Regressor of the Fallen Family Novel - Chapter 248 (New)

Chapter 248 “Ah, it comes back to me now. The plague that ravaged the western territories of the Empire……”

That specific occurrence where the contagion was halted through the rapid cremation of remains and the imposition of strict safety protocols.

Truly, in his former life, a parallel crisis had taken place.

“If I had only observed more keenly back then, I might have recalled a different solution.”

Still, such things were beyond his power now.

That historical narrative felt far removed from the regions where Logan had been active; he had deemed it irrelevant to the interests of Grandia, and thus, he hadn’t committed the finer details to memory.

“At the very least, I am lucky to remember this much.”

Because of this, there was only a single path forward he could tread.

“Your logic is sound. So be it. Burn every corpse of those claimed by this plague.”

While cremation was a standard funerary rite across much of the continent, the kingdom strictly favored burial, barring extraordinary cases.

Since being burned at the stake was reserved as a punishment for the most heinous crimes, a cultural stigma existed that cremating the dead was a sign of profound dishonor.

“We will likely face heavy pushback.”

“Overlook it and see the mandate through. Stopping this plague is the only priority.”

“…I understand.”

“Furthermore, when the bodies are put to the flame, ensure the belongings of the deceased are destroyed with them. If we characterize it as a final tribute to the spirits of the fallen rather than a slight, the public outcry will likely be muted.”

Gilbert’s eyes grew wide as he processed these supplementary orders.

Once the urgent briefing in the command tent ended and the aid workers resumed their stations, Gilbert approached Logan with a hesitant question.

“Have you dealt with a catastrophe like this before?”

“Hmm? What makes you ask?”

“Well, I was just about to propose the incineration of the victims’ personal effects, but you anticipated the need before I could speak.”

“Is that also tied to these germs you mentioned?”

“Precisely. These germs cannot be seen with the naked eye…”

“Ah, I’ve heard enough. You are saying that the commands I’ve given will facilitate the containment of the sickness?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“That is a relief. However, are there no other tactics beyond burning the dead? The clerics are nearing their breaking point, and if this continues, the death toll will begin to climb.”

“Forgive me. We will exhaust every effort to find a cure immediately.”

“A cure. Medicine, let me think…”

Because the healing arts of the priesthood were prohibitively expensive, the common folk relied heavily on botanical extracts and ancestral cures. The organization that synthesized these practices to identify which ones actually worked was known as the Healer’s Guild.

Their reputation would eventually reach the masses, and in roughly two decades, they would be respected as a legitimate institution.

The collective desire of the people to avoid being entirely beholden to the priests was their primary source of support.

Nevertheless, in the present day, many still dismissed them as frauds merely mimicking the divine.

‘What if I provided them with backing now?’

The thought flickered in his mind, but a cynical realization followed close behind.

He currently lacked the resources and the proof of their efficacy to make such a gamble.

Dismissing the distraction with a shake of his head, he listened as Gilbert’s tone turned more determined.

“We will develop a potent remedy, mark my words. Please, place your trust in us.”

“Very well. Give it everything you have. If you find yourself in need of resources, tell me. I will provide them.”

“Ah… Th-thank you.”

Gilbert recoiled slightly at the formal weight of the reply.

“…Is there anything you require right this moment? Speak plainly. I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to choke out this plague. Any help will be highly valued.”

“…In that case, could I be granted entry to the temple’s secret archives?”

“What?”

“I need to examine the accounts of the plague that hit Restabum seventy years ago. Comparing that outbreak with our guild’s internal logs might drastically speed up our work on a cure.”

Gilbert, knowing his previous friction with the clergy, was visibly nervous about asking for such a favor.

Following a brief pause, Logan gave his answer.

“…Discuss the matter with Bishop Illya.”

“Th-thank you!”

‘Bishop Illya and I have had our share of disputes.’

Even for someone as thick-skinned as Logan, asking for the bishop’s cooperation felt slightly awkward.

However.

“If the subject is the plague, we should have a wealth of data available. Our chronicles are quite thorough.”

Bishop Illya’s reaction was far more cooperative than Logan had dared to hope.

“…I appreciate that. Is there any other way I can assist?”

“I was planning to seek further aid from the temple regardless. I might as well put in the request for the documents at the same time.”

“If you ask, will they actually help? It feels as though they have already stretched themselves thin.”

Commitment.

At Logan’s skeptical phrasing, Illya let out a hollow, tired laugh.

“Even so, the crisis is dire. We must employ every asset the temple possesses to terminate this outbreak as fast as humanly possible.”

Logan’s respect for the unexpectedly principled and tireless bishop increased; he felt he could trust her a bit more now.

‘I suspect further aid is a pipe dream, though.’

Logan remained cynical about the prospects.

The victims of the contagion were currently being unearthed and cremated according to the aid team’s mandate, and surprisingly, the public outcry was not as violent as feared.

The peasants, broken by one disaster after another, simply lacked the energy to defy the combined authority of the crown and the church.

Furthermore.

“…Has the Almighty turned away from us?”

“Never. This ritual is to ensure you become a protective spirit to shield your surviving kin. It is to preserve every life remaining here.”

When Bishop Illya, the highest-ranking official in the relief camp, offered such comfort to a sobbing woman about to cremate her husband—who had also shown the plague’s marks—what little defiance remained vanished completely.

“Such a holy soul… to care for the likes of us…”

“…Let us all keep our courage.”

Through a mix of genuine reverence and the weight of authority, the priests working to save the sick won the unwavering loyalty of the serfs.

There were other glimmers of progress as well.

“Lathe grass is having a measurable effect, Sir Gilbert!”

“What a relief! That is wonderful news!”

The healers, who had been analyzing patients and foraging for botanicals at all hours, had reached a modest breakthrough.

“A treatment for the fever?”

“Yes. For now, it only slightly dulls the plague’s progression, but the positive effect is undeniable.”

“Good. Do not let up.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

By burning the remains and personal property, they halted the transmission of the ‘germs’ Gilbert had described, and the search for a fever agent began to save those in the most critical states. The toil of the relief team was finally bearing fruit.

Deaths began to taper off, and the tally of those recovering started to climb. It was at this moment that Logan allowed himself a small breath of relief.

Then, Illya approached with a grim update.

“This contagion is far more aggressive than we presumed.”

“How so?”

“The speed of recovery through holy light is significantly slower than any other plague mentioned in our texts. Furthermore, a patient I recorded as fully healed just yesterday is already showing symptoms once again.”

Logan’s face grew shadow-heavy at Illya’s pale-faced admission.

“I will demand more reinforcements from the temple. Our current strength is insufficient for a task this difficult.”

Bishop Illya bit her lip as she made the vow, but just as Logan had suspected, three days passed and the temple delivered only the requested scrolls from the Restabum records—and nothing else.

“We are overwhelmed with relief efforts in the territories under our direct jurisdiction and cannot spare a single man.”

The herald who brought the documents offered this platitude, but the resident priests weren’t buying it.

“Ah! The center of the crisis is right here! What other ‘efforts’ could they possibly mean!”

Fabian shouted, his face looking hollowed out.

A week of constant healing, fasting, and prayer had reduced the once-stout priest to a much thinner version of himself.

“Send word for reinforcements immediately!”

Though he was screaming in a daze and clutching the robes of the low-ranking herald, it was clear his mind was as frayed as his body.

“The sickness is spreading further! What are the elders doing?”

Judging only by his frantic words, one might think he was a saintly figure consumed by worry for the commoners.

Naturally, such a display yielded no better result.

“They claim… since there are no new deaths, the situation is deemed under control…?”

“Absurd! I will drop dead before the patients do at this rate! Order them to send help this instant!”

As Fabian took his fury out on the panicked messenger, Gilbert grabbed the temple chronicles and hurried back to his fellow healers. The ashen-faced Bishop Illya bit her lip and looked away, disgusted by the priests’ lack of decorum.

Days went by with the priests becoming increasingly exhausted, yet they managed to keep a fragile peace.

On the third day after the team settled in Laphan, and ten days since the beginning, that peace was shattered by the unexpected.

“Yo-Your Highness! The contagion has been spotted in several other hamlets within Laphan. Six more villages are now under infection!”

“What?! Was the blockade not held?!”

“The problem is… before we even got here, people had moved between the infected sites. Most of them hid their illness until it was too late to contain it…”

“Damnable luck!”

On that tenth day, new deaths were reported, and the sheer volume of patients began to spiral out of control.

Fortunately, the warnings Logan had broadcast upon their arrival had worked; aid was finally arriving from the surrounding noble houses.

The air was filled with the creak of wheels and the sound of horses.

Dozens of supply wagons filled with grain, protected by a squad of knights and several hundred infantry under a banner featuring an unfamiliar floral crest, drew near. While the team watched in confusion, a middle-aged knight dismounted and bowed deeply.

“Sent by the Count of Kelomman, Your Highness. We bring grain and manpower as per your decree.”

“…I see.”

Aid had come from the Count of Kelomman, the very first aristocrat Logan had humiliated in combat.

“From the Baron of Genchis…”

“And the Baron of Perona sends word they will arrive shortly!”

Two other regions mobilized support soon after. While smaller than Kelomman’s contribution, it was still substantial.

The combined resources of these three houses were enough to keep the villagers and the relief team fed for three months without fear of running out.

‘They had all this to spare while they were plotting against us.’

Logan felt a surge of loathing and suspicion toward the nobility, but he kept his face neutral.

As the infection spread from twelve villages to eighteen, Laphan and the relief team—already dying under the weight of the quarantine—received the noble support like a spring rain after a long drought.

But then.

Three days later, just as a flicker of optimism returned to the camp, a new horror struck.

“The healers are starting to show signs of the sickness!”

Within the aid team itself, which had been fighting the plague without rest, the infection had begun to take hold.

“Soldiers on the picket lines have fallen ill. Their markers match the village patients perfectly.”

The troops tasked with holding the quarantine lines were also succumbing.

“This is the end, isn’t it?”

“How could such a curse happen to us…”

“Where is the church in all of this?”

Even the knights and clerics began to voice their despair.

As Logan took in the grim news, his jaw tightened.

“The number of recovered?”

“Subtracting those who relapsed, we have roughly 120.”

“And the new infections?”

“…The count started at 321 cases; it has now surged past 600.”

Faced with such a hopeless update, Logan let out a heavy breath and put his head in his hands.

‘There is no other way.’

He had to drain every last drop of his remaining resources and demand the temple send double the current manpower.

‘…Can the kingdom survive the cost?’

Whether the royal treasury and the army could weather the strain was a frightening question.

He exhaled deeply, feeling the crushing weight of leadership, but he had no choice. Allowing the sickness to rage unchecked would destroy the empire long before any war could.

How had things fallen apart so quickly?

Logan turned toward the communication array to make the call.

But at that moment.

“Your Highness! We’ve found it! A total breakthrough!”

Gilbert came sprinting toward him, his voice sounding raw with desperate excitement.