Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Light in the Darkness

Saintess Dolores Quavadis had been contemplating internally since receiving the report of the increasing number of patients.

"Relieving them with divine power is a temporary solution. We can't stop the new patients from coming.

That's because it doesn't address the source of the plague.

Patients keep appearing because somewhere in this ghetto, a well is contaminated with the plague.

The wells often followed the water table beneath the ground, and therefore, it was impossible to completely eradicate the plague without cleansing the water source.

"The number of reported wells in this ghetto is 42, plus unreported wells dug by the locals themselves... .

Dolores fretted.

If this happens, there's no choice but to direct the divine power to one well that leads to the deepest spot.

The essence of pure water.

Concentrate and focus the divine power, make it the size of a pill, release it into the water, and it will purify the entire ghetto along the underground streams.

So the priests of the Quavadis Family immediately began clinical trials.

Divine Embodiment to purify the water, clinical trials 1a through 3c.

If they all pass, the plague of the ghettos will be eradicated.

While the priests of the Quavadis Family gathered their divine powers to create the Essence, Dolores kept an eye on the increasingly pressing cases.

"A dreadful plague indeed."

This red death, once contracted and cured, was a disease that could return again and again.

The incubation period was extremely short, but the time to death was very long.

And it seemed like an artificial accumulation of the worst parts of all diseases ever.

The very malignancy.

It was an extremely lethal plague that was deliberately created to torment people, causing the patient as much discomfort as possible for as long as possible.

" ... ... This isn't the time for this. We need to save another life."

Even now, more patients were streaming into the infirmary.

Dolores was on her feet within a few moments of sitting in the chair.

A second.

A pang.

She stumbled slightly as she stepped onto the floor.

It was empty to the point that she, who was born with mild anemia and full divine power, felt weary.

"But, I can do this."

Dolores dragged her exhausted body out of the encampment, her sacred power somewhat restored.

She couldn't wait to comfort the suffering patients as soon as possible.

Then.

"Ouch! A saintess has emerged!"

"Oh, what a divine figure!"

"Saintess, we stand with you!"

"From now on, you have nothing to worry about, Runmen!"

There were men following Dolores as she headed to the ghettos.

High aristocrats, or the scions of high aristocrats.

They had knocked on the door of the Quarvadis not long ago and had been denied an audience.

"... ... What brings you here?"

Dolores asked.

Beautiful light hair, clear blue eyes, flawless skin, and a clear voice.

Just hearing her voice was enough to make the men in the room tremble.

And then the male competition began.

"I, too, have followed the saint to this place to offer my services!"

"How could a lady be sent to such a filthy, humble place alone!"

"We brought only three trucks filled with donations and relief supplies. Please, instruct the poor to gather! Haha! Today is the day they ride."

"I would go to any place sadder than this if the saintess was there!"

The young men spoke eagerly, each trying to win Dolores' favor.

But the quickness in Dolores' eyes as she received their jealous glances was regrettable.

When Dolores walked toward the front without replying, the young men thought they had her permission to follow.

"Thanks to the saint, I've never been to a place like this before. I've only seen backward places like this in books, but it's a refreshing experience."

"Haha, I thought only thin, dirty people would live in the ghettos, but there are still people living there. I didn't know that. I suppose you have to experience things to know them."

"But, looking at the children walking around, they're wearing nicer clothes and shoes than I naturally thought. Are they really poor? They don't seem that different from the children in the middle-class area. Well, aren't they too extravagant, these people."

"Oh, I wonder if I'm paying too much for this donation. I keep wondering if these people will lose the will to stand on their own... ... ."

They had their servants bring trucks filled with donations and relief supplies.

Eventually, Dolores arrived at the temporary encampment where the patients were gathered.

Resolutely, she pushed through the awning and headed inside.

But the young men following her hesitated and faltered.

"Is it safe? There must be a lot of plague victims in there."

"Ugh. If they move it, I'll have to... ... . I'm a third-generation aristocrat."

"It doesn't matter, the saint will cure it!"

"The brave get the beautiful! I'm coming!"

Some of them turned away in fear.

Some took a deep breath and bravely stepped into the infirmary.

Those who followed Dolores into the encampment had to cover their noses as they gagged.

The smell of sweat, blood, vomit, urine, and feces everywhere, the foul breath and body odor of unwashed patients, and the air horribly heated by elevated body temperatures.

Visions of red death floated like ghosts through the thick miasma of putrefaction.

The smell and foul intensity, combined with the groans and cries emanating from all around, made the encampment seem like a living tomb itself.

"Uh... ... uh uh... ... "

Where had the second and third generations of aristocrats, youths who inherited wealth very early in life and became affluent, ever encountered such a horrific and desperate sight?

...Chulp!

Watery excrement spilled out from the patient nearby, splattering onto the floor.

The droplets splattered and stuck to their shoes and pants, and they ran out of the infirmary, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Ew! It smells! It's foul! How dare you... ... !?"

"How much do these shoes cost!"

"Priests! Priests! Treat me first! Treat me first! Get out! I'm in torment!"

"Open the door! Tell them to move! I'm leaving!"

Before she could take a breath, the entire group of young men fled.

Saintess Dolores looked at them with a pitying gaze.

"... ... I knew it."

Dolores' beauty had long been well-known.

Within her family, beyond it, and at the Institute.

Wherever she went, the eyes of men followed.

No man openly dared to flirt with the noble saintess, yet she couldn't help but be the object of his gaze, as if she was always yearning for something.

When she went out to volunteer during the institute's outings, or during her free time, there were always men like that following her.

They were disturbed by seeing the sick, sometimes openly expressing their disgust and revulsion.

Sometimes they would secretly shun the sick behind their backs.

So Dolores doubted the ones who followed her because of her beauty.

If she were to become hideous, if her body were to be covered in such filth

and stench, wouldn't they disappear around her?

And it's rude to dwell on it and come to the sacred aid site with a cynical heart.

In the dire landscape of life and death, there should be only one mind, the mind of the patient.

Absolute goodness. Pure kindness. Selfless sacrifice and service. Compassion and love.

These are the things closest to the grace and love of God.

St. Dolores put her energy into being a saint and a seeker.

She entered the depths of the infirmary with an even more reverent attitude.

The further she went into the infirmary, the more foul smells and filthy intensity she encountered.

Cries and moans of distress mixed with the ravages of the red death, creating a horrific atmosphere.

Dolores drew on what little divine power and stamina she had left and made her way to the farthest reaches of the infirmary, to the quarantine area where the sickest patients were kept.

From here, even veteran priests would struggle.

And then.

"...!"

Dolores' eyes widened.

The innermost dormitory, where she had expected to find only despair and desolation, was surprisingly bustling with activity.

Of course, the suffering patients were still there, but... ... .

"Hurry up and get more saline!"

"Yowser, it seems that divine power isn't the only skill in the world, hurry up and get me a scalpel!"

"...Ohhh. What a skill."

The surrounding priests were admiring with their mouths half open.

It was a completely different attitude from the exhausted and despondent officials in other dormitories.

The toughest places bring out the most vibrant life.

A man fighting alone in the dirtiest, fiercest, most inhospitable places.

Even though he is covered with filth all over his body, he looks at the patient's condition without hesitation and quietly provides first aid despite the endless curses he spat out recklessly out of pain.

The Dog of the Evening,

The Night Hound,

He was bustling among the patients, directing the priests.

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