The Fever Cure (3)

Just then, the soldier who had been disarmed and left empty-handed spotted more figures approaching from the village entrance and cried out in alarm.

“Scribe! Over there, a Holy Knight!”

A knight clad in full plate armor and bearing the emblem of the King’s Church was riding into the village.

“Damn it. What’s going on?”

“Retreat!”

The soldiers of the Blue Turban Party knew they were outmatched. They dropped their loot, gathered their wounded, and fled.

Azadine, having climbed up the coastal cliffs, wandered lost for a while.

“The Aragasa map doesn’t mark this area very well.”

When Azadine was appointed as a royal messenger to the Korasar region, he received a map of his assigned territory from the Aragasa Elders.

But this Adirov region wasn’t marked on the map, so even Azadine was unfamiliar with its geography.

“Adirov… isn’t this one of Count Lantarique’s domains?”

“Yes. They said a secret about the Emperor’s treasure vault is hidden here.”

According to Brand, who once served as a scribe for the former Count Garnahaer of Lantarique, the Count had been researching the Emperor’s treasure vault in Adirov.

So they had stopped by a nearby village to gather some information…

“There seems to be an armed group in the village?”

“Huh?”

“Well, Sir Zebec stands out too much. I’ll go in first and check the situation.”

Azadine said this and went ahead to scout, only to encounter a group called Blue Turban Party.

“What do you mean check the situation if you end up fighting?”

Zebec scolded in complaint.

“I didn’t know how bad they were. They’re looting, but they posted requisition slips and didn’t kill or assault anyone.”

Azadine had firm principles. If someone was merely stealing and not causing permanent harm, he wouldn’t deal lethal damage.

By Azadine’s standards, Blue Turban Party wasn’t yet a group that needed to be killed or permanently dealt with.

“We’ll know more once we talk to the villagers.”

Azadine returned the stolen goods to the people.

“Th-thank you. Are you companions of the Holy Knight?”

“Something like that. Oh, right—I’d like to buy some beans or oats.”

Azadine took out some silver coins, handed them to the merchant, and passed over a sack tied to his saddle. It was enough money to fill it with beans and oats.

‘I help people and still pay a fair price. Hoo… truly the dignified conduct of a royal messenger. But what if this merchant refuses the money out of gratitude?’

Just as Azadine worried about that—

The merchant, delighted, filled the sack with a few quarts from the pile that had nearly been seized by Blue Turban Party.

But then…

“Huh? That’s it? I think I gave you silver coins.”

“Hey now. Grains are expensive these days. A flood of refugees from Coral Sahar has driven food prices sky high. If you want more, you’ll have to pay more.”

The merchant held out his hand.

“……”

Azadine had just saved him from being robbed by the Blue Turban Party, and yet the man demanded full payment.

‘Not that I was expecting gratitude or anything… but this guy’s really shameless.’

Sighing, Azadine pulled out more coins and handed them over.

“Alright. With this much, I’ll throw in one extra quart of oats.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Azadine clicked his tongue inwardly at the merchant who acted like he was being generous with just one extra quart.

In a normal year, the amount he paid could’ve filled an entire cart with grain—yet he barely filled two sacks and was being offered a single quart like it was a big favor.

“I get that refugees are flooding in from Coral Sahar, but who are those people with the blue cloths around their heads?”

“Oh, the ones with the towels dyed from blue tree fruit? They call themselves the Blue Turban Party. They’re a cult.”

“A cult?”

“Yes. It’s a new religion that entered via land routes through Vthuma. I don’t know what the King’s Church is even doing. Then again, that’s probably why Coral Sahar is—oh dear, look at me rambling.”

To speak ill of the King’s Church in front of a Holy Knight—what nerve.

But since the storms had ravaged Coral Sahar and created a wave of refugees, public respect for the King’s Church had noticeably waned.

‘Only Ansethus IV is to be pitied.’

Even though the waning of the Light of the Crown wasn’t his fault, he’d go down in history as a disastrous ruler.

“What do these cultists actually do?”

“What else? They stir up refugees and impressionable youth, promising a new world. They’ve been capturing local leaders, persuading them to donate money, and training a militia. The problem is that the dwarves have joined them.”

“Dwarves, as in… Dwarves?”

“Yes. Ever since the dwarves started supporting the Blue Turban Party, their momentum has skyrocketed. Be careful.”

“Understood. Where’s the Adirov Baron’s manor? And is there any chance I can buy a map of this area?”

“Oh, a map?”

The merchant extended his hand again.

“Since you’re my savior, I’ll give you a discount.”

“……”

At that moment, Azadine keenly felt the need for help from the Korasar Peddler Guild.

“Damn it. What a rip-off. I should’ve just bought grain later.”

Azadine unfolded the map he had bought at a steep price.

To his surprise, the map showed that the Adirov region was actually located right on the border between the Kingdom of Korasar and the Kingdom of Vthuma.

Normally, such border areas either see heavy trade or house military garrisons and become strategic economic hubs—but Azadine had never even heard of a place called Adirov.

“A border zone, and I never knew about it?”

“That’s because of the endemic diseases.”

Zebec, walking beside Azadine, explained.

“Endemic diseases?”

“Malaria, dysentery, fevers—various tropical illnesses from Vthuma also affect Adirov. In fact, after the Adirov baronial family was wiped out by malaria and left no heirs, the estate passed to Count Lantarique through the maternal line. It’s a well-known case.”

“Ah, so that’s why Count Lantarique went around calling himself Adirov’s guardian or something.”

Azadine nodded in understanding.

“Anyway, from the map, the only land route to Vthuma passes through Adip, the capital of Adirov. Let’s head there.”

Azadine folded the map neatly and tucked it into his belt pouch for easy access, then set off.

It wasn’t long after they had left the village.

“You bastards!”

“How dare you interfere with the business of the Blue Turban Party!”

A crowd of men with blue scarves around their heads came rushing toward them. There were over twenty of them, armed with spears, bardiches, and bows.

“Whew. They must have a death wish.”

Scott clicked his tongue as he watched.

Knowing Azadine’s abilities, he wasn’t surprised or frightened by the number of enemies—he only felt sorry for the self-proclaimed Blue Turban Party and their grim future.

On the other hand, Shati was irritated.

“At this rate, if I get hit by a stray arrow…”

She too couldn’t imagine Azadine losing.

He had already defeated powerful members of the Messenger Clan in front of their eyes and had even prevented the descent of an ancient death god. There was no way someone like him would be threatened by a bunch of ragtag thugs now.

However…

“Hold on, everyone, please calm down.”

Azadine raised both hands and knelt before them.

“What the—? This guy, you…”

“Ah, that one’s a Holy Knight. You’d better leave him alone, or you’ll regret it.”

Azadine drew a clear line when even the Blue Turban Party members tried to threaten Zebec.

“……”

The Blue Turban Party gang looked to their leader—the Scribe.

Sure, fighting a fully armored Holy Knight was daunting even for them. But they had come all this way to punish someone—was kneeling enough to just let it go?

‘We came to avenge our comrade and now we’re supposed to just accept this?’

‘The Scribe seems a little scared of that guy…’

While everyone was exchanging glances, the Scribe cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Do you understand now what it means to interfere with the affairs of the Blue Turban Party?”

“Yes, of course.”

Azadine nodded eagerly and asked,

“I heard the Blue Turban Party is a religious group. Lately, I’ve been troubled in spirit, questioning whether my current faith is righteous. If there is a new teaching, I’m willing to offer my body and soul. Might I receive some instruction?”

“What?”

“I’m especially curious about the doctrine.”

“Doctrine… doctrine?”

The Blue Turban Party members looked flustered. Despite calling themselves a new religion, they didn’t really have a doctrine to speak of.

Even the King’s Church had mostly preached submission to the king and nobles, who were supposedly descendants of the Yaegas God tribe. The Rescue Knights Order simply told commoners to uphold basic virtues and blessings would follow—a message both crude and primitive.

“Er, wrap the blue scarf and follow the will of our Prophet. The age of the Yaegas God tribe has ended!”

“May we also join?”

“Well… are you applicants for conversion?”

When the Scribe said this, the other Blue Turban Party members became disgruntled. They had come to exact revenge for a wrong done to one of their own—and now their leader was just going to let the guy join without punishment?

Sensing the shifting mood, the Scribe grew uneasy.

At that moment—

“Well, this isn’t much, but…”

Azadine handed some money to the Scribe.

“Wh-what’s this?”

“Like a thirsty deer seeking a spring, my heart longs for true teachings, and I felt the urge to give a humble offering. Please use this to care for those I may have harmed.”

“……”

The Scribe coughed and accepted the money, subtly showing it to his men. Their expressions relaxed.

“But what about the Holy Knight beside you? Will he also follow our teachings?”

“……”

Zebec looked flustered but, after catching Azadine’s signal, sighed and replied,

“I’ll hear what you have to say.”

“…Good. Then follow me.”

The Scribe distributed Azadine’s money among his men and began to lead the way.

As they followed the Blue Turban Party members over the hill, a massive refugee camp came into view.

Wagons were scattered across the plain, with tents set up everywhere.

Since well-drained land had already been claimed by farms or villages, the refugees from Coral Sahar had been forced to camp on wetlands and barren lands near water sources.

Bzzzzz…

Exaggerating a little, mosquitoes the size of a human palm—or realistically, the size of a pinky nail—buzzed around everywhere.

Azadine swatted them one by one as they landed, each time leaving his palm stained with blood. These mosquitoes had already drunk deeply from the refugees.

And it wasn’t just mosquitoes. Leeches clung to the bodies of refugees fishing for catfish in the muck.

Despite the hordes of vermin, the refugees exiled from Coral Sahar struggled to survive here day by day.

A well-dressed man, clearly not accustomed to physical labor, winced in pain while catching catfish in the mud. Just then, Blue Turban Party members swaggered over and took half of the fish from his basket.

Watching this unfold, a strange glint flashed from within Azadine’s helmet.