The atmosphere in the outer room was oppressively tense; the nervous and burly young slave stood to the side, seemingly unsure where to best place his hands.
The treatment in the room had entered its most critical moment; any disturbance could result in all efforts being wasted. Under Komer's medical treatment, the patient lying on the bed seemed to have improved significantly, with even his temperature dropping considerably. However, Komer knew that this was just a superficial sign, and without further medical intervention, these improvements would be fleeting.
White Magic was not overly taxing on one's Spiritual Power, but this did not mean that White Magic was easy to learn.
For the priests and knights of the Church of Light, White Magic was considered a simple and easy-to-learn Magic, yet difficult to master. However, Komer seemed to have overturned this notion; the bursts of blue Qi emanating from his face made it hard to believe he was a Mage performing White Magic to save someone. He rather resembled an Undead Mage or Dark magician borrowing power from demons, as low and peculiar chants emerged from Komer's mouth.
The middle-aged man lying on the bed watched the slightly gloomy young man in front of him with an odd gaze. This young man, who was now his "nominally" master, had initially not given him much to feel.
There is no greater sorrow than a dead heart. Since Mycenae had been breached, he had lost the will to live; everything vanished with the wind, and all he once possessed became worthless.
The honor of a warrior, the value of survival—all these lost appeal once Mycenae fell and his parents, wife, and children perished at the hands of the cruel Beastmen. What use was there in killing more Beastmen? Could it resurrect his deceased family? Could it bring back everything he once had?
Only Baoling's meticulous care had prevented him from quietly succumbing to death. Although this seemingly formidable man was actually only seventeen years old, he had followed him for years, like a father and son, a mentor and pupil. Despite his bravery in battle, he knew nothing of the ways of the world. Unsure if Baoling could adapt and survive in this world, he could not easily find peace in death.
When the seemingly indifferent young man administered an unknown potion to him, the middle-aged man was astonished by the other's skill. He had never seen a noble youth capable of such sophisticated pharmacology, and from the emanating fragrance of the medicine, he was certain that the potion he consumed was personally concocted by the other. This was something he found hard to imagine happening in the Mortals' world of the Continent.
Being a Pharmacist seemed to be a profession and means of livelihood exclusive to the lower and middle classes or certain special groups of people.
But this was only the beginning. When the melancholic youth applied a strange pressure to squeeze the middle-aged man's innards forcibly, he realized that this fellow seemed more like a knight with some special Power. A comfortable sensation he couldn't describe filled the middle-aged man, and it wasn't until the other sharply reprimanded him that the middle-aged man snapped out from the enjoyment akin to pleasure. White Magic!
The Magic power that felt as if basking in Holy Light, along with the spell chanted by the other, flowed towards him continuously, leaving the middle-aged man utterly stunned! He was not an inexperienced country bumpkin; although Myron Duchy did not have many outstanding Mages, as a key military Commander of the Duchy, he had encountered numerous Mages and Magicians.
He dared say none of the Mages he had met before could give him such a profound impact. The powerful Magic power filled him with amazement, as well as a faint sense of awe. To possess such mastery of Magic at such a young age was unbelievable! And he seemed to have never heard of such a young Mage in Nicosia Duchy!
However, when he noticed the blue Qi and faint shadows on the tightly closed eyes of Komer, he understood why such an outstanding Mage was unknown in Nicosia Duchy, quiet and unheard of even in the Homer region, as well as by those living around him. It seemed all the mysteries were solved!
Komer, slowly recovering from his fatigue, seemed to realize the amazement on the face of the middle-aged man lying on the bed, but he didn't care. Since he dared save him without fear of exposure, he wasn't worried about the other revealing anything. In that man's indifferent exterior but eyes burning with an indomitable fire, he seemed to see a reflection of himself, even though the other was much older.
"Alright, you still need to rest for a period of time. Take advantage of this time to think things over. Sometimes time can dilute everything, but sometimes it can make you understand the true essence of the world more profoundly. Don't be too quick to draw conclusions on many matters."
Komer stood up, stretched his limbs, and as he was leaving, he casually instructed the tall and robust young man who had been fixated on the middle-aged man on the bed, "Don't let him move around freely, he needs to rest quietly for some time."
As Komer's figure vanished outside the door, he clearly heard a low but firm voice from behind, "From today onwards, there are no longer Fran and Baoling of Myron Duchy's, just the servants Fran and Baoling under the master's wing."
With only two days left until departure, Komer, Puber, Ilot, and a few others were all busy with preparations. When Ilot saw the tall young man, Baoling, now healthy and dressed in a warrior's attire, and the much-improved middle-aged man, Fran, his mouth hung open wider than a hippo's.
Just the day before yesterday, the two were still in dire conditions, yet the wound on the tall young man's collarbone had already scabbed over. Apart from some limitations in flexibility, Baoling's behavior was almost back to normal. Seeing him stretch his limbs with ease in Komer's backyard, wielding a heavy broad-backed short sword skillfully—thrusting, chopping, cutting, and stabbing—Ilot, who had just entered the yard, couldn't help but rub his eyes.
While the middle-aged man still looked somewhat pale, he had none of the gloominess and dejection he showed on the horse-drawn carriage a few days ago. Although his eyebrows still held a trace of melancholy, his spirit was completely different from yesterday's.
After watching the tall young man go through his recovery training for a long while, Ilot had to admit that although Baoling's swordsmanship wasn't exceptional, it was still competent. Simple and unadorned, this style might not be very effective in single combat, but it was optimal in group battles.
He had broad pectorals and long limbs. Despite some torment in the slave camp, the young man's vitality still burst forth. Ilot rated him as a standard excellent soldier and even entertained the idea of asking Komer to hand over this fellow to satisfy his desire to become a mentor. This guy indeed had potential worthy of his instruction!
Seeing the other man's intense gaze fixed on his body, the straightforward tall youth blushed and stopped his movements awkwardly, looking towards the middle-aged man beside him.
A faint smile crossed the middle-aged man's lips. He could see that Ilot admired the young warrior's natural talent, which was similar to his own misfortune. He also noticed that this hefty young man, who had visited the slave camp yesterday with his master, possessed a set of remarkable martial skills, especially the long, flexible sword tied around his waist—a rare weapon that required its user to have good control of their inner Qi, as carelessness could result in self-injury.
"Baoling, carry on with your training. Mr. Ilot would like to give you some pointers on your martial skills," the middle-aged man's words restored the tall youth's composure.
Coming from a soldier's background, he was accustomed to strictly following the commands of a superior. Thrust, hook, push, block, parry—a series of simple swordsmanship moves swung in the tall young man's hands, whipping up gusts of wind. Although he lacked his kite shield, his strong defensive consciousness still impressed Ilot with the Myron Duchy's infantry warriors' exceptional stoutness.
Ilot had learned from Komer the true identity of the middle-aged man—he was none other than Fran Mish, the former Corps Commander of The second infantry corps of Mycenae, a high-ranking knight highly reputed in the Myron Duchy.
Of course, the Myron Duchy no longer existed now, and Mycenae had become ruins. Its residents were either enslaved by beastmen or refugees scattered all over the Continent. With regular army protection lost, the land of Myron was overrun by plundering beastmen, and aside from slave traders' caravans who were heatedly engaged with the beastmen, no one dared to survive on that land.
Although Ilot considered his martial skills quite advanced and had even fought face-to-face against beastmen on the Deccan Plateau, he didn't think so highly of himself as to compare with someone who had been a Corps Commander. However, he felt that the young man in front of him was overly fixated on straightforward thrusting and slashing.
This might suffice for regular combat on the Battlefield, but Komer's party was embarking on a journey to the Caucasus, through regions that included wildlands and would not only face ordinary humans but also bandits, wild animals, and many unforeseeable events. Creatures like Magical Beasts might appear, and no one could predict such occurrences, as Komer mentioned. What they needed now was warriors who could apply their skills in practice immediately.
Seeing the other's slightly furrowed brow, the middle-aged man seemed to grasp his thoughts and said calmly, "Baoling, switch to practicing individual combat tactics."
Upon receiving the middle-aged man's command, the tall young man immediately tightened his steps into a defensive stride, changing his gaze from forward to alertly monitoring his surroundings with peripheral vision. His swordplay became more fierce and aggressive. It was then that Ilot truly relaxed; the disciples trained by Myron's Infantry Division Corps Commander were indeed extraordinary. He would have to seek another opportunity to fulfil his wish to be a mentor.
When he learned that his current master was a young man who had just come of age and was already an ennobled Lord, Fran was somewhat prepared but still greatly startled. However, once he heard that Komer's fief was in the Caucasus, the man who had always maintained noble elegance fell silent.
It was then that he understood why this lord, who claimed to have been forsaken by the Gods, would say so, but the thirst in the young lord's tone still puzzled Fran. Could it be that the Lord was indeed a fearless, ignorant individual, unaware of the horrors of the Caucasus?