Chapter 8: The Mysterious Situation

As the warriors lifted the man and began to walk back, Komer and Ilot seemed to sense something hidden in Pilo’s words. Komer frowned and asked, “Mr. Pilo, it seems there’s some underlying reason behind the fall of the Duchy of Melen this time?”
After hesitating for a moment, Pilo considered whether it was necessary to discuss this topic. Although it might not be a particularly important secret for those well-informed, it involved high-ranking members of the kingdom. As a businessman, he naturally hesitated. After some thought, he replied vaguely, “My lord, it’s not that I refuse to speak, but there may be many complex circumstances that are difficult to explain right now. I believe you’ll know soon enough.”
Komer shrugged. He understood the other man’s caution, but it seemed irrelevant to him. He was about to head to the Caucasus soon, and no matter how dire the situation in the north was, it wasn’t his concern. However, that slave with the pierced collar earlier seemed quite capable. With a journey of thousands of miles ahead, having two helpers might make things easier—even if they were just for backup.
Smiling lightly, Komer turned away from the vehicle and said, “Mr. Pilo, I have a question. How many people like that slave do you have here?”
Pilo, quick-witted, immediately understood. “Oh, I’m sorry. Apart from him, there seems to be only one slave from the Duchy of Melen. There used to be a few more, but most of them were injured, quite seriously. Due to the lack of proper medical care during the journey back, they all died. Only two remained, with less severe injuries. I never expected such an incident to happen. If my lord doesn’t mind, I’d like to offer this slave and his companion as a personal gift to you.”
The merchant’s attentiveness pleased Komer greatly. Truly born into a family of merchants, he understood guests’ intentions better than anyone. Komer hadn’t even asked much, yet Pilo offered them willingly, leaving Komer unable to even express his gratitude. Nodding, Komer said with a smile, “With such a generous gift, I’ll always remember it. I won’t say anything more.”
Pilo shrugged nonchalantly and spread his hands, saying in the same humorous tone, “Everything is done for the guest’s benefit. This is the business principle our Feller family has followed for a hundred years, and it applies equally to you, my lord. I hope you won’t reject our goodwill.”

A cargo cart followed the return carriage, with four slaves placed in the covered cargo area, closely behind Comer and the other man’s carriage. Comer wasn’t worried they would escape—not only was surveillance of runaway slaves strict in the Homer region, but one of the slaves was also severely injured; without prompt treatment, he might not survive even a few days. With just a simple remark, “If you want to live, follow me obediently,” Comer made the once-rebellious former soldier from the Merlon Duchy submit completely and follow him without any further attempts to resist.

Back at his estate, Comer called for his butler, Sanders, and instructed him to arrange accommodations for the two in a separate house in the backyard and find them some clothes to change into. With Comer about to leave Cyprus for the Caucasus to face certain death, no one wanted to cause him trouble at this time. Even Comer’s brother, who usually got along poorly with him, rarely expressed apologies for his past rudeness. Naturally, Sanders didn’t want to bring trouble upon himself and diligently arranged everything as Comer requested.

The man lying on the plank bed was in his early thirties, with a robust build, but his body was burning hot. The wound beneath his ribs indicated an arrow injury that had damaged his internal organs. The thick fluid continuously oozing from the wound showed he was already very weak; without treatment, death was inevitable. His grayish cheeks were gaunt due to lack of food, but the gray-blue eyes in his sunken sockets still held a glimmer of life—at least he didn’t seem like a dying man.

Watching his master carefully examine his companion, the man standing by couldn’t help but kneel and cry, “Lord, I implore you to use your skills to save him. He can’t die.”

Frowning, Comer said sternly, “Get up! First, I haven’t said I won’t save him. You two are now my property, and I won’t stand by idly. Second, whether I can save him depends on his constitution. His arrow wound is severe, and the best time for treatment has passed. I’ll do my utmost.”

The man on the bed also said solemnly, “Lord, get up. Don’t put your master in a difficult position. Life and death are determined by fate; wealth and poverty are beyond the control of medicine. With your kindness, I can only feel grateful, with no regrets left.”

He gave a slightly surprised glance at the man lying on the bed, whose expression remained calm. Komer couldn’t believe that this person, who had remained silent until now, could say such things—it completely contradicted his view of slaves. After thinking further, he realized that this man might have once been an officer in the Principality of Mellen, so it wasn’t surprising after all. Still, Komer developed a certain fondness for the man lying there.

Nodding, Komer stared into the man’s indifferent eyes and said, “You don’t need to be disheartened. Although your injuries are severe, they’re not hopeless. A strong desire to live can increase your chances. I hope you understand this. Wishing you good luck.”

Back in the dark room, Komer sat quietly at the desk and pondered for a while. The injured man’s condition was already very serious; with ordinary medicines and treatment methods, there was little hope. Yet, from the occasional glint of determination in the man’s eyes, Komer could tell he wasn’t an ordinary person. Lacking sufficient help, he needed someone to assist him. Although Ilot and Puber were loyal, they lacked experience. He didn’t know what kind of situation awaited him in the Caucasus, and he didn’t want to face an entire unfamiliar world alone.

It seemed he had no choice but to take a gamble. White magic wasn’t his forte. Apart from a few spells taught by his teacher at first, which he had practiced a few times, he hardly ever had the chance to use it later on. Komer would rather use the potion-making skills he learned from the orc pharmacist than resort to magic. In his view, magic was a method of using one’s mental power to draw elements from the world to change things. Applying it to oneself seemed somewhat contrary to nature. In his teacher’s words, it was pure absurdity and delusion. Yet, Komer stubbornly held to his belief.

While white magic could indeed speed up recovery, it couldn’t fundamentally improve the condition. Injuries to the internal organs affected the very essence of the body—what cultivators call vital energy or primordial force. This couldn’t be restored merely by borrowing external magical power; it required medicinal substances to strengthen the foundation. Of course, the individual’s desire to live was also a crucial factor. Otherwise, by the time the magic took effect, the man might be healed but dead.

With a gentle gesture of his hand, the old pocket immediately floated into mid-air. Kemuer calmly took out some medicines from the bag, which seemed to be trembling in the air, screened them, selected a few, and placed a delicate ink-jade cup on the table. The medicines were quickly put into the jade cup. Kemuer took this opportunity to practice his control over magical forces; muttering incantations, the solitary black jade pestle seemed to be manipulated by an unseen force as it slowly spun inside the cup. If anyone had witnessed this scene, they would surely think their eyes were playing tricks on them or that they had encountered a ghost.

The grinding sound of the jade pestle was particularly harsh in the dark room. There was no trace of life in the gloomy space, except for Kemuer’s motionless figure, whose cold eyes shone brightly in the dim light. It could be faintly seen that Kemuer’s lips were also trembling slightly, and a barely audible voice came from his mouth. Fine beads of sweat slowly appeared on his forehead.

After a while, Kemuer finally took a deep breath. The jade pestle tilted and rested diagonally inside the cup, returning to silence. After resting for a moment, Kemuer picked up the pestle and continued his unfinished work.