Chapter 543: The Blight of Dark Sorcery
As soon as Kyren arrived at the royal infirmary, he and his men were led by the attendants to the treatment chamber where the three tribesmen were being kept.
However, when they reached the door, several assistant healers standing guard barred their way.
"This is His Highness, the Grand Duke of Gerhard! You dare obstruct his visit?" Adam’s voice rang sharp through the corridor.
"Forgive us, Your Highness, my lord," one of the royal healers stammered, bowing hastily. "It isn’t our intention to stop you, but the Arch Healer has ordered that no one may enter. The patients are in critical condition. Any exposure to impurities could be fatal."
Adam gritted his teeth, clearly offended by the implication that they might bring contamination. But before he could retort, Rafe lifted a hand, silently signalling him to stand down.
"We understand," Rafe said evenly. "We’re here to help, not to hinder. I am a healer myself, so I fully respect your precautions."
The assistants exchanged uncertain glances.
One of them finally asked, "Pardon me, sir, but... who exactly are you? You said you’re a healer, but we’ve never met you before."
"Rafe Amares," the healer replied. "Healer of Gerhard."
The assistants froze.
"R–Rafe Amares?" one of them stammered. "You mean the ’Mr Rafe Amares’... the one who was meant to be Arch Healer?" one of them exclaimed, eyes wide.
Rafe nodded at the recognition.
"Forgive us for not recognising you! We’re new here. Our seniors are inside, assisting Mr Isen Corvell, the Arch Healer," said another.
Rafe’s expression remained composed, betraying no pride, only concern.
"Tell Isen that I’m here and would like to see the patients," he said clearly.
The assistants stared at him for a beat too long, still starstruck.
Rafe’s brows drew together.
"Now!" Rafe said, his voice dropping with quiet authority.
"Y–yes, Mr Amares!" one of them replied, hurriedly moving toward the door. But before he could enter, Rafe’s stern voice stopped him.
"Wait! Are you forgetting something?"
The assistant turned, puzzled.
Rafe sighed, exasperation flickering across his face.
"The patients are suffering from severe burns," he said, tone clipped. "You must wash your hands, wear a clean gown, gloves, and a mask before entering. Do you wish to infect them? What exactly have your seniors been teaching you?"
A tense silence followed. The assistant quickly bowed in embarrassment, muttering apologies before scrambling to follow procedure.
Rafe watched them quietly, the faintest sigh escaping him.
Though he hadn’t said it aloud, everyone could sense the presence of a true healer, the kind the royal infirmary hadn’t seen in years.
They stood in uneasy silence, clearly intimidated by Rafe—the very man they had long heard of but never met.
Moments later, the assistant returned, prepared adequately as instructed, and then disappeared into the treatment chamber.
Not long after, the door opened again, and a healer of higher rank stepped out, followed by several senior staff. His face, half-covered by a mask, revealed a man in his early forties—seasoned, calm, and dignified.
"Mr Amares! Thank goodness you’re here!" the older healer exclaimed, removing his mask and passing it to an assistant with a visible sigh of relief before shaking hands with Rafe.
"Hello, Isen. We came on the urgent report from the chief of the royal guards. His Highness the Grand Duke is with us," Rafe replied.
Callis, standing nearby, blinked in mild surprise. Rafe had called the older man by his given name with easy familiarity, yet everyone else treated Isen with formal respect.
The contrast felt odd to her, though it was clear the two men shared a long acquaintance.
When Isen’s gaze flicked to Kyren, he dipped into a deep bow; his team followed suit.
"Your Highness, please forgive us for not greeting you first," he said.
Kyren waved the apology away with a curt hand.
"Spare the formalities," he returned briskly. "How are the patients?"
"Not well, Your Highness." Isen’s face tightened. "We’ve tried every stabilisation method we have, but the burns are extensive. What’s more worrying is that the wounds aren’t behaving like ordinary burns."
Rafe’s expression hardened.
"Explain in detail, Isen. I need a full account of their condition."
The Arch Healer’s brows knitted as he explained further.
"The wounds are deteriorating. It appears that the tissue is rotting from within, despite our treatments. The more we treat the patients, the worse their condition becomes. The flesh refuses to mend despite our attempts."
Rafe and Kyren exchanged a grave look. Then, the grand duke turned toward the chief of the royal guards.
"This matches your earlier report. No improvement, I see," he said, heavy with concern.
The chief of the royal guard bowed solemnly.
"I’ll go in and examine them myself," Rafe announced.
"Be my guest, Mr Amares," said Isen, stepping aside. "Your expertise in battlefield injuries might prove invaluable in treating them."
"I’ll let you know the outcome later. Please wait here," Rafe said to Kyren and Adam as he turned to them.
Both men nodded in understanding.
Then the healer told his wife, "Come with me, Callis."
"Wait... who is she?" Isen interjected, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.
The Arch Healer’s eyes had lingered on the young lady at Rafe’s side for some time—her graceful bearing and quiet beauty were hard to overlook.
"She’s my wife," Rafe replied. "She’ll be assisting me with the examination."
"Oh... so this is the Mederian Princess?" Isen’s brows lifted in mild surprise.
Now that he thought about it, her refined features and serene composure matched every rumour he’d heard.
"Greetings, Your Highness. I’ve heard about your marriage—"
"Let’s talk about that later," Rafe said strictly, his tone leaving no room for further unnecessary pleasantries.
"Of course," Isen said quickly, bowing his head in apology.
He then gestured for one of his assistants to escort them to the preparation room.
"No need. I know the way," Rafe said, taking Callis’s hand.
Without another word, he led her down the corridor, his stride brisk and purposeful, leaving the others watching in respectful silence.
***
The pair entered cautiously as the door opened for them, followed by Isen and two senior healers.
The faint scent of burnt flesh and bitter herbs hung thick in the air, stinging Callis’s nose. She steadied her breath and followed her husband deeper into the chamber.
Rows of beds lined the room, each enclosed behind hanging white curtains suspended from wooden frames.
Although it was daytime, the faint light outside was insufficient to illuminate the entire chamber, so the lamp had to be used. The flickering lamplight cast pale shadows across the fabric.
"Why are they covered?" Callis asked quietly as they moved closer to one of the curtained beds.
"To prevent putrefaction," Rafe replied curtly.
"I see..." she murmured, though her tone betrayed unease.
With a single command from Rafe, one of the healers drew back the curtain.
Callis froze.
The sight before her made her breath hitch—the patient was wrapped in layers of linen bandages, their once-white fabric now tinged with brown from ointments and dried blood.
Beneath the wrappings, angry red blisters spread across what little skin remained visible. Faint traces of crushed herbs and spiced wine clung to the cloth, an attempt to stave off infection.
The man’s chest rose and fell weakly, each breath shallow and uneven. His face was so burned that his features were barely recognisable—only the outline of a once-strong jaw hinted at who he might have been.
"Among them all, his condition is the worst," said Isen gravely, standing beside Rafe. "I believe he tried to shield the others."
"Saures," Rafe said under his breath, his expression darkening.
"Who?" Isen asked, arching a brow.
"His name is Saures," Rafe explained. "He’s the leader of the tribesmen."
Isen frowned. "How can you tell? None of us could identify them. Their belongings were the only clue we had to their tribe, and this man had barely spoken—only muttering warnings before losing consciousness."
"Saures is the strongest among them," Rafe replied. "He’d throw himself into the fire if it meant saving his men. That’s what makes him their leader."
He motioned for one of Isen’s subordinates. "Open my treatment bag and hand me the forceps."
The assistant obeyed swiftly. Taking the instrument, Rafe leaned closer and began to carefully lift a portion of the bandage from the man’s shoulder.
The moment the wound was exposed, a faint hiss escaped from beneath the wrappings.
Callis’s eyes widened. The flesh underneath was a dark, molten red—seared and glistening as though it were still smouldering. Veins around the wound pulsed faintly, the flesh twitching and writhing unnaturally.
Rafe’s brows furrowed.
"This is unusual," Rafe murmured. "If you’ve applied the salve, it should’ve reacted by now. But the flesh remains seared and red."
"That’s what I said," replied the Arch Healer gravely. "The larger wounds are even worse. They’ve turned black and dead."
Rafe moved his forceps to another part of Saures’s body, an area that looked far more severe.
As he carefully lifted the bandage, the wound beneath revealed a horrifying sight: blackened, charred skin that had eaten deep through the flesh.
Callis immediately turned her face away, unable to bear the sight. Even Rafe, seasoned in treating battlefield burns, gasped sharply.
This... this was unlike any injury he had ever seen.
"Did you try removing the necrotic tissue?" he asked, serious.
"We did," Isen replied. "But the moment we cleansed the wound, the remaining flesh turned black again."
Rafe frowned again.
"This is critical and worrisome since conventional methods aren’t effective," he said.
"We’ve done everything we could, Mr Amares," said Isen. "I’ve never encountered anything like this. Frankly, with burns that reach the bone, survival should be impossible... yet they live, barely, and in great pain. I’ve exhausted every method I know, but there’s been no sign of improvement. Is there anything you can do?"
Rafe paused, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he turned to Callis, his expression softening.
"Dear... I may need your help for this. But I don’t want you to feel pressured."
Seeing the plea in his eyes, Callis immediately shook her head.
"Don’t say that. I’m here to help, aren’t I?"
"Wait... How can she help?" asked Isen, puzzled.
Rafe straightened slightly.
"My wife is a Mederian and possesses healing magic."
"Ah! Of course!" Isen’s eyes lit up as he recalled who Callis was.
He clapped a hand against his palm, excitement breaking through his worry.
"I’ve heard the Mederians have magic akin to the Ro’ans!"
"I do," Callis replied, "but it’s limited, and I can’t guarantee a good outcome. I’m not as skilled as my brother. Believe me, just because we possess this ability doesn’t mean we can heal every wound or illness. Healing magic consumes a great deal of mana, and overusing it can be fatal to us."
Isen and the other two healers, who had moments ago been brimming with hope, fell silent.
"But it’s worth trying," Callis said firmly, unwilling to let despair take over. "Judging from this patient’s condition, I believe I can at least do some healing."
"Saures’s wounds alone are quite extensive," said Rafe, frowning. "And we still haven’t examined Vaelen and Thalgar. Do you think you can manage all three?"
Callis hesitated, considering the risks. This wasn’t the time to prove herself or test her limits. As much as she wanted to help, she couldn’t disregard her own safety.
"Let’s examine the other two first," she decided. "Then I’ll know how much I can handle."
Rafe nodded in agreement. With Isen and his assistants assisting, they moved on to inspect Vaelen and Thalgar.
The injuries they found were just as grave; deep burns, blistered skin, and traces of the same strange decay that afflicted Saures.
After the examinations, they gathered once more, and Callis gave her conclusion.
"As we’ve seen, their conditions are severe and life-threatening," she said gravely. "I wish I could do more, but my magic isn’t strong enough to restore them completely. Full restorative healing is beyond my reach. The best I can do is stabilise their condition with basic healing."
"If you do that, will they respond better to the treatment?" Isen asked hopefully.
"I believe so," Callis replied, then paused thoughtfully. "And to hasten their recovery, I can weave a healing barrier around their bodies. It will help sustain their life force and prevent the wounds from worsening while their flesh heals. But this will only be temporary."
"This would be more than helpful, Your Highness!" said Isen, his excitement returning.
"It’s Mrs Amares," Callis corrected gently.
"Ah, yes! Of course!" The Arch Healer smiled beneath his mask, slightly flustered.
"Thank you, sweetie. Let’s start now, shall we?" said Rafe warmly.
"All right... Oh, but before we begin," Callis added carefully, "this healing magic won’t be quick. I might need several days to complete it. I’ll have to work part by part, patient by patient. We might only see the first results after the fourth or fifth day. Would that be all right?"
She looked between her husband and the Arch Healer, her crimson eyes uncertain, worried that her limitation might disappoint them.
"Definitely all right!" said Isen at once. "You’re doing something none of us can! I’d be honoured to see your ma—"
"Isen, enough," Rafe cut him off sharply. "Let’s focus on the main thing first."
The Arch Healer bowed quickly.
"Yes, Mr Amares."
Callis pressed her lips together beneath her mask, hiding the slight frown that formed there.
Rafe’s tone had been colder than necessary. She couldn’t help but wonder why he always sounded so stern whenever Isen addressed her. Was it... jealousy?
Come to think of it, she remembered how Rafe disliked any man coming too close to her. Not even Luke was allowed to shake hands with her after the barbecue pit explosion incident.
"Shall we begin?" Rafe’s voice snapped her back to the present.
"Ah, yes," she replied quickly.
"Listen carefully," he said firmly. "If you start to feel exhausted or if the magic takes too much out of you, we stop immediately. I mean it, Callis. I won’t allow you to continue if I see you forcing yourself."
"All right... But, um... Rafe, there’s one more thing." The Mederian Princess hesitated.
"What is it?"
"I’ll need to touch the patients directly with my hands while casting the magic. Would you allow it?" she asked softly.
In their patriarchal culture, a married woman was bound by custom to seek her husband’s permission for physical contact, even for medical or magical purposes. As her guardian, Rafe’s approval was both her duty and protection.
"This is an emergency. Of course I allow it," Rafe replied without hesitation.
Callis exhaled in relief. She took her place by Saures’s bedside, sitting on the stool there.
Then, closing her eyes, she placed her bare hand upon the injured tribesman’s chest and began whispering the ancient Ro’an incantation.
A faint shimmer of light started to bloom from her palm—soft, silvery, and alive—until suddenly, she gasped.
The light faded as she recoiled in terror, stumbling back from the bed while the stool toppled over from the movement. She pressed her hand to her chest as if hit by an unseen force, then steadied herself.
"Callis! What’s wrong?" Rafe rushed to her side, alarmed.
Her crimson eyes were wide with fear.
"It’s dark magic!" she cried. "This man... he was attacked by witchcraft! I can’t heal him with my mana! This... this is something beyond my strength!"
Rafe steadied her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"It’s all right... Don’t be scared," he said softly, though his eyes were sharp with concern.
"No, Rafe... I’ve never felt such overwhelming darkness. It’s consuming him from within," she said, trembling.
Isen’s eyes widened.
"No wonder the burns seem unusual and won’t heal! They’re not typical wounds and are caused by magic! He muttered something before passing out, and it sounded like danger!"
"Danger?" Callis repeated, alarmed. "He said something about danger?"
"Wait," said Rafe, holding up a hand. "Let’s not jump to conclusions yet. We don’t have the full picture of what happened or what he meant. We’ll only know once he regains consciousness."
"But how?" Isen asked helplessly. "Even Mrs Amares can’t use her healing magic on him."
Callis lowered her gaze, guilt washing over her.
"I’m sorry... it’s not that I don’t want to—"
"Don’t blame yourself," said Rafe gently. "If I’d known this was caused by such sorcery, I wouldn’t have asked you to heal him in the first place. You did the right thing by pulling back."
She nodded weakly.
"So... what do we do now, Mr Amares?" asked Isen, anxious.
Rafe fell silent, thinking deeply. Then, suddenly, his eyes sparked with realisation.
"You said your mana can’t heal Saures, right?" he asked, turning to Callis.
She nodded and said, "Only Ro’an mana could counter this kind of dark magic."
A confident smile tugged at Rafe’s lips.
"Then we still have a chance."
"How so?" Isen asked, confused.
"Get His Highness the Grand Duke," Rafe said firmly. "He has what we need."