The elderly woman led the way toward the white tower, her steps slow and unsteady.
She was actually only about fifty years old, but her hair was already gray, her skin was deeply wrinkled, and her movements were weak and powerless. She looked even more aged than the eighty-something President Olei of the Archaeological Association or the seventy-something Archbishop Trinlais of the Black Night. Her physical state was not at all like the constitution a rank five authority Soul Severer should possess.
But Lynch did not find this puzzling. He had made a special effort to learn about this elderly woman who had personally treated his leg injury, so he knew the reason.
Over the past thirty years, this universally recognized saint had personally gone deep into large-scale epidemic zones five times to oversee medical treatment. She had contracted deadly plagues multiple times, surviving solely by relying on the unique constitution of a Soul Severer to pull through. Furthermore, she had entered war zones seven times on behalf of the Church of Suffering to rescue civilians of all sides. Once, to protect several children, she had even used her own body to shield them from artillery fire. Although the gunpowder and artillery shells in this world were relatively weak, they were still not something a low-tier Soul Severer with only a rank three authority could easily withstand, leaving her with countless hidden injuries.
Countless injuries and illnesses had long since hollowed out her soul. Everyone knew that this elderly woman was perhaps the only Soul Severer in the world who did not need to worry too much about mysterious erosion or soul distortion, because in her physical state, she would likely exhaust her soul completely before it could ever be eroded.
This was the origin of her title as a saint. No matter what people actually thought in their hearts, they had to be absolutely respectful to the elderly woman on the surface. She was the kind of person where if she wanted to slap someone's face, that person would first have to find a way to soften their cheek so they wouldn't hurt her hand.
Although she was now in a state of semi-retirement, she still constantly ran about for people who had absolutely no relation to her, consuming what little remained of her soul.
Lynch naturally supported Nightingale by the arm. He didn't actually understand the elderly woman's mindset or actions, but that didn't affect his respect for her. Especially at such close proximity, feeling the weakness and overexertion radiating from her body, Lynch couldn't help but feel a wave of emotion in his heart. Whether he would help was still open to debate, but at the very least, he would give it serious consideration.
“I actually gave you a brief introduction last time. This is a troublesome matter that was bound to happen.”
“Due to the dissipation of the King of Ghouls' clone, the authorities it controlled will also briefly spiral out of control. Although they will eventually be reconsolidated by its main body, the out-of-control power during this process will radiate throughout the entire mortal world, heavily affecting its living beings. This process is unavoidable, which is why I approached you as soon as you drove away the clone of the King of Ghouls.”
Lynch nodded. The elderly woman had briefly explained these things while treating him, which at least gave him some mental preparation.
“There is no need to worry about its other authorities, but the authority of disease is rather troublesome. These diseases are not naturally occurring; they are caused by the interference of divine authority and carry a mysterious power. As a result, it manifests not only physically, but also mentally. For instance, after falling ill, a person will descend into madness, much like those who have suffered from mysterious erosion. What is even more troublesome is that because this is caused by the interference of a god's authority, medicines in the mortal world cannot cure it at all. Once contracted, one can only wait for death.”
“Fortunately, the number of patients will not be too large. There will probably be tens of thousands within Lande, and at most several hundred thousand worldwide. Once these patients pass away, the period of authority interference will have passed, and no one else will fall ill.”
While several hundred thousand patients worldwide indeed didn't sound like too many, the number still made Lynch's heart skip a beat. Then, he heard Nightingale say:
“Those patients have all been subjected to mysterious interference, so their conditions are highly unstable. Most importantly, they are all very dangerous.”
As she spoke, Mrs. Nightingale suddenly stopped walking. Only then did Lynch realize that he had followed her deep into the Temple of Suffering.
This was a five-story tower. Its white theme and the pungent smell of medicine gave Lynch the illusion of entering a hospital from his past life. However, right at the entrance was a steam elevator platform. The exposed gears and steam pipes made Lynch realize that he was still in the steam-filled Victorian era.
Directly facing the tower's entrance was the temple's most important chapel, where the holy statue of Fiona stood. However, the two of them did not head over. Mrs. Nightingale led Lynch to a stop in front of a door.
Placing her hand on the door, the elderly woman looked back at Lynch. “It is not a pleasant sight, child. Prepare yourself.”
There's one inside?
Lynch's heart tightened, and he nodded solemnly to the elderly woman.
With a creak, the door opened.
The inside looked nothing like a hospital, but rather like a small jail cell. A row of iron bars as thick as wrists divided the room into inner and outer halves. Inside the cell behind the bars stood an iron bed bolted to the floor, where a person was secured with several leather straps. Two white-robed priests were by the bedside. They looked back at the two who had entered, nodded, and then lowered their heads to continue their busy work.
It looked very much like an eighteenth-century asylum.
What was more, when the two of them turned their heads, it gave Lynch quite a fright. Both wore ugly bird masks, the metal of which reflected the cold light of the gas lamps, making every movement of the two white-robed figures seem bizarre and creating a rather chilling atmosphere.
“Put this on.” Nightingale handed over a bird mask and put one on herself. “It has been professionally cleaned, so there is no problem.”
Fastening the mask onto his face, a pungent medicinal scent wafted from the pointed beak. Although it was quite unpleasant, after taking a few breaths, he felt refreshed and clear-headed.
Following the elderly woman into the cell, Lynch finally saw the bound patient.
It was a young girl barely over ten years old. Perhaps she had once been lively and cute, but at this moment, she had transformed into a hideous monster.
The tips of her fingers and toes had keratinized into sharp claws, and the corners of her mouth were split wide open on both sides, revealing bloody teeth that still had bits of meat of unknown origin hanging from them. Her wide-open eyes were entirely bloodshot, filled with madness and bloodlust. What came out of her mouth was not speech, but beastly low growls and frenzied roars.
Upon closer inspection, one could see many wounds scattered across the young girl's body, some of which were even potentially fatal. Yet, the young girl seemed entirely unaffected, her violent struggles causing the iron bed to creak loudly.
Even with Nightingale's warning, the madness radiating from the young girl still sent a chill down Lynch's spine. This little creature's frenzied behavior reminded Lynch of monsters from classic horror movies.
“This child is the first patient discovered by the church, found the day before yesterday. From her, we have basically determined the symptoms of the disease. Once it sets in, the mind descends into madness, causing them to completely lose their sanity and desperately bite any living creature around them. They become extremely violent.”
Hiss, it really is a bit like a zombie.
“Are you sure it won't infect others and develop into a plague?”
Lynch was well aware of how terrifying zombies could be. Furthermore, in the Red Moon Memories, the great catastrophe at the end of the First Age had started with a plague, which had left a deep impression on him, making him highly sensitive to such matters.
“Heh, rest assured about that. This disease is born of divine authority and does not possess the infectious nature of a normal plague. I explained to you that day as well that forming a plague this way is virtually impossible, otherwise there would be no humans left in the world. With only disease, and without the other two elements—replication and transmission—a plague simply cannot form. Those patients also fell ill suddenly; this is all normal.”
With a professional confirming it once again, Lynch finally set his worries aside and pressed, “How long will they stay like this? Can they still turn back into normal humans?”
“After lasting for about a month, they will die one after another. This process is uncontrollable. The death of all patients is the only outcome; no one can save them.”
Behind the mask, Lynch pursed his lips. “So, what can I do?”
“You are the only exception.” The elderly woman stopped beating around the bush. “It was you who caused the clone of the King of Ghouls to be destroyed, so conceptually, you have produced a restraining effect on this disease.”
Hmm? Are there antibodies in my serum?
Having watched countless movies, Lynch immediately made that connection. However, after he explained his thought, Mrs. Nightingale shook her head.
“If it were a normal disease, perhaps it could be solved that way, but this situation is far more dangerous.” The elderly woman patted Lynch's arm and said seriously, “Child, listen closely. Because you have produced a restraining effect on this disease, we need to use your blood as a guide to completely solidify this restraining effect conceptually. This way, as long as the medicines of the mortal world in the future receive your approval, they will have a restraining effect on this disease.”
“That is a good thing. Is there some kind of catch?”
“The problem lies in this process. It requires your soul and the authority of the disease to repeatedly clash, and it can only be completed if you hold out until the very end.”
Behind his mask, Lynch frowned and pressed, “And what if I fail halfway through?”
The elderly woman sighed and pointed at the patient tied to the bed.
“To be honest, we cannot give you equivalent compensation. Some potions, some money, and at most a few more mystery relics—that is already the absolute limit of what we can offer. These are not even worth mentioning compared to the mortal danger you would be facing.”
Seeing Lynch fall into deep thought, Nightingale said very candidly:
“Furthermore, in the end, not that many people will actually be saved.”
“Hmm?”
“It is a matter of time. We had to wait for patients to appear—which is now—before we could officially begin. And even if everything goes smoothly and we complete the conceptual solidification, the subsequent drug development will also take a long time. Optimistically speaking, it will take at least half a month to develop a cure. Even if we distribute it to the patients as quickly as possible, at most a third or even fewer will survive long enough to receive it.”
The elderly woman sighed deeply, her expression filled with dejection as she said:
“In the end, those saved because of this might only number in the tens of thousands; the majority of patients will still die. I feel it is necessary for you to know this outcome beforehand.”
“So, I will not try to persuade you. Child, you have the right to choose. Everything is up to you to decide.”
For a moment, the room fell completely silent, with only the patient's frenzied roars echoing through the space.
Rate on N.U.
