After I died, my personal maid rebelled.

In late August, the flu outbreak in the capital city finally reached an uncontrollable level.

In the dimly lit room of the Vatican, rows of cauldrons bubbled and steamed, releasing the sweet aroma of herbs. John, looking exhausted, focused intently on adjusting the dosage of the medicine, reaching for the empty medicine tray.

"Paul, please help me..."

The words, which had abruptly stopped, echoed in the room. John remained silent for a long time, watching the medicine in the pot quickly decay and turn into a black mass.

The smell was pungent, so he rubbed his nose with his hand, walked to the door, pushed it open, and went out.

He desperately wanted to say he regretted it, but he was old enough to accept everything calmly. As the saying goes, the older you get, the more cunning you become, and that's true.

John has seen too much filth in his life. What a great person it must be to rise to a high position cleanly and honestly.

What shocked those young people, what they found unbelievable and unacceptable, he had already seen or experienced firsthand.

If he had any regrets, it was that, as a clergyman, he had a longer lifespan than ordinary people. Time passed, and the world he saw seemed unchanged, yet also strangely unfamiliar…

He has lost all his companions with whom he could have a genuine conversation, as well as his godson and his heir.

He felt he didn't belong to this era, but he had to drag on with the remnants of this old age. If Medivh was doing it for the stability of the kingdom, then he was doing it for the stability of the Papacy.

Because they devoted their entire lives to these things.

Walking into the spacious hall, John felt a sense of comfort seeing Maria still busy treating the residents.

Regardless of her motives, she was ultimately doing good for people. It would be even better if she could shoulder more responsibility and have a broader perspective.

Young people make mistakes, but when she realizes that only by accepting thankless tasks can she truly earn respect, she will be able to take over her position.

Looking at the crowded people, John couldn't help but worry about the flu. He had keenly sensed that this was the beginning of a plague, and even a few days ago, he had advised His Majesty to isolate the palace.

The crowd remained restless, and John's gaze quickly settled on two young men and women with dark hair. They were both of ordinary appearance, but they exuded the aura of power and authority.

Moreover, neither of them seemed sick at all, and their sharp gazes quickly met John's.

The man smiled slightly at him, nodded in acknowledgment, and then took the woman's hand and left the Vatican.

This is a dangerous man... This is the first time John has felt such pressure from a young man. Which association is secretly training this talent?

Even after leaving the Vatican, the man didn't let go of the woman's hand, his curious gaze sweeping over the buildings.

The woman's ears turned slightly red. "Where else would you like to see, sir?"

"Your alma mater, or the Adventurers' Guild."

The woman began to recall the man's upbringing and asserted, "Sir, you are neither suited to be an adventurer nor a student."

"I just fantasize about that kind of life occasionally," the man smiled calmly, tightening his grip on the woman's hand. "You can at least accompany me for a walk around, right?"

The chaotic capital was hardly a good place for a date. The soldiers were struggling to maintain order, and more and more of them were falling ill.

Coughing echoed through the streets, litter littered the ground, shops were all closed, and some streets were even under lockdown.

However, what men find most troublesome is the formation of a new group in such a chaotic environment.

Those healed by the saint, relying on their resistance to the plague and their restored health, did not prioritize restoring normal life and production, but instead engaged in a large-scale capture of the severely ill who had not been healed.

They call him: the one abandoned by the goddess.

A bizarre witch hunt has begun, and it's an officially sanctioned witch hunt.

These recovered patients may have been the kind neighbors and close friends of the seriously ill patients, but the violence born of fear ultimately broke through the bottom line of morality.

The two walked past a street corner and, hearing the noise, looked into the alley. They saw a group of people with church symbols painted on their faces, carrying axes and hacking open the door of a house.

They rushed in, and immediately came the woman's painful screams, the heart-wrenching cries sending shivers down their spines.

Before long, a body that was clearly deformed, swollen and deformed, covered with blood spots under the skin, and was vomiting blood was dragged out.

After a jumbled and incoherent doctrinal preaching, they were finally ready to proceed with the final ritual.

The confused patient was grabbed, and a long wooden spike was aimed at his heart and smashed in.

"Heave-ho, heave-ho!"

The wooden mallet kicked up blood and dust as critically ill patients were nailed to the wall. Looking ahead, in this small alley alone, dozens of corpses, some shriveled and some fresh, hung there.

Maggots crawled, mosquitoes and flies swarmed, and blood flowed into the pitch-black ground, a red and black mix, like a stairway to hell.

The woman sighed, "Why would they do this? They've already gotten rid of the plague."

"Some struggles are invisible. The struggle begins when the number of people infected with the plague each day far exceeds the number that the Vatican can treat."

"Didn't you notice it at the Vatican just now? Everyone who enters the Vatican is impeccably dressed, and none of them come alone."

"They wish the plague would continue and the more people died, the better, because only then could they obtain more after the plague ended."

Hearing the man's calm words, the woman silently hugged his arm. "You are truly knowledgeable, sir. I never even thought of that."

The man shook his head and smiled bitterly, saying with a sigh, "I wouldn't call myself erudite. When you hear the words 'first' and 'later' and your hair stands on end, you'll understand everything."

……

As night fell, clusters of torches raced noisily through the city.

The man sat on a chair on the balcony, watching the woman sleeping soundly in the small hotel room. He turned his head and lit his pipe.

He dared not go back to his room to sleep because he was afraid he would not be able to resist the temptation, but the woman insisted that they sleep in the same room for safety reasons.

Overlooking the chaotic royal city, the darkness amplified people's bestial instincts, and the witch hunt intensified, with eerie howls echoing everywhere.

The city was in turmoil, and the area outside the city was not peaceful either.

After heeding the advice of the mage Sophia and using the magicians' power to reintroduce a canal from the upper reaches of the river into the royal city, Medivh finally solved the water problem. He then began to focus on dealing with the lump of flesh and blood that was stuck to the dock.

After the new river channel was dug, the river water quickly poured in, but the flesh and blood of the rat corpse stubbornly fused and swirled in the middle of the river channel.

The alchemist extracted a portion and found that the flesh had turned into a jelly-like substance, with the abundant immortal magic within it being several times thicker than it had been a few days ago.

Fortunately, the poisoned soldiers have recovered under the saint's care. Medivh has enough manpower available, so he chose the most primitive method: having the soldiers manually retrieve the flesh and blood, and then transporting it by wagon to a deep pit in the distance for burial.

Illuminated by towering bonfires, this massive project began. The docks were a hive of activity; soldiers stood on the bank, throwing wooden buckets with ropes into the river, digging out clumps of sticky, bloody flesh, pouring it into large barrels, and loading it onto horse-drawn carts.

Once the carriage was full, the driver cracked the whip and drove along the newly dug riverbed toward the deep pit more than ten miles away.

Late at night, seeing the flesh and blood in the river dwindling, Medivh, already feeling exhausted, sat on a rock on the bank and dozed off.

As expected, the flu, or rather the plague, had spread throughout the country. The Northern Territory reacted the fastest; that kid had indeed planted spies in the capital...

A while ago, news came that Oswald had suddenly appeared in Green Canyon. Just as Medivh thought that the kid was up to something, Oswald immediately ordered all passages into the Northern Territory to be sealed off, obviously to prevent the plague from spreading to the Northern Territory.

Medivh had to admire Oswald's control over the territory. Even when some minor lords tried to emulate his actions, they couldn't hold out for more than a few days before their policies were disrupted by their subordinates, and the plague spread even faster.

The Papacy has developed magic to cure mild illnesses, and Medivh himself has arranged a team of doctors to explore antidotes that can cure severe illnesses. In addition, the timely blockade of the Northern Territory means that, overall, the kingdom is not in any major trouble for the time being.

"Sir, something has happened in the pit! You must go and take a look!"

Before he had even rested for half an hour, a soldier hurriedly jumped off his horse and came to him anxiously to report.

Medivh immediately stood up and used his flight magic to quickly fly towards the pit.

Before long, they arrived at the edge of the pit, where soldiers had already surrounded it, peering anxiously into the pitch-black depths.

After landing, Medivh arrived at the edge of the pit, and with a slight wave of his staff, a beam of light pierced the darkness, reaching the bottom of the abyss.

Below was a soldier, half of his body submerged in blood and flesh, his face showing signs of severe shock, his pupils no longer responding to light.

Tentacle-like strands of mucus writhed across his body, slowly dissolving him. As his skin cracked, the tentacles burrowed into his muscles and bones, twitching and sucking something away...

With a muffled thud, the soldier was reduced to countless fragments, bubbling with blood as they merged into flesh and blood.

The tentacles, covered in hair and bits of flesh, continued to move. It seemed to have sensed its separation, and more tentacles began to grow, stretching out along the stone wall in search of direction.

"Wow."

The scene of utter madness caused the soldiers, unable to bear it, to vomit on the spot. Medivh extinguished his staff and gently reprimanded the soldiers, "Get out of here. No one is allowed to approach this place again."

Just then, a tentacle burst from the ground. Medivh reacted quickly, and a magical aura swirled around it, slicing the tentacle into several pieces.

A disgusting and twisted tentacle fell to the ground at their feet. Under the tense gazes of the crowd, the tentacle crawled towards the river like a caterpillar.