The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Orestis and Eirene stepped through the gate into the courtyard of Lyse’s temple.

They had barely cleared the alcove when a voice called out from the main entrance.

“There you are.” Maxim was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. “Took you guys long enough.”

“Is your punishment over already?” Orestis asked, disappointed.

Looks like he’ll be coming to the gathering after all.

“My Goddess decided that my time would be better spent investigating the illness with you. She also updated me on everything.” Maxim pushed off the doorframe and produced a folded sheet of paper. “You were taking so long, I already went to the Healer’s Guild and got the list of affected villages and their locations.”

Orestis ignored the veiled criticism and took the paper, unfolding it. Inside was a roughly drawn map of the area surrounding Nomyra. There were six villages marked on it, all north of the city, spread across an area roughly forty kilometres wide.

Eirene studied the map over Orestis’s shoulder. “Six. Less than I thought. We should be able to cover all of them today.”

“Agreed,” Orestis said. He folded the paper and slipped it into his coat. “We’ll start with the nearest one.”

Right afterwards, he opened a gate in the sky, above the village’s approximate location.

“Hold on just a minute,” Maxim said while stretching his neck to look through the aperture. “We should walk to those villages.”

Orestis looked at him. “Why?”

“Isn’t that a waste of time?” Eirene added.

“You two aren’t very experienced at this, are you?” Maxim asked while making an expression of a man being forced to deal with amateurs. He used some mana to interrupt the gate formation, forcing it to close.

Then, adopting the attitude of a veteran, he said, “Listen well. When on an adventure or a quest, you can’t just teleport to the destination and expect all your answers to be laid out for you when you arrive. The journey itself is likely to reveal more clues and information than whatever waits at the end of it.”

Orestis considered that. He was actually making a valid point. Considering the situation, it was quite possible to gather clues about the illness from the surroundings. Or—since their main objective was actually to find the Saintess—stumble into her on their way to one of the villages.

“I’ll defer to the expert,” he said.

Maxim blinked. “Huh. Didn’t expect you to agree so easily.”

“You’ve done this sort of thing a lot more than either of us have,” Orestis replied. “And there’s logic in your arguments.”

Maxim smiled and started walking. “Right. This way, then. The northern road should take us past the first two villages on the list.”

They fell into a natural formation—Maxim slightly ahead, Orestis and Eirene side by side. The road out of Nomyra was well-maintained for the first kilometre, then gradually transitioned to packed earth as they left the city proper.

The road was quieter than it should have been for a trade route this close to a major city. The few travellers they passed were heading toward Nomyra—none going north. A merchant with an empty cart mentioned that two villages had effectively shut their markets. Another said the healers were only managing to keep things under control through the use of divine power.

“The illness is worse than the guild’s report suggested,” Eirene observed.

Orestis agreed. The guild’s data was at least a week old. Whatever was happening in those villages had escalated since the last update.

Though it’s still not at the point where I should be worried.

“By the way,” Maxim said as they got onto a fairly empty stretch of road. “Why were you two so late? I was waiting since dawn.”

“We were training,” Eirene said.

Maxim raised an eyebrow. “We?” He looked at Orestis—specifically, at his frame, which was more wiry than muscular in the conventional sense.

“You, I can believe,” he said to Eirene. Then, to Orestis, he said, “You, on the other hand, look like the only training you’re involved in is pushing yourself out of bed.”

“I only do the bare minimum,” Orestis replied.

“Which means you’d have finished early. Considering how obsessed you are with efficiency, I’m surprised you waited for her.”

“I’m training her,” Orestis clarified.

Honestly, she was good enough to handle the aura and spell training on her own by this point. But today was sparring day; his involvement was less optional in this case.

Maxim stopped walking and turned around fully, his expression shifting from casual amusement to concern. “You’re doing what now?”

“Training,” Orestis replied flatly.

Does he seriously think I’m putting her through the same training he went through?

“I’m being fairly moderate with her,” Orestis clarified.

Eirene immediately turned to him, looking indignant. “Really?”

Maxim, meanwhile, said, “I should hope so.”

Now she turned to Maxim, her frown deepening. “Why? Shouldn’t he be pushing me harder?”

“Absolutely not,” Maxim said as he started walking again. “You have no idea how far overboard this guy can go. It was extreme. Sure, I could handle it—but I’m an exception.”

He shook his head. “It’s one thing if he adjusts the difficulty based on skill level. But he doesn’t. It’s the same method every time. I know because, even on the times when I took a break, every other aspiring hero who crossed his path was put through the exact same nonsense.”

“It was an effective programme,” Orestis said.

Maxim gave him a look. “It was unreasonable. I mean, seriously, what was the deal with that dragon you kept throwing at everyone?”

Eirene’s head turned sharply. “You had a pet dragon?”

Why does she look more excited than surprised?

“Hansel was more of an acquaintance,” Orestis clarified.

“Wait—Hansel? That was his actual name?” she asked, sounding vaguely disappointed.

“What’s wrong with Hansel?”

“Shouldn’t dragons have names like Velkatharion the Eternal or something?”

He gave her an odd look. Where did she pull that absurd-sounding name from?

“Ah, you’ve read Telariel’s Tall Tales,” Maxim said, solving that particular mystery.

Orestis scoffed. Fiction. No wonder.

“You realise, even dragons need names people can actually pronounce,” he said.

“It’s true,” Maxim added thoughtfully. “I’ve also met a few dragons before. They all had fairly normal-sounding names.”

“Oh,” she responded, sounding significantly more disappointed now. Then, she asked, “So how did you two meet?”

“We met during an unfortunate gating incident.”

“Really? What kind of incident?” Maxim asked.

Orestis shrugged. “I happened to open a gate in front of his flight path.”

“Wait, you were being serious about that?” Eirene asked, incredulous.

“I did say the odds weren’t zero,” he replied with a smirk.

Eirene processed that for a moment. Then asked, “Alright. But why would a dragon agree to go and harass people for you?”

Maxim snorted. “Harass. Way to undersell it.”

“Actually, that was exactly the word I used,” Orestis said, recalling the conversation. “I asked him to harass some people I pointed out, from time to time. As for why—he was just as bored as I was.” He paused, then added, “Minus the self-destructive tendencies.”

Maxim shook his head. “Yes, well, we’ve moved significantly off-topic. The point is, I find it hard to believe that he even knows the meaning of holding back. I won’t be able to relax unless I personally verify that he’s keeping things reasonable.”

“I’m almost insulted that you think so little of my ability to train someone,” Orestis retorted.

“I’m not questioning your skill. I’m questioning your calibration.”

“I always calibrate.”

Which was why Orestis had adjusted upwards whenever Maxim solved things too easily.

Maxim slowly turned to stare at him. It was a remarkably expressive stare. Somewhere between disbelief, concern, and a silent are you actually serious right now?

Orestis rolled his eyes. “Back then, I was looking for someone with the potential to kill me. The goal is different now.”

“Which is?” Maxim asked.

“To make her unrivalled,” Orestis replied.

“He means,” Eirene said with a smile, “strong enough that I can choose mercy without it costing me.”

“Same difference,” Orestis said. Then added, “Regardless, she does not need to kill an immortal.”

Maxim rubbed his chin. “Hmm. That’s fair, I suppose. I’m still curious about your version of moderate. Besides, she would benefit from a second perspective. Or at least a change of pace.”

Orestis was going to tell him to forget it. But then realised that he could, in fact, provide some benefit. At least from a sparring perspective.

As he was now, Orestis could only fight meaningfully as a mage. He could simulate an aura user well enough, but an imitation was not the same as facing the real thing. Other people might not notice such minute differences, but Eirene would. And if she got used to them, she’d suffer for it in the long run.

Maxim, on the other hand, had long surpassed the rank of Exemplars. He had the physical capabilities, experience, and—most importantly—actual aura that Eirene could practise against.

The experience would be very useful for her.

“Fine,” he said. “You can join us.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Eleuthera materialised in front of them. “Hey, how come he gets to join when you said no to me?” The goddess pointed an accusatory finger at Orestis and declared, “That’s unfair!”

Right… how could I forget?

“He has practical value as a sparring partner,” Orestis said. “You, on the other hand, are unique even among the gods. Sparring against you would teach her nothing except how to fight you.”

“I can improvise!”

Orestis raised an eyebrow and said, “Sure you can.”

Maxim folded his arms. “Funny. That sounds a lot like what I just said about you.”

“Exactly!” Eleuthera said. “I’m not the one whose idea of training involves releasing dragons onto unsuspecting people.”

“Would you like to take over her training, then?” Orestis asked.

Besides, the dragon had never been part of the training; he had been more of a preliminary filtering method.

If they couldn't handle one playful dragon, they had no chance of ever reaching me.

“I’m just saying more variety is a good thing,” the goddess pointed out.

Then Eirene, unhelpfully, added, “She does have a point about fairness.”

Orestis looked at the three of them, united against him for no reason other than to make his life more difficult.

On the other hand, unusual combat experiences are always worth having.

“Sure, why not,” he sighed. “Let’s just invite everyone. Turn it into a public event.”

“Wonderful!” Eleuthera clapped her hands, then vanished as abruptly as she had appeared.

Obviously, he was being sarcastic when he had said it. He should have known better.

***

The village, when it came into view, was more organised than Orestis had expected. A rope barrier marked the outer perimeter, with cloth markers tied at intervals—quarantine boundaries. The air carried the scent of medicinal herbs, layered thick enough to be noticeable from the road.

A checkpoint had been set up at the main road entrance: a table, a logbook, and a tired-looking woman in healer’s robes who straightened when she saw them approaching.

Maxim walked forward to handle the process.

“Purpose of visit?” the woman asked, reaching for her logbook.

Maxim gave her a friendly smile and said, “We’re Chosen. Here to help however we can.”

The healer looked them over, her gaze mostly focused on Maxim. As expected, his face alone seemed sufficient to establish trustworthiness.

“Help is always welcome,” she replied, sounding genuinely relieved. She opened the logbook. “Sign in here. You can find the senior healer somewhere around the communal building.”

They signed in and entered the village.

It was easy enough to guess where they needed to go; a steady concentration of divine power was emanating from one of the larger buildings near the middle of the settlement. Likely the result of repeated healing spells saturating the air around it.

Two healers sat outside the entrance beside a stack of notes and records, quietly comparing observations. Both looked exhausted.

Maxim didn’t hesitate to walk up to them. “We’re looking for the senior healer.”

“Cassius is inside,” one of them said, pointing with a thumb.

They entered. The communal hall had been converted into a temporary infirmary. Rows of blankets and cots covered most of the floor. Around a third were occupied—patients in various states of recovery. Several other healers moved between them, checking vitals and administering care.

A stocky man near the back noticed them enter and walked over. “Who are you?”

“We’re Chosen, here to help,” Maxim said. “Are you Cassius?”

The man nodded.

They asked for a summary of the situation, and Cassius delivered it in the clipped, practised cadence of someone who had repeated the same explanation too many times already.

The illness had appeared three weeks ago. Symptoms were fatigue, joint pain, and a persistent cough. Divine healing cleared it reliably, but patients relapsed within days. Quarantine had slowed the spread but hadn’t stopped recurrence. They’d identified what appeared to be a pathogen—a resilient bacterium that kept reappearing despite treatment.

“We’ve tested for magical contamination,” he added. “Curses, tainted mana, residual spell damage. All clean.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Maxim asked, already moving toward the nearest occupied cot.

Cassius gestured for him to go ahead.

Maxim knelt beside an unconscious, frail-looking man. Divine light gathered around his hand as he held it over the man’s chest.

The next moment, a cascade of runes and sigils blossomed in the air above the patient—diagnostic spells, one after another in such rapid succession.

Thermal readings. Internal structure scans. Mana circulation analysis. Contaminant detection. Maxim moved through the spells one after the other, quickly cycling through nearly every diagnostic spell in existence. It was all executed with the ease of someone who had done this so many times the process was practically autonomous.

Cassius stared with his mouth open, astonished at the display. Even Eirene looked impressed, though not nearly as stunned as the healer.

Orestis, meanwhile, remained unmoved. He knew what Maxim was capable of; this level of proficiency was hardly surprising.

A moment later, Maxim’s expression turned serious. The cascade of spells had stopped at one used to examine the link between body and soul.

“Orestis,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “You should take a look at this.”

Something about Maxim’s tone made Orestis take it seriously. That, combined with the specific spell Maxim had stopped on, was enough for him to walk over without argument.

He knelt beside the patient and cast the same spell Maxim had just used. At the same time, he extended his soul senses alongside it for additional clarity.

After the incident with Lyse—when he had pushed his memories through the divine link without thinking—he had realised something important: despite no longer being a demon, he still retained some measure of soul affinity.

He hadn’t yet gotten around to testing its limits properly, but capacity was a separate question from function; he could use it just fine. So he did—and he saw what Maxim had seen.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” Maxim asked.

“No,” Orestis replied, cutting off the spell and standing.

Eirene looked between them. “What is it?”

Maxim glanced around the infirmary before saying quietly, “This is not a disease.”

Orestis finished the sentence: “It’s necromancy.”

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