Chapter Eight: Bizarre

Seeing that the warriors had already lifted the man to head back, Komer and Ylot seemed to sense there was more to Piro's words. Komer frowned and asked, "Mr. Piro, it seems there might be some insider information about the fall of the Myron Duchy?"

After hesitating for a moment, Piro considered whether it was necessary to discuss this topic. Although for those well-informed, it might not be a particularly sensitive secret, it involved the Upper Echelons of the kingdom, and as a merchant, he naturally had some reservations. After thinking it over, Piro replied vaguely, "Your Excellency, it's not that I'm unwilling to talk, it's just that there might be a lot of intricate details that are difficult to explain right now. I believe it won't be long before you might come to know."

Komer shrugged. He could understand the other party's caution, but it seemed that it wouldn't have much to do with himself. He was about to embark on a journey to the Caucasus, and no matter how dire the situation in the North, it was no longer his concern.

However, the slave who had been shot through the collarbone seemed to have some skills. Considering his long journey ahead, having a couple of helpers might make things easier, even if it was just two to use as shields.

With a relaxed smile, Komer retracted his foot that was about to enter the carriage and turned his head, "Mr. Piro, I have a question. How many slaves do you have here like the one just now?"

Taken aback, the shrewd Piro immediately understood, "Oh, I am very sorry. Besides him, there seems to be only one slave from the Myron Duchy left. At first, there were a few, but most of them were injured, and the injuries were serious. They died on the way back for lack of necessary medical care, leaving only two who were less seriously hurt. I didn't expect such a thing to happen. Baron, if you don't mind, I will give these two slaves to you as a personal gift."

Komer was very satisfied with the merchant's astuteness. True to his family's merchant roots, no one could surpass his understanding of a customer's intentions. With just one question, he presented them with both hands, leaving Komer without even the chance to express his gratitude. Nodding his head, Komer smiled and said, "I'll bear this generous gift in mind. I won't say any more."

Piro shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, spreading his hands with the same humor, "Everything is thought for the customer. This is the business principle our Feller Family has followed for over a hundred years. It equally applies to you, Your Excellency. I hope you, Sir, will not reject our goodwill."

On the return trip, an additional cargo horse-drawn carriage carrying four slaves was tied onto the one with Komer and Ylot, closely following behind.

Komer wasn't worried the two would run away. Not to mention the strict checks against runaway slaves in the Homer region, one of the slaves was already in a very serious condition. If he did not receive timely medical treatment, he probably wouldn't last many days. Komer simply said, "If you want to survive, just follow me obediently," a statement that made the once proud soldier from the Myron Duchy follow humbly without any further schemes.

Upon returning to the mansion, Komer called the steward Sanders and ordered him to settle the two men in the outer room of his backyard and find them some clothes to change into.

With Komer's departure to the Caucasus almost upon him, nobody wanted to start any trouble with him at this time, even Komer's brother, who often clashed with him, had rarely apologized for his previous rudeness. Of course, Sanders wouldn't trouble himself unnecessarily and dutifully made arrangements according to Komer's wishes.

The man lying on the wooden bed was in his thirties, his once robust body now burning hot. The wound under the ribcage suggested an arrow injury that had hit the internal organs, and the thick pus constantly oozing from it indicated the man's extreme weakness. Without treatment, the only thing awaiting him was death.

His greyish cheeks were hollow due to lack of essential food. Yet, the pair of grey-blue eyes set deep in their sockets still held some brightness, at least not bearing the look of someone on the brink of death.

Looking at the young master carefully examining his companion, the man standing by couldn't help but kneel to the ground, weeping as he said, "Baoling earnestly requests the master to lend his marvelous skills, save him, he cannot die."

Knitting his brows, Komer spoke in a deep voice, "Get up! First of all, I did not say I would not save him. Right now, the two of you are my property, and I will not stand by and do nothing. Second, whether I can save him depends on his constitution. His arrow wound is very severe, and the best opportunity for treatment has already been missed. I will do my utmost."

The man lying on the bed also spoke in a deep voice, "Baoling, get up, don't make it difficult for the master. Life and death are determined by fate, wealth, and honor are in the hands of heaven. It is not something that medicines and stones can decide! The master has this intention, and Fran only has gratitude in his heart, without any regrets."

With some surprise, Komer glanced at the man lying on the bed with calm expressions, never having expected the person who had remained silent to utter such words, which were contrary to his own view of slaves. Then again, he thought, the man might have once been an officer in the Myron Duchy, which would not be surprising. Nevertheless, Komer felt a certain favor towards the man lying on the bed.

Nodding his head, Komer looked into the indifferent, water-like eyes of the other and said, "You need not lose heart. Although the injury is serious, it is not beyond remedy. A strong desire to survive can enhance your chances by quite a bit. I hope you understand that, and I wish you good luck."

Returning to the secret chamber, Komer sat quietly in front of the desk and pondered for a while. The injured man's condition was already quite severe; using ordinary medicines and treatment methods almost had no hope. However, from the occasional brilliant light in the man's eyes, Komer was sure he was no simple character.

Lacking sufficient help, he now was in need of helpers. Although Ilot and Puber's loyalty was without question, the two nevertheless lacked experience. He did not know what kind of situation he would face in the Caucasus and he didn't want to face this entire unfamiliar world alone.

It seemed he could only take a gamble. White Magic was not his forte. In fact, apart from practicing it a few times when his teacher originally taught him, he hardly had the opportunity to use it later on. Komer would rather use the potion-making techniques he learned from the Beastman Pharmacist than rely on magic on himself.

In his view, magic was a means to use one's own spiritual power to draw upon the elements between heaven and earth to change the state of things. Applying such methods on oneself seemed a bit against the natural order. As his teacher put it, this was completely an absurd and preposterous delusion, but Komer stubbornly held onto this belief.

Simply using White Magic could certainly make the other person's injuries heal quickly, but it could not fundamentally improve the situation. The damage to internal organs had already reached the essence of the body, what cultivators call "Yuan Qi" or "Yuan Force." It wasn't something that could be recovered simply by borrowing mana from the outside world. It had to be supplemented with essential medicines. Only then could one truly heal both symptoms and root causes. Of course, the person's own desire to live was also a crucial link. Otherwise, perhaps when the magic was finished, it would be the moment the fellow's injury was healed, but his life lost.

With a light beckoning of his hand, the old pouch immediately floated in mid-air. Calmly, Komer took out some medicines from the shaking pouch in the air, sifted through them, picked out a few, and an exquisitely made Ink Jade Cup was also placed on the desk.

The medicines were soon thrown into the Ink Jade Cup. Komer took this opportunity to practice his technique of using force, silently recited the spell, and the lonely Mysterious Jade Pestle began to slowly rotate and grind in the cup as if manipulated by someone. This scene would make anyone who saw it think their eyes were playing tricks on them, or that they had encountered ghosts.

The clucking noise of the Jade Pestle grinding in the secret chamber was particularly harsh. In the gloomy room, devoid of any vivacity, only the motionless Komer's faint, flickering eyes shone brightly in the dimly lit room. You could vaguely see Komer's lips quivering slightly, with a faint and nearly imperceptible voice coming from his mouth. Fine beads of sweat quietly emerged on Komer's forehead.

After a good while, Komer finally took a long, relieved breath, and the Mysterious Jade Pestle twisted and came to rest at an angle in the Ink Jade Cup, becoming quiet again. After resting for a moment, Komer picked up the Jade Pestle to continue the unfinished work.