No one attempted to storm the tunnel. In such a narrow space, there was no telling how many infected were still lurking inside. Add to that an old ghoul and a little monster of unknown strength, and going in was no different from committing suicide. It was better to stay put, observe the enemy's moves, and react accordingly.
However, a troublesome situation arose: the enemy's move was no move at all.
Time ticked away to nine o'clock in the evening. The red moon had already risen into the sky, yet the other side showed no reaction whatsoever, as if they had truly been blown to bits.
An arrow notched on the string, held back without being drawn—that was what was most unsettling.
If it had actually been shot, they would have felt more at ease.
Right now, Lynch was sitting in the city lord's sickroom, taking a deep drag of soul-calming grass and slowly exhaling a cloud of pale blue smoke.
His movements were steady, his expression as unruffled as a tranquil pool.
Yet while he looked cool and composed on the surface, his heart grew increasingly uneasy, suspecting all the while that the enemy was brewing some massive trump card.
In truth, the situation was looking quite good, with everything proceeding according to plan.
The city lord's mood was extremely stable—probably just as stable as his deceased relatives.
The medicine had already taken effect, so at least there was no need to worry about him turning into one of the infected anytime soon.
Just when Dr. Sven was fretting over how to get the city lord to open his mouth and drink the medicine, Miss Diana had already injected it directly into the city lord's blood vessels. This was a realm-transcending strike of medical technology, leaving Dr. Sven rather crestfallen, after which she spent a good while roundly denouncing all apothecaries for straying down evil paths.
You use arcana, so you're an apothecary too—either way, you are one. Perhaps this was just the stubborn pride of a healer.
The city lord was sleeping peacefully now, his heartbeat strong and breathing steady. If nothing unexpected happened, hanging on for several days would be no problem at all.
To prevent any unexpected accidents, the fortress was under strict guard.
All entrances and exits to the military camp were heavily guarded, with unauthorized personnel strictly forbidden from entering or leaving. Two full-fledged soldiers stood guard outside the sickroom, under orders to kill anyone on the spot who tried to enter without authorization.
Inside the sickroom, the outsiders took turns standing guard, ensuring at least two people remained inside at all times to monitor the city lord's vital signs. If any problem arose, they were to notify Dr. Sven immediately. Everyone was doing their utmost to protect the city lord's life, as he was their only hope.
Meanwhile, the distribution of medicine outside continued intensely.
Things were a bit tricky on that end, though the difficulty lay not in the distribution process itself, but in the shortage of medicine.
Dr. Sven had been giving it her all. Aside from leaving for an hour earlier to meet up with Lynch, she hadn't left the compounding room once. But medicine couldn't appear out of thin air. While raw materials were barely sufficient, every step—from preparing the herbs to casting spells during compounding—consumed a vast amount of time and energy. By normal standards, even working without sleep or rest would take four or five days to prepare enough medicine for the entire city.
However, Lynch had quietly whispered a suggestion to the two medical ladies, earning himself a round of harsh scolding. But though they cursed with their mouths, their actions were honest enough, following through on his plan even as they swore.
Dilute it with water—dilute it with even more water.
Originally, a single bottle of medicine could not only purge the plague elements absorbed in the body, but also grant seventy-two hours of temporary resistance. Now, it was down to twenty-four hours—no, wait, only twelve hours—actually, scratch that, it was eight hours.
It couldn't be shortened any further, or the therapeutic effect would be compromised.
By resorting to such measures, the time needed to complete distribution was cut down to tomorrow morning. By midnight tonight, the expected time of the outbreak, less than half the citizens would have taken the medicine at best.
In other words, whether the plague would break out among those who hadn't taken the medicine, whether the final purification would be triggered, and whether Lynch's group could ultimately achieve their goal all depended on this grand gamble tonight.
Until the box was opened, no one knew if that unlucky cat was dead or alive. The result would be revealed at midnight.
Time slipped away second by second, from high noon to the rising of the red moon.
Waiting for the outcome was the most painful torment. As the clock ticked closer to the deadline, the tension, far from easing, grew ever more intense—so much so that Lynch had to rely on soul-calming grass to steady his nerves.
But he was no longer the weakling he had been when he first transmigrated. What had grown stronger was not just his power, but also the fragile mind of his former ordinary self.
No matter how panicked he felt inside, he had to maintain a calm exterior.
It was his plan. He was the one who had restored hope to the medicine distribution that had seemed like a futile effort, and he was the one who gave the four of them a chance to harvest the human-faced fruit once more.
Unknowingly, he had become the anchor for everyone. Dr. Sven, Terry, hundreds of soldiers, over eight thousand people in the city, and even the three other ladies—all eyes were on him. If he panicked first and lost his nerve, everyone's spirit would collapse, and the battle would be lost before it even began.
No matter how nervous he was inside, he had to hold the line.
“He whose heart holds thunder and lightning while his face remains as serene as a calm lake can serve as a grand general.” Lynch finally understood the meaning of those words. Perhaps this was the responsibility and duty required of a leader.
Hmph. I'm not who I used to be. Damned old ghoul, you can't scare me.
...Though I'm still a little panicked.
Clap.
A hand came down heavily on his shoulder.
He didn't even need to look to know who it was from the force of the grip. Sure enough, turning his head, he met Officer Natalie's solemn gaze.
“Don't be nervous. Relax. If your mind is wound too tight, it makes it easier for filth to corrupt you and cause a twisting transformation.” Months of spending time together made them intimately familiar with each other; Lynch's mood couldn't escape this fierce yet perceptive woman. “Think on the bright side.”
“Hmm? Like what?”
“Like...” The female officer tilted her head, pondering for a good while before saying, “Like, only after everyone has taken the medicine and we actually get the human-faced fruit will the outcome truly be decided. So even when midnight comes, we still can't relax?”
“Gee, thanks a lot. Now I feel so much worse.”
Lynch patted the hand resting on his shoulder. It was slightly rough, but remarkably warm. The heat eased the tension in his heart as he stretched languidly. “Is everything still normal outside?”
“Yeah, but progress is slower than expected. We probably won't finish distribution tomorrow morning; it'll drag into the afternoon.”
Hiss... Isn't that right around the time the memories originally ended? The weight of historical inertia is truly terrifying. Lynch mused silently before pressing, “Why?”
“Even a ghoul isn't a steam engine; she gets tired too. Don't worry, everything is going smoothly. The night is quiet, no infected have appeared on the streets, so morning versus afternoon shouldn't make much difference.”
“Don't say stuff like that, it's bad luck. The longer you sleep, the more nightmares you're bound to have.” Lynch sighed. “It's precisely because it's so quiet that I feel uneasy. I'd rather see a wildcard pop up.”
“Hmm?”
“If the city lord's significance is truly as crucial as I imagined, then the enemy should be trying every means possible to deliver the finishing blow. There's no way they'd stay quiet for ten hours straight. So this calm either means the city lord isn't that important to their plan after all and we guessed wrong, or it means... they still have one final card left to play. A wildcard appearing would eliminate the first possibility and allow me to guess their final move—”
Bang!
The sickroom door was shoved open with force. Dr. Sven walked in with a grim expression, with Miss Diana hurrying in right behind her.
“A letter from my father. It's for you. He wants to make a deal with you.” Walking right up to Lynch, the female doctor stared strangely into his eyes and said in a low voice, “He says he can temporarily halt the plague's outbreak... until...”
A negotiation? Now that's a turn of events I didn't expect.
Theoretically speaking, once everyone gets the medicine, the ritual should be considered broken in all likelihood. Am I right, neighbor?
【Yes, that is the case as things stand now.】
So time is on our side. That's good news, but what's with her expression?
Lynch frowned slightly. “Until what?”
“...Until, before you break free from the memories and return to your own era, you kill the city lord so his plan can move forward.”
A sow-discord scheme?
Wait... what the hell did you just say?
Lynch raised his head and stared in shock at Dr. Sven, feeling a chill run straight down his spine.
Rate on N.U.
