Chapter 45: ⁴⁵The Healer at the Edge of the Village
Their steps descended the dirt path from the peak of the hill.
The thick blanket of snow slowly thinned out in the valley area, leaving frozen grass that crunched crisply beneath Ethan’s leather dress shoes and Valera’s combat boots.
At the end of the road, an old wooden sign was planted askew. Its paint was peeling from the extreme weather, leaving only a simple carved word: Dorfyk.
Ethan paused for a moment. His eyes swept over the village below. Wooden houses were lined up neatly, chimneys puffing lazy trails of smoke, and frozen fields were surrounded by low stone fences. It was incredibly quiet. Totally isolated from the capital’s intrigue.
"Hah... What a boring village," Valera murmured behind him.
Ethan didn’t reply. He resumed walking, crossing the village boundary marked only by two worn wooden posts. Without a single guard knight.
The aroma of toasted wheat bread and salted fish immediately welcomed their senses. The rhythmic thud of an axe splitting wood echoed through the air. This village was alive, yet incredibly remote.
The arrival of two dark-clad figures clearly shattered the villagers’ routines.
The swing of an axe halted mid-air. Women drying fish froze in place. A little boy hurriedly hid behind his mother’s skirt. Astonished whispers began to overlap.
"That person’s sword is massive..."
"Wait, is that a woman? Look at her arm muscles..."
"Where are they from? Adventurers rarely come here..."
Ethan ignored the scrutinizing stares. His black shirt and tailored trousers made him look more like a lost young noble than a Demon Lord. A warm, friendly smile suddenly etched itself flawlessly onto his face. Incredibly polite and entirely unthreatening.
Valera, walking half a step behind him, narrowed her golden eyes.
Unlike Ethan, the knight merely shot a sharp, lethal glare at any villager who dared to look at her. It was enough to make the locals hurriedly avert their gazes.
The wood-chopping man gathered his courage and approached. "Good morning, Travelers," he greeted, wiping away sweat. "It’s rare for outsiders to drop by since the border war two years ago. Are you... from the south?"
Ethan’s smile grew wider. "That’s right, Sir. It was quite a challenging journey, but the scenery in the north is apparently well worth it."
The man chuckled cheerfully. His suspicion evaporated instantly. "Hahaha! What scenery? Up here in the north, there’s nothing but snow, rocks, and frozen wood, young man."
He glanced at Valera’s giant sword. "If you need a place to rest, just head to Granny Marta’s house. At the end of this road, look for a house with a broom leaning against the door. She loves it when guests come around."
"Thank you for the directions, Sir," Ethan said, giving a slight bow. Picture-perfect courtesy.
Continuing their walk, they passed an entirely empty wooden notice board. There was only one weathered carving that read: Harvest Festival, Third Moon.
"Tch. This village doesn’t even have any interesting news to post," Valera grumbled flatly.
"That means there’s no trouble here, Valera," Ethan replied without letting his fake smile fade.
Granny Marta’s house was incredibly easy to find thanks to the dry twig broom resting against its wooden door.
The owner, a frail elderly woman with clear gray eyes, was sweeping leftover snow from the yard. Instead of fearing strangers, her smile bloomed wide upon seeing them.
"Oh my! Guests from outside!" Granny Marta exclaimed cheerfully. "It’s been a long time since adventurers stopped by. You must be freezing. Come inside, I’ve got hot potato soup on the hearth."
Ethan replied with a sweet smile. "Thank you so much, Granny. We are truly lucky to meet someone as kind as you in this unfamiliar place."
Valera blinked. Her bewilderment nearly leaked out seeing her master suddenly transform into the most polite young man in the universe.
Granny Marta patted Ethan’s arm. "Such a polite young man. That’s a rare sight these days. Come on, in you go."
The interior of the wooden house felt warm. The stone fireplace crackled merrily, flames licking a black iron pot. The rich aroma of broth hung thick in the air.
A teenage girl with eyes as blue as the spring sky stood awkwardly near a wooden table.
"This is my granddaughter, Lina," Granny Marta introduced. "Lina, please fetch two bowls."
The braided girl nodded quickly and scurried into the kitchen.
Ethan pulled out a chair and sat down casually. Valera followed beside him with stiff movements. Her Zweihander was unbuckled and placed gently on the floor so as not to frighten the hosts. On her left neck, the golden spiraling rose tattoo hid safely behind her collar.
"So, you braved the northern roads this winter all the way from the south?" Granny Marta asked from her rocking chair.
"That’s right. There are many wild monsters, but we’ve grown quite used to them," Ethan answered modestly.
Granny Marta glanced at the giant sword on the floor. "I can see that. This friend of yours is a very strong woman."
Valera merely replied with a curt nod.
When Lina returned with two bowls of smoked meat potato soup, Ethan immediately tasted it and offered his praises, making the old woman laugh with delight.
Across the table, Lina looked fidgety. Her hands kept twisting the end of her braid. Her eyes darted back and forth between Ethan and Valera. She opened and closed her mouth, not daring to speak.
Granny Marta nudged her granddaughter’s arm gently. "Just ask them directly if you’re curious, Lina."
Lina’s cheeks flushed red from being caught. "U-um... what are you actually looking for here? Outsiders rarely come to Dorfyk unless they have a specific purpose."
Ethan set down his wooden spoon. His eyes gazed at the innocent girl with a highly practiced gentleness.
"I’m looking for someone who can cure an illness, Lina," Ethan answered, his voice suddenly laced with sorrow. "Someone very important to me is gravely ill. I heard a rumor that there’s an expert Priestess in the north. Do you know her?"
Lina furrowed her brow, turning to her grandmother.
"Pries... tess? Is that some sort of cleric from the Church of Light, child?" Granny Marta was equally confused.
Lina shook her head. "I’ve never heard that title around here, Granny."
"I’m sorry, lad. We don’t have any great clerics in our village," Granny Marta looked at him with pity. "At best, there’s only a village healer who rarely ever leaves the house."
Valera glanced at her master. There wasn’t a hint of disappointment on his face. The Bloodhound knew for certain that the Demon Lord’s brain was analyzing every single detail of that information.
Ethan let out a short sigh, weaving his disappointed act. "What a pity. But it’s alright. This soup is more than enough to cure my fatigue."
Lina smiled. Yet a second later, her forehead creased again as she thought of something.
"Um..." Lina murmured hesitantly. "If your main goal is a cure... maybe you could try visiting the healer at the edge of our village."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. The bait is taken.
"They are very quiet," Lina explained. "But Mr. Bart, the traveling merchant, once suffered from chronic, acute back pain. The healer gave him a bottle of potion, and within three days, Mr. Bart could carry sacks again."
"Where is this house?" Ethan’s tone shifted to something more serious.
"At the edge of this village. Near the giant old oak tree. Follow the main road north until it ends. The house is hidden behind wild bushes."
Granny Marta interrupted cautiously. "That healer is indeed kind-hearted. But they don’t like to be disturbed. If you go there, knock gently. They are a bit... easily startled."
Valera, who had been silent all this time, finally scoffed skeptically. "Hah? Easily startled?"
"It’s true, Miss Valera," Lina nodded. "I once delivered a medicine order. The healer only cracked the door open a bit, took the items, said a very quiet thank you, then immediately locked the door tight."
The faint smirk of a conspirator was subtly etched onto Ethan’s lips.
"In that case," he said calmly, "We will be exceptionally polite."
The rest of their time was spent listening to Granny Marta’s cheerful stories. Valera ate her soup in silence, but her mind kept spinning, dissecting Ethan’s earlier words.
Someone important is gravely ill? she thought to herself.
Who? It certainly wasn’t Isolde, that cunning Archmage was far too tough. Nor was it Kaelia, the Fire Queen. And it obviously wasn’t herself. But the knight knew her place; she chose to bury her questions deep down.
Once the bowls were empty, Ethan reached into his trouser pocket. A long, gleaming white object was placed on the table. An Ursa Frost fang.
"As payment for this extraordinary soup."
Granny Marta’s eyes widened. "Oh my goodness! This is an authentic ice monster fang! It could sell for dozens of silver coins!" She hurriedly tried to refuse it. "Keep it, lad! You need it for your travel expenses."
Ethan gently held the woman’s hand. "Consider it a gift from me to Lina. Buy her a new ribbon or some warm clothes."
Hearing that, Lina instantly looked down to hide her intensely blushing cheeks.
While sheathing her Zweihander back on, Valera gave her master a weird look. Watching him act like a philanthropic prince truly made her stomach churn with unease.
"I hope that healer can cure your loved one, lad! Be safe!" Granny Marta called out from the doorway, seeing them off.
Ethan turned around, his friendly smile fixed perfectly in place. "I hope so too, Granny."
However, the moment they turned the corner at the end of the road and there were no more eyes watching... the transformation occurred.
Ethan’s warm smile evaporated as fast as snow drenched in magma. The look in his eyes turned cold and calculative once more. There wasn’t a single trace of friendliness left.
"Tch. What a very satisfying performance, My Master," Valera scoffed sarcastically.
"That wasn’t an act, Valera. It was adaptation," Ethan replied without turning around.
"Even so," Valera tightened the straps of her armor. "Paying for cheap potato soup with an Ursa Frost fang? A generosity that is absolutely not your style."
"It was an investment," Ethan corrected flatly. "Specific information about that reclusive healer, and the method of how we should approach them... is far more valuable than ten wild monster fangs."
"And what if that shy healer isn’t the Priestess you’re looking for?"
Ethan didn’t answer. His pace didn’t slow in the slightest.
Ahead of them, a giant oak tree with bare branches resembling skeletal fingers towered defiantly against the gray clouds. Right beneath it stood a small wooden house, half-hidden behind wild bushes.
Its wall planks were aging, but the glass windows were exceptionally clean. Pots of medicinal herbs were lined up neatly on the porch, braving the snow. Smoke puffed consistently from its chimney.
There was someone inside.
Ethan stepped up onto the wooden porch, stopping right in front of the faded door. Remembering Lina’s warning, the young man raised his right hand.
Three soft knocks. Extremely polite. Highly measured.
"Excuse me," Ethan called out in his calmest, most ensnaring baritone voice. "Is the resident of this house present?"