The second meeting of the failure and the NPC (part 1)

The kingdom of Wondelandor was facing the greatest crisis in its recent history.

A plague carried over by diseased rats on cargo ships transporting goods from the old continent spread across the nation.

It wasn't a typical illness but one carrying traces of old magic.

Some people claimed that it was a curse that befell the people of Wondelandor because of their greed- after all, the ships were carrying magic artifacts that were indispensable in the production of magic pellets.

Commoners had no use for magic. The weight of surviving each day already weighed down on them enough without the unnecessary burden of hope that would only be snuffed out on an aristocrat's whim.

Aristocrats didn't need magic either, but they found it a helpful novelty and a new method of flaunting their status to each other that, in time, evolved into something noteworthy.

Only one of those groups would have come in contact with the disease carried by rodents like rats... on the first chance...

The poorest members of society weren't averse to hunting and eating rats... is there a need to say more?

The magic-based illness that should stay within the rat community – and wasn't even particularly harmful to them – found a new host, humans.

Despite not being able to use magic like their legendary ancestors, the humans – unlike the original disease carriers, rats – still possessed a minuscule amount of mana within their bodies.

As something inadvertently magic-based, the disease didn't fear fire, steam, smoke, or boiling water, so no matter how much the rat meat was prepared, it would afflict the person that ate it.

Then because of the mana within their bodies, the illness would bear its fangs.

It started just like the common cold that was treatable with wild herbs for centuries – then, seemingly because of the herbs, the initial symptoms like sore throat, sneezing, coughing, headache, and dizziness, would subside just to explode later with wild ferocity adding nausea, violent diarrhea, and, in its last stadium, total organ failure leading to death between one to three months, depending on the strength of the afflicted person's immunity system.

One might think that since a person would contract the magic plague from eating the diseased rats and only the dirt-poor commoners would go as far as to put rats on their plate, the aristocracy had nothing to worry about?

Unfortunately for them, that wasn't the case.

Once within a human body, the contagiousness of the disease would evolve, and it would begin spreading by a healthy person coming in contact with any body fluid of the afflicted one.

And since it was contagious even in the earliest, cold-like stage, thousands of people would contract it.

It was basically impossible to escape.

The final nail to the coffin, and the attribute that struck fear in the heart of nobility, was that the popular healing pellet – the rare magic pellet that had been proven to cure all but the inborn diseases – would not stop the new disease but instead speed up its progress exponentially, resulting in patient's death within seven days.

It was a disaster that ground the whole kingdom to a halt, and the medics across the country were being showered in big gold cons by the desperate aristocrats who either had already contracted the disease or had a family member who started showing the symptoms.

Then, as if an angel descending from the heavens and granting salvation to the diminishing population, a cure was found.

A tonic produced in complete secret, sold only in one place – a small apothecary in the almost abandoned old mining town, Startinton – sold for a single big silver coin.

It was said that on the very first day of the tonic becoming commercially available, the Wondalandor royal army was moved out and stationed around Startinton, giving it absolute protection of the state.

Some people said that it was because the first batch of the miracle tonic was sent to the royal castle free of charge one day earlier, and just the single dose cured the queen and her son, the crown prince, who were on their deathbeds.

The incredible marketing stunt, coupled with the fact that the tonic was one hundred percent effective against the magic plague dubbed by many as the Foul Reaper made it known throughout the entire kingdom.

The nobility, at least the ones who could afford it, would be spared!

But what with the commoners...?

For most people, a single silver coin was around the amount they could earn in four months.

...and the equivalent of one big silver coin was... five small silver coins...

It was pretty evident that only around five percent of commoners would be able to afford a miracle tonic at that price without getting into crippling debt.

To afford just one life-saving tonic, an average commoner would have to sell all of their belonging, and they still would fall short.

Truly, an unfair situation...

But then, as if the deity watching over the world didn't forsake the poorest of the poor, a small hope was born in a prosperous under the shadow of Rotteloss family's mansion – Daakvillan...

******

The rundown temple of the god of commerce on the outskirts of Daakvillan had never seen so many believers attending the sermon, not even right after being built when the priests and sisters in charge of it were handing out thin soup to every attendee who paid attention to the gospel and could answer a few questions.

Still, the interest of the pilgrims wasn't in the main hall but in the side shrine to the side, where a young girl dressed in a white habit was handing out bottles of translucent white liquid.

"Here."

The blond-haired girl with dark bags under her sapphire eyes smiled weakly at the troubled-looking brown-haired woman in a worn-out brown dress.

"Thank you...! Bless your heart, miss saint...! With this, my husband will be able to recover!"

The woman cried out while grabbing the girl's hand together with the bottle of the remedy.

"Your hu... husband? Wasn't it your father who contracted the Foul Reaper...?"

"...!"

The young saint furrowed her brows, blinking in confusion, and asked, causing the brown-haired woman to flinch and freeze up.

"Uuuuuum..."

The woman muttered, looking to the side and gulping down her saliva.

"Saint...! It's both...! the truth is...! My father and husband are both suffering from this accursed disease...!"

"!!!"

Suddenly the woman burst into tears and kneeled down, almost pulling the blond-haired girl out of the window through which she distributed the cure.

"They are both sick, but I've heard that only one bottle is given out per person! Neither of them can move on their own already, so... So I... I...!"

The woman sobbed, pressing the girl's hand to her forehead.

"D-don't cry...! Here!"

The girl in white became flustered and started consoling the woman before hurriedly pushing a second bottle of the tonic into her hands.

"You don't have to worry. No one else will have to die because of the plague...!"

"M-Miss saint...!"

The girl assured her and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, causing the woman to look up and cry tears of happiness.

The woman in tears kept bowing her head gratefully to the saint while backing off until she disappeared behind the mossy wall surrounding the temple – to the jealous glances from the other believers waiting in an orderly line for their turn.