The Peculiar Scent of Illness

Adrian swiftly carried the cooked broth and dishes to the old wooden table in Elena Whitlow’s home.

The aroma of the dishes permeated the air, steaming invitingly.

Noah’s eyes lit up, and his small hand instinctively reached out.

Snap—!

Elena Whitlow smacked his hand away, the movement gentle, yet firm enough to halt him.

She immediately pulled Noah to her side.

“You mustn’t touch it,” Elena Whitlow whispered, her tone a reprimand.

Noah pouted, protesting softly, “But it smells so good… I, I just wanted a taste…”

Adrian stood by the table, a slight frown creasing his brow.

Elena Whitlow shot him a quick glance, then swiftly lowered her gaze, her hands tightly wrung the corners of her apron.

“We shouldn’t be eating these,” Elena Whitlow said in a low voice. “You are a person of importance; how could we possibly touch such things?”

“Food is meant to be eaten, not to be categorized by status,” Adrian replied, gently setting down the ladle he held.

Elena Whitlow looked up at him, her eyes betraying only lingering wariness and indifference.

“There’s no need, my lord. We will eat our own,” Elena Whitlow stated calmly.

She turned and retrieved a bowl of leftover soup from the previous day from the kitchen.

The soup was so thin it was almost transparent, with only a few vegetable leaves floating on its surface, utterly devoid of any oil.

Elena Whitlow tore off a piece of dried rye bread and handed it to Noah.

“Here, eat,” Elena Whitlow said, crouching down and placing the bowl into Noah’s hands, forcing a small smile as she added, “Didn’t you say you loved Mama’s stewed soup the most?”

Noah looked at the soup in his hands, then at the steaming dishes on the table.

Noticing his mother’s serious expression, Noah ultimately lowered his head obediently and took a sip of the soup, trying his best not to let his gaze drift towards the rich meat and vegetables on the wooden table.

Adrian stood silently, his expression unreadable, offering no further words of persuasion.

“Very well, it simply seems I’ve prepared a bit too much…” Adrian served himself some soup and settled into a seat.

Ilisia, too, ladled out a small portion, taking a delicate sip.

Dinner proceeded in this peculiar atmosphere…

Early the next morning, before the sky had fully brightened, Adrian rose from bed.

Ilisia still lay on the bed, her back to him, her breathing even.

Elena Whitlow was already awake as well.

During the night, Elena Whitlow had awakened to vaguely hear faint, fragmented noises emanating from the guest room.

It sounded as if someone had opened the window, lightly stepped onto the wooden floor, leaped out, and then returned shortly thereafter.

Perhaps it was merely Elena Whitlow’s imagination, but the sounds certainly didn’t resemble ‘those’ kinds of activities.

In the early morning, as she passed the room, she distinctly caught a faint, metallic scent of blood.

Elena Whitlow chose not to inquire further.

At breakfast, she, as usual, prepared some simple fare and brought it to the table, beckoning Adrian.

“Have something warm to drink, my lord,” she said softly.

Adrian sat down, nodding to her without uttering many words.

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was momentarily quiet.

After a moment’s hesitation, Elena Whitlow finally voiced the question that had been weighing on her mind: “Are you two… a married couple?”

Adrian looked up at her. “No. We are colleagues.”

Elena Whitlow nodded gently.

After the meal, Adrian donned his grey cloak and pushed open the door, stepping out.

He walked from the village entrance, visiting several households where illness resided, going door-to-door.

Some had suffered from chronic coughs for years, others from unbearable rheumatic joint pain. He spoke little, instead focusing intently on taking pulses, observing symptoms, and meticulously recording his findings, occasionally offering quiet advice on medication dosages and precautions.

The villagers, initially wary, gradually found themselves touched by his approachable demeanor, easing their attitudes somewhat.

Around noon, Adrian turned towards the old house at the edge of the village.

It was the residence of the village’s elderly doctor.

“Well now, what brings a distinguished personage like yourself to this humble abode?” The old village doctor was soaking his hands in hot water and paused in surprise upon Adrian’s entry.

Adrian smiled and waved a hand. “I’ve come to seek your esteemed counsel.”

They exchanged a few words on pharmaceutical principles and then together examined the dried herbs neatly arranged on the shelves in the corner of the room.

The old village doctor’s apprentice, a scrawny boy no older than twelve or thirteen, stood nearby, listening intently.

The young boy’s gaze was filled with curiosity, yet tempered by shyness.

Adrian noticed him, crouching down to ask, “Are you the old doctor’s apprentice?”

The young apprentice nodded shyly.

“Ah, these days, it’s truly difficult to find a child in the village who is both literate and willing to learn medicine,” the old village doctor sighed, casually grinding some herbs.

Adrian gently ruffled the young apprentice’s hair, smiling. “Study diligently, for one day, the well-being of everyone in this village will depend on you.”

The young apprentice paused, then nodded even more emphatically.

At that moment, the old village doctor’s smile suddenly vanished, and his expression turned grave.

“My lord, have you visited the family furthest south?” he whispered, lowering his voice. “Their mistress often brings her son to me… but I am utterly at a loss; his symptoms are far too peculiar.”

Adrian paused. “I will go see them this afternoon.”

Adrian and the old village doctor had already had a brief conversation the previous night.

He recalled the child.

It was a boy under ten, extremely frail, kept by his mother in the coldest room, where one needed a lit candle to discern the child’s features.

The air within the room carried an indescribable stench—

It was akin to the putrid, unwashable stench of a sea crab’s shell, dead for days, submerged in the deep ocean, then dragged back onto shore.

“What do you think it is?” Adrian asked.

The old village doctor furrowed his brows. “I truly fear it’s… some malevolent influence that has taken hold.”

Upon saying this, he instinctively traced a holy symbol over his chest.

Adrian nodded gravely and exited the room.

After a brief rest at noon, Adrian, with a freshly awakened Ilisia, mounted their horses and galloped towards the peculiar household the old village doctor had mentioned.

“Did things go smoothly last night?” The horse beneath Adrian did not move swiftly.

“It’s all handled, though some foul blood splattered onto me,” Ilisia said testily. “Is there no technique for dispatching someone without getting showered in gore?”

“If you simply strike fast enough, you won’t be splattered…” Adrian replied.

As they spoke, the two had already ridden their horses to the front of the old house.

Standing at the doorway was a woman, in her late thirties, with a pallid complexion, dark circles under her eyes, and an anxious expression.

“My lord, you have finally arrived,” the woman said.

She introduced herself as Sansa, the mistress of the house.

“Esteemed sirs, please come this way,” Sansa urged.

She led Adrian and Ilisia to a small side room within the house.

It was a strikingly incongruous small room.

The other parts of the house received adequate light, but this one alone had its window boarded up with planks, the seams sealed with cracked plaster; and the door itself had been reinforced with a wooden bar from the outside…

Adrian stopped before the door, his nose twitching.

That smell—

It was indeed like the rotting stench of dead sea crabs, soaked and then left to bake under the scorching sun.

Adrian remembered this smell.

Over a year ago, he had encountered it on a hillside within Duke Wenser’s territory, specifically in a dilapidated tavern, when he was investigating ‘the flower vendor’.

At that time, the source of the smell had been a mutated giant who had been poisoned.

His name, if Adrian recalled correctly, was Kukk.

Kukk’s shriveled corpse had emitted a faint version of this very scent, though it had not been nearly as potent as this.