CHAPTER 76: CHAPTER 75: BITTER PILLS AND SWEET PROFITS”

The narrow road to Dustrim was dry and cracked, the earth scorched by years without rain.

As they entered the village, Kael immediately noticed the difference.

The buzzing that had haunted the streets yesterday—swarms of blood-flies—was nearly gone. Coils of smoke still curled up from clay dishes near every hut. The air smelled sharp—herbs, and the faint tang of burned mint.

The carriage stopped.

Kael stepped down first, adjusting the satchel strap across his shoulder. Marrek climbed down beside him.

"You’ll stay close?" Kael asked.

The Tigerman gave a short nod. "At your side. This place is still under quarantine, but I won’t wait outside while you walk into danger."

Kael offered a faint smile. "Thanks."

They walked toward the largest hut, known as the Sick House.

The priest met them at the entrance.

"You came back," he said quietly, eyes on Kael.

Then his gaze shifted.

"...Officer Marrek," he added, bowing slightly. "I didn’t expect another visit. Is the mayor with you?"

Marrek shook his head. "No. I came in her place."

The priest stepped aside without another word.

Inside, it was darker than Kael remembered. The oil-soaked cloths still covered the windows. Smoke coils burned faintly, their fumes dulling the rot in the air. A bowl of water sat in the corner, black with soot.

Villagers lay motionless on their mats—limbs still, lips dry. The man with the twitch had stopped moving, but Kael could still see his chest rising. Barely.

At the far wall, the two ill priests were being tended by the younger physicker.

Kael stepped forward. "What’s the situation now?"

"No new cases. That alone is a miracle," said the elder priest.

"The coils... they worked better than we expected," said the second physicker—the one who had challenged Kael’s methods before. "And the oils... well, the biting flies are gone. Entirely."

A moment passed in silence.

Even the elder priest nodded. "We followed your advice. We boiled the water. Burned what you gave us. And we prayed."

Kael didn’t smile. He simply set his satchel down on the central table.

"Let’s finish this."

He opened it and carefully removed the medicine. Twenty ACT packets wrapped in parchment and twine. Four Chloroquine packs, set aside with a cloth marking them as separate.

The priests and physickers leaned in with cautious interest.

"These aren’t potions. Not roots or powders or teas," Kael said evenly. "They’re pills. Manufactured remedies from... my homeland. Made to fight this illness—carried by insects that drink blood."

He didn’t say malaria. That word meant nothing here.

"We call it the Wasting back home too."

The elder physicker picked up a packet, studied the label, then glanced at Kael. "And how are they taken?"

"One pill in the morning, one in the evening. Three days. With food and clean water, if they can manage."

"And if they can’t?"

Kael nodded toward the unconscious boy on the mat. "Then grind the pill. Mix it with broth. Get it in them however you can."

The second physicker motioned to the cloth-marked pile. "These?"

Kael tapped the Chloroquine pile. "These are backups. Older medicine. If someone doesn’t respond to the first, try those. But only if it’s not working. They’re harder on the body."

The elder priest frowned. "And you’re sure this won’t... harm them?"

Kael looked around the hut—at the sick who hadn’t improved.

"If anything was going to kill them," he said softly, "it would have already."

That landed like a stone in the room.

After a long moment, the elder physicker gave a slow nod. "Then let’s begin. Will you stay and help?"

Kael nodded. "I’ll monitor the first doses. After that, it’s your turn."

Kael worked quietly, helping mix the crushed tablets into broth. He showed them how to cut the pills, how to grind them without touching the powder directly. He handed them clean cloths soaked with the small bottle of alcohol he’d brought—teaching them to clean hands, tools, even their own faces before leaning over a patient.

Marrek watched from the doorframe, saying nothing.

Kael handed the priest two doses. "Take these to the clerics. They’ll need broth to swallow it."

The priest hesitated, then left with the small bowls.

When he returned, his expression had changed—subtle, but there.

"One of them opened his eyes," he said. "He even tried to speak."

They didn’t ask questions after that.

Outside, children peeked from behind doorways. A few of the older villagers stood in small groups, murmuring.

Not out of fear—but curiosity.

Cautious hope.

Kael felt it. The eyes on him. The weight of their expectations.

And he smiled, just a little.

Perfect.

They haven’t even recovered yet... and already, they see me as a miracle.

They’ll remember this day. Not just the medicine—me.

Kael the miracle merchant.

As Kael finished his work, the elder physicker approached.

"You were right," the man said, voice low. "We didn’t believe you. But now..."

Kael cut him off gently. "That’s enough. Just keep the doses consistent. Morning and night."

The man nodded firmly. "We will."

Kael turned to leave. Marrek opened the hut’s door ahead of him.

A handful of villagers lingered at a distance—watching from the shadows of their huts or the edge of firepits. One older man raised a hand in silent acknowledgment. A young girl clutched her mother’s dress, staring.

Kael gave them a quiet nod and stepped onto the path.

The priest followed a few steps behind, his voice low but sincere.

"You’re a man from a distant land, yet you’ve done more for our people than even our own lords. Ginip is lucky to have you. Perhaps... even blessed."

Kael paused briefly, then turned his head slightly.

A faint smile touched his lips as he said,

"I only did what needed to be done. That’s all."

Then he walked on, calm and composed, like a man unaware of the waves he had just made.

But inside?

His thoughts were burning bright.

That’s the seed.

Today I gave them medicine. Tomorrow they’ll come begging for more. Who will they trust when illness returns? Not the priests. Not the local herbalists. They’ll come to me. The foreigner. The man who cures what they cannot even name.

Medicine is trust. And I just bought a whole village’s worth of it—for the price of twenty pill packets.

This was a business pitch.

A live demo. A test market. Free samples today, lifelong customers tomorrow.

And the best part?

Mayor Lysandra will hear about this. Her officer—Marrek—witnessed everything. Word will spread. And when it does—

Kael the foreigner becomes Kael the Miracle Seller.

That means better permits, faster approvals, bigger investments. Hell, I might even get tax breaks.

He nearly grinned to himself.

I already sell soap. Clean water. Daily needs. But this?

This is different.

This is survival. This is fear. And fear moves money faster than anything else.

Fantasy or not—humans are humans. People will pay anything to protect their lives. Doesn’t matter what world they’re in.

He kept his expression calm, humble—like a man just doing his duty.

As they climbed into the carriage, Marrek glanced sideways at him.

"You’re okay."

Kael leaned back in the seat, eyes on the road ahead.

"Just thinking."

The wheels creaked as the carriage rolled on, and the village slipped behind them.

Kael closed his eyes briefly.

I know where I should make my next investment.