Chương 33: Expected Outcome

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking you'll appreciate me going easy on them."

"Missing teeth, broken ribs, and stab wounds. I would hardly call that 'going easy', especially since they are supposed to be your allies."

"I know what I'm doing. They are still alive, and none of their wounds are permanent so long as they get the proper treatment. Even without your help, Elite-tier hardiness will have them up and fighting at acceptable combat effectiveness in a week, at most."

"Not everyone is as durable as you."

"You're the physician. Am I wrong?" Alcyr and Lenore were in another infirmary, along with the four members of 3rd Platoon that had intercepted him earlier. Lenore tended to the two wounded Regulars first — placing the still-unconscious Keager on a bed and wrenching Nerma's dislocated arm back in place — before finally directing her attention to Alcyr.

"You could have just used words rather than fists," she chided as she re-stitched his wounds.

"Does the phrase 'proportionate response' mean anything to you?" Alcyr considered his answer.

"My mentor had a saying.

'Words are more meaningful than fists, but fists are more effective than words.' There are times where effectiveness holds greater weight than meaning. I judged the situation in the mess hall earlier to be one of those moments."

"... You had a deranged teacher."

"She was. But sadly, her teachings tend to hold true."

"One wonders how she kept you alive if you were this reckless as a pupil." Lenore's hand found his chin.

"Raise your head." Alcyr did so. The physician checked his throat — specifically, the place where the corrupted godblood had healed the previous night.

"Your corruption seemed to have abated. Curious. I would have thought fighting would have aggravated the blighted divinity and worsened your condition. As it is, your throat will be fine, though a scar will remain."

"Throat scars are good," Ural chimed in, unprompted.

"A wound that deep should've killed you, and yet here you stand. No one else in the 4th Regulars can claim a war wound like that." Alcyr ignored the giant.

"So the corruption is gone?"

"Subdued," Lenore corrected.

"Corruption doesn't ever really leave the body. Think of it more as an incurable disease. It can be treated and suppressed, but any amount taken in accumulates over time. You need to be more careful in avoiding it in the future." Lenore finished stitching his wounds and turned to the other Regulars.

"I need to continue his treatment. The rest of you, leave the room."

"I'd say he's in pretty good shape, ma'am. He just suplexed one of our drakes," Ural pointed out.

"Keager here, on the other hand, had his skull cracked open. Shouldn't you treat him first?"

"Keager's fine. Leave. That's an order." The three of them walked out of the room with varying expressions: Garron contemplative, Nerma furious, and Ural with a parting wink.

"Don't do anything foolish now, Butcher! Our captain's lovely, but she has fangs of her own, too!" the giant called back as he left. The two of them were alone. Lenore sighed.

"First a fight at the mess hall, then the drake pens? What happened to staying out of trouble?"

"Circumstances changed once I found out someone stole my property." He paused.

"You knew, didn't you?" Lenore had the audacity to look nonplussed.

"Knew about what?"

"Who stole my dagger. Where it was this whole time." He watched her reaction. She gave away nothing.

"You aren't just a captain; you're the captain in charge of 3rd Platoon. Only a skilled surgeon could perform a procedure as dangerous as a drake heart transplant reliably, and I haven't seen any other physician in the camp."

"Correct. What of it?" Alcyr surged up from the bed— — and was struck back instantly, his nose out of place. Too fast, even for a Master. Not even Combat Sense had warned him in time. Blinding in speed, discipline in its control. Lenore's fist only hit hard enough to displace his nose and no more. He crashed back down on the bed. The frame groaned, then gave out beneath him, dropping him further still.

Before he could get up, Lenore was already straddling him, a spectral scalpel conjured in her hands and resting lightly at his throat.

"Don't," she warned mildly.

"Violence won't work here. Not on me." Evidently not. It seemed the physician hid secrets of her own. Her other hand reached for his broken nose and professionally snapped it back into place. Alcyr winced. He looked up at her.

"Interesting. I didn't think you were capable of moving that quickly. Are you really only a Master?"

"Enough. Did you really think you could just punch and intimidate your way through the camp to reclaim your stolen property? Is this the sum of your brilliant plan?"

"It got me where I wanted: right with the thief who took it." The spectral blade at his throat inched a fraction closer." I did not take your dagger." Lenore's voice was deliberately slowed, a sign of her thinning patience.

"However, it is true 3rd Platoon was the one who did the clean-up; we were the first to respond in the field that day." Alcyr frowned.

"Why?"

"If you know my platoon's history, then you know why my men were eager to claim vengeance on Warlord Bjorn for the drakes he slew." Most of 3rd Platoon consisted of former riders who had their mounts slain. Her words rang true.

"Where is my dagger now?"

"If I had to guess, it's in the hands of one of the squads deployed out in the tundra at the moment. However, Faldren has sent out the order to abandon the fields. In two weeks, most of the men under my command will be recalled back here. We can investigate the matter of your dagger then."

"I don't believe you." She tilted her head.

"Why would I lie to you? From the start, I have done nothing but help you. Even now, I am helping you. The fact that you are here, receiving treatment, and not bleeding to death in a disciplinary cell is a fairly blatant abuse of authority on my part, yet I'd gladly bear the consequences so long as it means you don't have to." Alcyr looked at her, searching for the slightest hint of deception.

During the final iteration of the last loop, Ishmael — the female guard who died for him — once mentioned that the head physician had theorised he might have precognition capabilities. The guard claimed Lenore came to this conclusion after she analysed the after-action reports of his deeds during the Battle of the Red Rime.

More specifically, she had discovered how he had routed an impossibly optimal path through the chaotic battlefield and successfully gathered his scattered allies before rallying them into a daring countercharge that turned the tide of the battle. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. While Lenore's precognition theory didn't hit the mark perfectly, it was a worryingly close estimation of his abilities.

More importantly, the physician was able to deduce it from the actions he took to survive in the final iteration of that loop alone, even though Alcyr had made sure not to tell anyone of the time loops. Is she telling the truth? Or is all this manipulation to get me to trust her? Before he could question her further, the door to the infirmary opened.

"Sorry to barge back in, ma'am. Nerma left something behind, and I—" Ural froze in the doorway. He saw Lenore straddling Alcyr in the dark, as well as the broken bed frame beneath them. The three of them stared at each other in silence for a moment. The giant's gaze flicked briefly to the corner, where the rider — Keager — remained unconscious. Ural nodded. He turned back to the duo and gave them a thumbs-up.

"Nevermind. Carry on!" The door shut behind him. A moment later, cheerful whistling faded down the path outside. Lenore blinked. Alcyr sighed.

"Get off me. I need to stop him before more idiotic rumours about me spread."

"No, you're not. You're heading straight to solitary confinement. Faldren has decreed you are to spend ten days in the hole."

"Hm. Is this a matter of discipline, or to appease the other nobles insulted by my audacity?"

"You started a fight in the middle of an ongoing campaign. If the other captains were around, they would have tried to hang you." The spectral scalpel in her hands vanished.

"As it stands, your punishment has been made light. None of the witnesses said you struck first. And as for the wounded party… You're lucky that there are no lasting injuries. You held back just enough."

"Luck had nothing to do with it. As I said, I knew what I was doing."

Ten days quickly passed. Alcyr did not spend much of it awake. Instead, he took to sleeping an excessive amount, finally catching up on some much-needed rest. This also allowed his Restorative Slumber skill the time it needed to mend what remained of his wounds without interruption. [Restorative Slumber has improved to 18] When he left solitary on the fifth day, he was fit enough to walk around the camp without needing bandages.

The stitches were removed, and Alcyr could finally stretch without feeling his muscles tear. His mood was further improved by his new accommodations. Regulars were all given double-occupancy rooms — another privilege bluebloods enjoyed over the packed bunks of the Irregulars — though for the moment, he had no roommate to share it with. Alcyr suspected this was either Lenore's or Faldren's doing, likely in an attempt to keep him separated from the other Regulars. His reputation in the company was…

complex, as he had found after he left his confinement. In the eyes of many, he was not punished severely enough for his actions that day. While this drew much resentment, the memory of the unrestrained violence he had unleashed without hesitation was etched just as firmly into their minds, and so no one confronted him directly about it. To the 4th Regulars, Alcyr had made it clear he was neither a spoilt noble who hadn't earned his privileges nor a dirty peasant to be kicked around as they pleased.

Despite having only recently left solitary, few now dared mock him or even meet his eye. They wisely kept their distance, especially once wild rumours about him — spread rampantly in his absence — came to light. That being said, he wasn't entirely isolated in the base. Aside from Lenore, they were others that still interacted with him.

"I would have thought you would want to distance yourself from me," Alcyr admitted.

"Nobody wants to sit with me anymore since I'm now associated with the mad Butcher," Vormas said sullenly.

"It's like I'm a disease." The two of them were currently eating in the mess hall, with the surrounding tables around them conspicuously empty despite the room being packed at mealtime. The holes in the roof and floor had been repaired — though if one squinted, they might see the bloodstains still.

"Everyone's avoiding us," Alcyr noted, not entirely displeased.

"Well, why won't they? You got away with everything. The preferential treatment is ridiculous. Half the camp's convinced you're some royal bastard the Commander's hiding from the highborn courts. It would certainly explain your strength. And then there's the, um, other rumour as well. Did you and Captain Lenore really—""We don't talk about that," Alcyr cut in.

"What about the Irregulars? The members of your logistical convoys, I mean. Why not find them instead?" He paused as a question occurred to him.

"Do you know what happened to Roland?" Vormas blinked.

"Roland?"

"He was one of the 3rd Irregulars that accompanied the convoy," Alcyr elaborated.

"About my height. Annoying. Runs his mouth too much, and—""I know who Roland is," Vormas cut in, exasperated.

"Your 'friend' caused me no end of trouble. He wouldn't stop spreading your story around. How much of it is even true?"

"None of it." Mostly.

"Do you know where he is? I understand most of the members of your convoy were sent back to their respective companies once the barbarian's assault on the tundra began, but I've also heard conflicting reports that they might have been allocated to other fronts."

"You are… worried for him, then?" Alcyr's initial reaction was to say no, but then he stopped.

"Maybe a little. Mostly, I want to find him and ask him to shut his mouth. I prefer to stay obscure; his wild tale-mongering isn't helping things."

"Oh. Well, you don't have to worry much about that anymore, then." It took Alcyr a second to realise what Vormas meant.

"He's dead?" The lieutenant nodded.

"He died about a week after your battle with the Warlord, right on the day the convoy members were supposed to leave. And before you ask, no, it wasn't murder. None of the Regulars were responsible." That had been Alcyr's first guess, admittedly. The news of the death took him aback.

"How did he die, then?" Vormas coughed.

"That's the strange thing. We are not sure." Alcyr frowned.

"What?"

"There was a blizzard that day. Somehow, he went missing. None of us really cared, but when the blizzard cleared, a lone scout brought back his corpse. Said she found him a mile from the base, alone." Unease began to creep into his heart.

"Are you implying that Roland walked out into a blizzard and killed himself in the cold?"

"No, that's not it. He was strange, but not… like that. The weird thing was that when the scout brought back his corpse, it was horrifically decayed." Alcyr felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Decayed? How old?"

"Weeks, at least. Which makes no sense, since everyone saw him walking around fine just a day ago. And even if he had died out in the tundra, the cold would have preserved his body." Vormas looked uncomfortable.

"None of us knew what to make of it."

"Were there any wounds? Signs of a struggle?"

"None. Our best guess was that some blighted monster had ambushed him in the base and then dragged him all the way out there to drain his life force to feed." Roland was just an Irregular. Despite the strangeness of his death, no one would bother investigating it. That left only the obvious question.

"The scout that found his body. What's her name?"

"Oh, it's…" Vormas frowned.

"Huh. Odd, I can't really remember. Why can't I… Something to do with the ocean?" Alcyr sighed.

"It's Ishmael, isn't it?"

"Oh, right! That's her name. You know her?" Hells and Damnation. I knew there was something off about this whole situation, but this might be way worse than I dared believe. The bards, the storytelling, signs of body possession… I can't act hastily. Investigate first. And, if it turns out my theories are true… Well, the best he could was probably blow up the mountain and hope that would be enough for containment.

Aside from the brief moments spent with Vormas, he had also been continuing with his treatment under Lenore's care. Though his healing was clearly accelerated by his regenerative skill, Lenore never questioned him on it.

"Does your throat not itch, even a little?" she asked.

"No. Should it?"

"The residual blight in the scar tissue, even if it's inert, should be causing you a burning discomfort. I was worried about a permanent itch, at the very least." And you're only mentioning this now?

"There's nothing." She fell quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

"Did you receive a surge of new skills and levels that day, when you fought in the mess hall and again in the drake pens?" He immediately narrowed his eyes, saying nothing. Lenore sighed.

"Sometimes, silence is an admission on its own. If you want to keep your secrets, being quiet is not enough. You have to learn how to actually lie."

"... I don't know what you are talking about."

"By the Twelve, not like that. Remind me to teach you the basics when we have the time. For now, I'm going to assume the corrupted godblood gave you a temporary burst of experience when you entered combat."

"Is that unusual?" Alcyr asked, seeing little point in denying it further.

"It means you have an unusually high affinity with either Blight or Divinity. Or both, depending on how many new skills you received and what rarity they were. Was it just one new Common-rarity skill? Two?" Alcyr answered immediately.

"Yes." Lenore closed her eyes, on the verge of giving up.

"You are such a terrible liar… Why do you even try?"

"You just asked me to." He shrugged.

"Besides, if I gave up on everything I was bad at, I'd never have anything to do."

"You are oddly self-depreciating at times." She rose and began gathering her equipment.

"From what I can see, the godblood in your body should be spent and the corruption fully inert by now. Keep your accelerated growth from blighted divinity a secret. An affinity to corruption or divine essence draws all sorts of wrong attention." He had been planning to stay low regardless.

"Duly noted." She gave him a measuring look.

"Do you know what it is that gave you that affinity? It could be a skill. Maybe even a Title or a Mystery." Alcyr shook his head.

"It's not something I can simply check. The System doesn't detail the exact nature of any abilities in the Status Screen."

"Well. You may get your chance to find out soon enough." Lenore pulled out a writ, sealed with a noble House's crest, and passed it to him. He turned it over.

"This is… House Vayne? It's from Commander Faldren."

"You once mentioned you wanted a written endorsement from him to employ the service of a diviner. Consider this your reward for surviving your assassination and alerting the base of the intruder."

"While I appreciate the gesture. But I don't see how this is useful to me now. When will I even get the chance to meet a diviner?"

"In a few days, actually." Lenore's mouth curved faintly.

"How would you feel about a trip to a nearby town with me?"