Chapter 24: The Infected Village
POV: Adam
The smell reached them first—death and disease carrying on wind that should have brought only the forest's clean scents. The refugee column slowed, then stopped entirely as runners returned with reports that painted pictures no one wanted to acknowledge.
Plague. The village ahead is dying of plague.
"We go around," the merchant said, his voice carrying the flat authority of someone who'd learned that survival required abandoning principles when principles became luxuries. "Add two days to our journey, but better than dying of whatever's killed them."
Logical. Sensible. The smart choice that keeps everyone alive.
The column began its wide detour, hundreds of people accepting the necessity of avoiding contact with whatever had turned a thriving settlement into a place where death waited for anyone foolish enough to approach. Adam walked with them, understanding the mathematics of risk versus reward that made abandonment the only reasonable choice.
Someone's crying.
The sound drifted across the distance between the road and the village—high, thin, desperate. A child's voice calling for help that wouldn't come from people smart enough to preserve their own lives.
A child. There's a child alive in there.
Adam stopped walking, his feet refusing to carry him further away from suffering he might be able to address. Beside him, Ciri's expression shifted from acceptance to understanding to the same desperate conflict that was tearing at his chest.
We can't save everyone. If we try to save everyone, we'll die and save no one.
"Someone's alive in there," Ciri said, her voice carrying the careful neutrality of someone stating facts without revealing conclusions.
"I know."
Risk infection. Risk death. Risk discovery by patrols that might be hours behind us.
"We should keep walking," Adam said, testing the words against his conscience and finding them wanting. "It's the smart choice."
"Yes," Ciri agreed. "It is."
They stood in silence while the refugee column moved around them, other travelers casting worried glances at two young people who'd apparently lost their minds during the stress of flight. The child's crying continued, growing fainter as distance increased but never fading entirely.
I can't. I can't just walk away.
"Stay with the column," Adam said, already moving toward the village despite every survival instinct screaming warnings. "Keep our place with the merchant family. I'll catch up."
"Adam, no—"
"Stay with the column!" His voice carried more authority than he'd known he possessed, stopping Ciri's protest before it could develop into argument. "This is not negotiable."
Going alone. Better that way. If I get infected, at least she survives.
The village had become a monument to biological warfare that made conventional conquest look merciful by comparison. Bodies lay in the streets where they'd fallen, their faces bearing the distinctive signs of cholera or something equally devastating. Flies buzzed in clouds that spoke of decomposition advancing faster than burial could contain.
Disease. Definitely disease. But which one? How contagious?
Adam moved through streets that felt like walking through a graveyard where the dead hadn't had the courtesy to stay buried. His expanded Air Sense detected only one living human signature in the entire settlement—weak, fading, coming from a house near the village center.
There. Still alive, but probably not for long.
The child was perhaps six years old, sitting beside bodies that had probably been his parents before disease claimed them. His skin bore the telltale signs of infection, but his eyes still held awareness that meant treatment might be possible.
System mission alert. Of course. The universe has a sick sense of timing.
[MORAL CHOICE MISSION]
Option A (BLUE): "Mercy Kill"
End the child's suffering quickly and painlessly
Reward: 50 XP, immunity to guilt for necessary action
Warning: Psychological trauma, moral weight
Option B (YELLOW): "Bring to Herbalist"
Carry infected child to healer 20 miles south
Reward: 200 XP, +Compassionate reputation
Success Rate: 70% chance child survives
Risk: Potential infection, exhaustion, discovery
Option C (RED): "Leave Him"
Preserve resources and minimize risk
Reward: 0 XP, practical survival choice
Warning: Moral failure, psychological consequences
Twenty miles. Carrying a sick child for twenty miles while staying ahead of Nilfgaardian patrols.
Adam looked at the boy—really looked—seeing beyond the disease symptoms to the terrified human being who'd watched his entire world die around him. The child's eyes held the particular desperation of someone who understood that help had finally arrived and might be his last chance at survival.
I can't kill him. I can't leave him. Which means...
Adam selected Option B.
[MISSION ACCEPTED: "Bring to Herbalist"]
[Warning: High risk, low probability of success]
[Moral Weight: Attempting to save life despite personal cost]
Can't heal disease. Don't have waterbending yet. But I know where to find someone who can.
"Hey," Adam said softly, kneeling beside the child with movements that wouldn't frighten someone already terrified beyond normal limits. "What's your name?"
"Tam," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible through lips cracked with fever. "Everyone's dead. Everyone's dead except me."
Everyone except you. But you don't have to die too.
"I'm going to help you, Tam. But I need you to be brave, okay? We have to walk a long way."
Twenty miles. Carrying a sick child for twenty miles.
Adam fashioned a crude sling from his cloak, creating a carrier that would distribute the boy's weight across his shoulders and back. Tam was light—too light, disease having consumed muscle and fat until only determination remained.
Move fast. Get to the herbalist before the infection spreads too far.
The forced march began with Adam's body already protesting the additional burden. Twenty miles while carrying a sick child, staying off main roads to avoid patrols, reaching the herbalist village before Tam's condition deteriorated beyond treatment.
This is insane. This is tactically insane.
"Adam!"
Ciri's voice came from behind him, accompanied by running footsteps that spoke of someone who'd made a decision despite explicit orders to the contrary. She appeared at his side, breathing hard, her face set with determination that brooked no argument.
She followed me. Of course she followed me.
"I told you to stay with the column," Adam said, but his protest lacked conviction even to his own ears.
"And I told you we face things together." Ciri positioned herself on Tam's other side, helping to support the makeshift carrier. "Besides, you need help if you're going to carry him twenty miles."
Together. We do everything together now.
The journey became a haze of exhaustion and determination that pushed both of them beyond normal physical limits. They took turns carrying Tam, sharing the burden when individual strength failed, moving through forest that offered concealment at the cost of difficult terrain.
Keep moving. Don't think about the distance. Don't think about the patrols. Just keep moving.
Tam's condition fluctuated between periods of lucid awareness and fever-driven delirium that made him cry out for parents who would never answer. During the worst episodes, Adam found himself speaking in soothing whispers that carried promises he might not be able to keep.
You're going to be okay. We're going to get you help. Just hold on a little longer.
The herbalist village appeared as afternoon light began fading toward evening, its collection of simple houses marked by gardens that spoke of people who understood healing through plant lore rather than conventional medicine. Helga proved to be exactly what Adam had hoped—an elderly woman whose weathered hands moved with the confidence of someone who'd spent decades treating ailments that formal physicians couldn't cure.
"Cholera," she said after examining Tam with professional thoroughness. "Advanced, but not hopeless. I can treat this, but it'll take time."
Time we don't have. But Tam needs treatment we can't provide.
"How long?" Adam asked, already calculating the delay against pursuit that might be hours behind them.
"Three days minimum. For the treatment, and to ensure you two haven't been infected."
Three days. Three days of staying in one place while Nilfgaard searches for us.
But looking at Tam's face—seeing color returning to cheeks that had been gray with approaching death—Adam knew they'd made the right choice despite its complications.
Some risks are worth taking. Some people are worth saving.
[Experience Gained: 200 XP base + 100 bonus (child survived)]
[Total: 300 XP]
[LEVEL UP! 13 → 14]
[Free Stat Points: +5]
[Allocation: +2 STA, +2 AGI, +1 STR]
[New Stats: STR 26, STA 37, AGI 33, HP 260, MP 370]
[Title Earned: "The Compassionate" (+10% healing effectiveness)]
[Relationship: Ciri +10 (profound bonding moment)]
[Current Relationship: 110/150 - Deep Emotional Bond]
The quarantine passed slowly, three days of forced inactivity while Helga's treatments worked their quiet magic and Tam's strength returned by degrees. Adam spent the time teaching Ciri meditation techniques that might help her control the power growing within her, while she shared stories of Cintra that kept their memories alive.
Delay. Dangerous delay. But we saved a life.
On the third morning, Tam sat up without assistance and asked for food in a voice that carried strength instead of desperate weakness. The boy who'd been dying in a plague village had become someone with a future again.
Worth it. Whatever else happens, this was worth it.
"Thank you," Tam said simply, his six-year-old gravity carrying wisdom that suffering had carved into someone too young to bear such knowledge.
"Thank us by growing up strong," Ciri replied, her voice carrying the authority of someone who'd learned that survival was a responsibility as much as a gift.
Three days closer to the border. Three days behind the refugee column. Three days that Nilfgaard gained on us.
But as they prepared to resume their journey south, Adam felt the satisfaction that came from choosing compassion over practicality and discovering that sometimes moral choices produced outcomes that justified their costs.
The Compassionate. Could be worse titles to earn.
The road stretched ahead, leading toward borders that might provide safety and reunions that might provide purpose. Behind them, a village slowly returned to life as disease retreated before knowledge and determination.
One child saved. In a world where kingdoms fall and thousands die, one child saved.
It wasn't much. But it was something. And sometimes, something was enough.
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