian Verocion.