17: Healing the Plague

Rhodes nodded at Forbas, agreeing to provide the Athenians with the sanctuary they sought.

"Your generosity goes beyond even the gods of Mount Olympus," Fubas humbly expressed his gratitude, bowing repeatedly to Rhodes.

This sight amused Rhodes internally. The Greeks' steadfast belief in the gods of Mount Olympus seemed unshakeable, but when survival was at stake, faith often crumbled like dust.

"There's no time to waste. Inform your army to mobilize the people and help me find the person I need," Rhodes instructed.

Fubas hesitated and then gestured toward the door, "Please follow me, my lord. I'll show you our current situation, and you'll understand."

Rhodes and Sig followed Forbas, tracing his steps through the building until they reached a spacious area.

Laid out neatly on thin white cloth were people, their complexions ashen, their skin marred by festering wounds.

Blood spread across their necks like a dark spider web, sending shivers down the spine against their pale and gray skin.

Groans emanated feebly, with only the gentle rise and fall of their chests confirming their continued life.

Limbs bore patches of rotting flesh, while flies buzzed around, landing on wounds to feast.

A crow perched on the eaves above, its dark eyes empty, its cawing mocking the helpless scene below.

Physicians from Athens moved about, overwhelmed, applying green herbs to the patients' festering skin.

"Ahem...this isn't working," the lead doctor, dressed in yellow robes, coughed intermittently. He scratched his red throat, attempting to alleviate the itch causing his cough.

His colorful attire indicated a certain status.

"As you can see," Forbas's concern was evident, "My soldiers have fallen victim to this malevolent plague, and we lack additional forces to assist you."

Rhodes observed the guards watching over the area; their brows furrowed, foreheads beaded with sweat, and exhaustion in their eyes.

Worse yet, Rhodes noticed them coughing violently from time to time.

"Without proper measures, the plague will continue to spread," Rhodes remarked, picking up a dirty rag from the ground and submerging it in a jar of water.

Forbas tried to intervene, but held back. "That water is for the patients to drink. Using a soiled cloth will contaminate the supply."

"This water has been contaminated for some time. Given the extent of the plague, clean water sources are likely scarce," Rhodes explained while grabbing a few stones from the ground and tossing them into a water container.

"Need some salt?" he inquired of the white-robed aides attending to the yellow-robed doctor.

The assistants exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to respond. Salt was a precious commodity, and though this stranger appeared high-ranking, they hesitated to offer it freely.

"Why do you require salt?" Forbas asked.

"I'm preparing a potent saline solution. The surface rocks lack the necessary saltiness, so coarse salt is needed."

"Concentration?" Forbus struggled to grasp Rhodes' words, relying on Rhodes' Asgardian origin and taking a leap of faith.

"In any case, I trust you. We'll find salt for you."

As Forbas retreated, Rhodes beckoned Sig.

"Asgard's medical expertise should suffice."

Sig nodded, but sighed helplessly. "Treating them is feasible, but the plague has spread too far. We can't treat all of Athens."

Sig observed the doctors, their violent coughs a sign of infection from close contact with patients.

He felt helpless, knowing that these infected individuals would return home, spreading the plague further.

"To heal Athens and quell the plague, we need Asgard's army on Earth. We can manage the soldiers here, at least," Rhodes agreed.

As Forbas returned with his group, they carried a large piece of light yellow solid—the highest purity refined salt achieved through the era's purification techniques.

"My lord, this is all of Athens' fine salt. It's yours to use."

Rhodes took the salt block and unceremoniously dropped it into the water tank, stirring it with his spear.

The salt block broke into pieces upon colliding with the spear, slowly dissolving in the water's spiral current.

After much stirring, undissolved solids remained at the tank's bottom. Rhodes understood that the water now held a high concentration of salt, reaching its dissolution limit.

He retrieved the damp cloth, wringing out the excess water, and tore it into strips, suitable to wrap around a person's jaw.

"Distribute these to everyone present," Rhodes instructed.

Fubas received the cloth, his eyes filled with confusion. He couldn't fathom why Rhodes soaked the cloth in saltwater, but he complied and handed them to soldiers and doctors.

Curiosity marked the gazes of those who received the cloths, awaiting an explanation.

[T/N: As you might have noticed, I have slightly changed the writing style starting this chapter Do tell me which one was better, Chapters 1-16 or 17 onwards]