A Delicate Deterrence and a Fevered Mother

“They are aware of my existence.

However, they remain ignorant of my appearance or my true intentions,” Adrian elucidated. “A delicate balance of deterrence exists between us; the first to expose their identity will inevitably find themselves at a disadvantage.”

Ilisia nodded slowly, a flicker of comprehension in her eyes, though she still seemed slightly perplexed.

“So, to them, you are also a dangerous individual?” Ilisia pressed.

“Precisely,” Adrian affirmed.

“Yet you are merely human. Wouldn’t it be an effortless task for them to eliminate you?” Ilisia challenged.

“Aren’t you here to shield me?” Adrian chuckled, then turned his head. “Moreover, my humanity is but a temporary state.”

“Sometimes, I truly struggle to discern where your allegiances lie,” Ilisia confessed, recalling their recent interaction. “I distinctly remember you never resorting to intimidation tactics during interrogations before.”

Adrian had established their strategy with Ilisia from the outset: should Thomas refuse to cooperate, they would adopt a good cop/bad cop approach, conducting separate interrogations to preclude any coordinated deception.

“For dealing with minor figures, violent intimidation proves the most efficient method,” Adrian responded with an air of detachment. “Are you feeling sympathy for them?”

“It isn’t sympathy,” Ilisia retorted, her gaze fixed on him. “It’s simply… it makes me feel as though you have changed.”

“When am I not in a state of flux?” Adrian let out a soft, mirthless laugh. “But if one were to trace my origins, I was merely forged into a worse entity, solely to contend with a particular breed of evil.”

“Is that so?” Ilisia shrugged, offering no further argument.

Adrian lapsed into silence.

The two continued their journey, riding side by side, their silhouettes gradually receding into the distance.

A knock resounded.

Adrian rapped on the room’s door.

Noah opened it.

Elena was likely still out in the fields.

“Mama is ill,” Noah whispered, his head bowed.

Adrian furrowed his brow, then removed his outer garment, draping it over a nearby chair.

The previous evening, during dinner, Adrian had already noticed Elena’s somewhat sickly pallor.

Adrian stepped into the inner room.

The light within the chamber was dim.

Elena lay upon the bed, her cheeks flushed, yet her lips were tinged with a stark paleness, and fine beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.

It appeared she was suffering from a fever.

“Mama started feeling unwell around noon, but she stubbornly went down to the fields this afternoon anyway,” Noah recounted softly.

Adrian nodded, gently stroking Noah’s head to reassure him.

Subsequently, Adrian approached Elena’s bedside.

“I… I’m fine…” Elena mumbled, quickly reaching a hand beneath her pillow as she saw Adrian enter her room.

Elena harbored a deep distrust of men.

She had always been acutely aware of the villagers’ opinions of her.

Some men were overtly crude, others more subtly manipulative.

There were those with foul mouths after a drink, those who deliberately stumbled upon entering her home, those who sought to borrow water, fire, or even ‘seed’ – she had seen it all and had even fought off a few.

Elena understood that once a man perceived her as lacking support, he would view her as an ‘opportunity’.

Adrian, however, had exhibited no peculiar behavior.

Perhaps Ilisia’s presence kept him in check.

Nevertheless, during his stay at her home, Adrian had been unfailingly polite.

He kept the house meticulously clean, purchased his own ingredients, cooked his own meals, and washed his own dishes.

Adrian had also never once inquired why Elena lived alone with her child, betraying not a hint of prying into her private affairs.

He remained strictly within the boundaries Elena permitted, never overstepping.

Elena felt a pang of embarrassment, having asked Adrian about his relationship with Ilisia that very morning.

Yet, her guard remained firmly in place against him.

Adrian paused by the bed, his voice soft and low. “Are you awake?”

“No… you don’t need to bother…” Elena murmured groggily.

Adrian paid her no mind.

He first observed Elena’s complexion—flushed and sweaty, indicating the fever had persisted for some time.

Adrian brought the back of his hand closer, intending to gauge the temperature of her forehead.

Suddenly, Elena’s hand, which had been beneath her pillow, slipped out, gripping a small knife tightly.

Adrian swiftly extended his arm to block, disarming her of the knife.

He had been watching Elena’s hand all along.

“Madam, I merely wished to check the temperature of your forehead,” Adrian stated, gently releasing his grip on the knife after seizing it, then placing it on the corner of a nearby table.

Elena’s breathing remained uneven, her hand suspended in the air. The flush on her face was not entirely due to her illness; she watched him in silence, her expression a complex mixture of wariness and embarrassment.

Adrian waited for Elena to compose herself before slowly crouching down to continue his examination.

“The fever has persisted for over six hours, already affecting your breathing and heart rate,” Adrian reported. “It appears to be a high fever brought on by a wind-heat pathogen…”

Having completed his examination, Adrian rose and walked to the doorway, then knelt before Noah.

“Noah, please fetch a bucket of cool water for your mother’s face. Once the medicine is brewed, you can feed it to her,” Adrian instructed in a gentle, hushed tone.

Subsequently, Adrian went to the kitchen, prepared the medicinal ingredients, and lit the fire.

He entrusted Ilisia with watching the simmering pot of medicine, while he, in turn, began to prepare the day’s ingredients.

Adrian tidied an unused stove on the other side and started a fire there.

The fire for the stew had been lit early; the pot contained chicken bones and several ingredients known for reducing fever, resulting in a clear broth with a subtle, delicate flavor.

He rummaged through the basket, retrieving a few leftover flatbreads and a small amount of dried meat, preparing them all.

Adrian dished out the last bowl of soup, setting it on the table. Just as he was about to sit down, he noticed Noah standing behind the table.

“Uncle, I’ve completed all the tasks you assigned me,” Noah announced.

Noah was slender, his height not even reaching Adrian’s upper thigh.

His hair was a tousled mess, and his eyes sparkled as they fixated on the food spread on the table. He resembled a small fox cub, just returned to its den after a rain shower, standing there expectantly but hesitant to approach.

“You’ve done wonderfully,” Adrian said, gesturing him closer. “Come, Noah, I could tell you were quite hungry last night.”

Noah paused, blinked, then took a few small steps towards the table.

Seeing no one stop him, Noah slowly sat down, clutching the spoon with both hands.

His first spoonful was soup—warm, with a light fragrance and a hint of bitterness.

Noah swallowed, then scooped another spoonful, drinking it more quickly this time.

After that came steamed egg custard, soft flatbreads, and blanched vegetables.

Noah ate with focused earnestness, his small mouth constantly moving, all the while sneaking glances at Adrian.

“This is simply too delicious…” he mumbled in a soft, childish voice, barely audible. “Much tastier than Mama’s cooking… Uncle, could you… could you teach her?”

“Your mother isn’t incapable of cooking,” Adrian replied, setting down his spoon. “If she had these ingredients, she could prepare meals just as well.”

“But she can’t afford them,” Noah whispered.

“Then you must work hard, and when you grow up, you can buy them for her to eat,” Adrian advised.

Noah froze, then nodded, as if suddenly entrusted with a crucial mission, even straightening his back slightly.

He remained silent for a moment, his spoon gently tapping against the rim of his bowl.

He seemed to be pondering Adrian’s words.

Presently, Noah lowered his gaze to the food and murmured, “Uncle, if only you… were my papa.”

The spoon in Adrian’s hand paused, and his brow subtly creased.

‘Damn it, what is this kid saying?!’

Morning arrived, and Adrian was once again an early riser.

He checked on Elena’s condition, brewed her medicine, and, after instructing Ilisia to look after her, prepared to leave.

Adrian was still committed to his role as a physician, intending to visit the village and treat its residents.

“Knock, knock!”

A knock sounded at the door.

Adrian pulled open the door to reveal a young girl.

Her face was largely concealed within her hood, and her shoulders were enveloped by a thick cloak, making her appear as though she wished to shrink into the folds of the fabric.

She carried a bundle of firewood on her back, the branches askew and precariously tied.

The girl looked up at Adrian, a pair of glistening eyes emerging from beneath her hood.

Her expression was somewhat flustered.

Adrian narrowed his eyes.

He noticed the few strands of hair visible from the girl’s hood were black, as were her pupils.

“…Do you need firewood?” the girl asked.