Ragnar arrived at a relatively large house nestled among low hills, its walls humming faintly with the collective tension of those inside. As he entered, he was met by a room full of worried faces—mostly children, a teary-eyed mother, and two unfamiliar adults. Near the back stood a certain buff, angry man with arms crossed tightly across his chest.
Ragnar ignored the man's glare and walked toward the woman seated near the hearth, her hands trembling as she sobbed quietly.
"Hello, Livia," he said gently.
Livia looked up and, upon seeing him, sprang to her feet. "Ragnar!" she cried, collapsing into his arms. She clutched him tightly, her cries gaining new force.
The two strangers in the room exchanged surprised glances, and their confusion deepened when the children rushed toward Ragnar. Some clung to his trouser legs, others tugged at his coat.
"Is Lynn going to be okay, Ragnar?" one of them asked.
He knelt, placing a steady hand on a child's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll make sure Lynn is alright."
No one had told him which child was ill, but they were used to him knowing things he shouldn't. Livia nodded, her trust in him unshaken.
She guided Ragnar through the house, the children trailing behind like ducklings. They stopped at a closed door. In front of it, curled on the floor in a protective ball, was a young boy around eleven.
"Hello, Toby," Ragnar said softly.
The boy looked up. His blank eyes filled with tears. "Ragnar...?"
Hope flickered there, faint but real.
Livia bent down and gently pulled Toby to his feet. "It's okay, honey. Ragnar will help Lynn."
Ragnar gave the boy a reassuring nod and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Inside, the air was thick with divine energy and rot. A blonde-haired girl lay on the bed, her skin drenched in sweat. Purple veins pulsed visibly beneath her pale skin. By her side sat a weary father, holding her limp hand, and beside him stood a Saint—her aura bright, her hands faintly glowing as she monitored the child's life force.
They turned at the sound of the door.
"Ragnar. You're here," the father said, his voice cracking with relief.
"Yes," Ragnar replied, already approaching the girl.
He nodded politely to the Saint. "Excuse me."
She stepped aside without a word. Ragnar knelt and pulled supplies from his satchel: a purple-glowing jar, a pouch of fine yellow powder, and a wide ceramic bowl. He poured the powder first, filling the bowl halfway. Then came the glowing essence from the jar until the mixture neared the brim. With a small twist of his wrist, blue light spun from his fingers and stirred the concoction into a thick, viscous fluid.
He brought the bowl to Lynn's lips. She was barely conscious, her breathing ragged. As the fluid touched her mouth, it flowed in like liquid silk.
Her breathing slowed. The purple veins began to shrink, fading from her skin until not a single one remained.
"Both of you, please cover your ears," Ragnar said, standing up.
The father didn't hesitate. He dropped Lynn's hand and pressed both palms against his ears. The Saint obeyed, albeit more cautiously.
Then Lynn screamed.
The sound was unearthly—high, sharp, and impossibly loud. The walls shuddered, windows cracked, and both adults grimaced as they tried to block out the sound. Blood began to trickle from their ears.
But Ragnar stood still.
His eyes glowed brighter. Blue light spread from his palms as he placed them gently on the girl's abdomen. Her shrieks intensified. Her limbs thrashed. Her nails clawed at his hands, scratching deep into his skin. Blood welled up at his neck where she struck, but Ragnar didn't flinch.
He whispered something—a single word lost beneath the shrieking—and pulsed mana into her.
Slowly, her screams quieted. Her body stilled. Her breathing evened out.
Finally, her eyes fluttered closed.
Ragnar turned to the Saint. "You can heal her now."
The father's ears were bleeding, but his face lit with relief. "She's going to be okay... right?"
Ragnar nodded. "Yes. But tend to yourself—your ears are a mess."
The man scoffed weakly. "Look who's talking. You look like a rabid animal attacked you."
Ragnar raised an eyebrow. "Did you just call Lynn a rabid animal? I'm telling Livia."
The man's face drained of color. "No—don't tell that demon! I'll do anything."
The Saint finished her healing spell on Lynn, then turned to Victor, the father. "May I?"
He nodded. She placed her hands over his ears. A soft glow spread, and the blood vanished as if it had never been.
From the bed came a soft, rasping voice. "Daddy...?"
Victor rushed to her, tears streaming. "You're okay, baby. You're okay."
The Saint allowed herself a smile.
Ragnar opened the door. The children rushed in immediately, followed by Livia. They surrounded the bed with tearful joy.
Only Toby stayed behind.
He lingered near the door, eyes fixed on his sister, feet frozen.
Ragnar turned to him. "What's wrong?"
Toby stared at the floor. "I'm the reason she's sick."
"Why do you think that?"
"I convinced her to come with me to the forbidden swamp. I thought the village elder was overreacting. While we were playing, she fell and scraped her hand. Not long after, she got sick. It's my fault."
His voice cracked under the weight of guilt.
Ragnar stepped forward and tousled the boy's hair.
"You're very dumb," he said.
Toby blinked. "What?"
"I mean that affectionately," Ragnar chuckled. "It's fun messing with your hair. Very therapeutic."
"You're not supposed to make me laugh right now," Toby said with a straight face.
Ragnar laughed harder. Toby frowned, then slowly smiled.
Seeing the change, Ragnar leaned down. "You're a hero, you know. Lynn had Adventus' Disease. It's not something you catch from falling or eating the wrong thing. But it can be triggered by spores—spores found only in that swamp."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"Toby, have I ever lied to you?"
The boy hesitated, then shook his head.
"Good. Now go give your sister the biggest hug ever."
Toby turned toward the room, then paused and hugged Ragnar instead.
"Thank you."
"Of course. Now go."
As Toby ran to the bed, Ragnar watched the family reunion with a soft smile. But his thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind him.
"Ragnar, right?"
Ragnar turned. A man about his height stood at the doorway. He had short blue hair, a spear strapped to his back, and a confident smile.
"Yes?"
The man extended a hand. "I'm Harkam Mimosa."
"And I have a proposition for you."