Garrett Nordmark was startled.
Had he not been an emergency department deputy director in his previous life, accustomed to numerous situations, he might have physically jumped. Even so, he instinctively stepped back, nearly bumping into Bernard:
Why did I decide to go out?
Why did I come to see this house??
Why did I even cast [Comprehend Languages] for convenience while shopping???
If I hadn’t cast [Comprehend Languages], I could have pretended to be a tourist with a language barrier...
No, now is not the time for regrets! What level is this priest of the Lord of Radiance? Can I defeat him? Will he kill me?!
Garrett cautiously retreated, keeping an eye on the other party. The evening air in Annya City was probably just above seven or eight degrees Celsius. Garrett himself was wrapped in a thick wool coat, its collar standing tall around his neck. Yet, the old man wore a white linen robe, through its frayed, unfinished hem, one could even see his bare ankles.
Oh, he wasn’t barefoot, but those hemp shoes exposing his toes weren’t much better than being barefoot.
Just this attire alone, braving the cold wind without flinching, was enough to assert a grandmaster’s presence. Of course, as for his exact level...
His level...
Sorry, this elderly man bore no level indication on him. The only adornment he wore was a wooden holy emblem, smooth and polished, bearing a thick patina.
"I am not a follower of the Lord of Radiance," he said, taking a deep breath and stepping back cautiously. The old man simply smiled, his face’s wrinkles unfolding warmly:
"No matter. The Lord of Radiance refuses no one, just as the sun in the sky shines equally upon everyone, not withdrawing His radiance even from heretics. Stranger, I have lived in this city for ten years, and most of those I meet are heretics and non-believers. I have never harmed them because of this."
His smile was benevolent, his tone gentle. Garrett relaxed slightly, but upon considering the man’s identity, he resolutely shook his head:
"Thank you for your kindness, but—"
"Grandpa Martin! Grandpa Martin!"
Suddenly, a dirty little fellow burst in behind Garrett. Brushing past Garrett, he rushed straight to the old man, grabbing his sleeve and leaving a dark handprint on the white robe:
"My dad is really sick! Please come and see him!"
"Excuse me, stranger, I must leave," the old priest Martin nodded to Garrett and hurried away with the child. Garrett hesitated for a moment, then quietly followed them at a distance, turning through back alleys.
Halfway down the street, a bright light shone like a flare exploding overhead. Garrett followed the direction and soon encountered a human wall—
, and Garrett seized the opportunity to squeeze in for a closer look:
A burly man lay on the ground, even taller than Bernard, bound by three metal chains. Unaware, his eyes were wide with rage, his expression vacant. Bloodstains remained on his chest and limbs, indicating a recent fierce battle, his physical wounds freshly healed.
Having just undergone berserking... What illness is berserking? How is it treated?
Garrett was clueless. Bernard crouched beside him, saying:
"That’s Holrik the Walker! He invited me for a drink before I boarded the ship... Boss, can you save him?"
I don’t even know what berserking is, how could I treat it?
Garrett was stunned. But at that moment, the big man shuddered, opening his mouth wide as a foul-smelling gush erupted. Garrett leaned back, narrowly avoiding the projectile, but ended up seated on the ground.
Bernard quickly reached out to help him, but Garrett pushed his hand away:
"Never mind me! Help him! Tilt his head to the side so he doesn’t choke on his vomit!"
While speaking, he changed position, scrambling towards the big man. Awkward in movement, almost rolling and crawling, Garrett was unaware of his own clumsiness:
Damn it! Projectile vomiting! How high must his intracranial pressure be!
He reached the big man, observing closely while firing a barrage of questions:
"Do you have a headache? Feel nauseous? Can you move your hands? What about your legs? Can you hear me? Follow my finger with your eyes?"
The patient didn’t respond. Instead, bystanders answered in a cacophony:
"Headache, for sure! Always a headache after berserking!"
"Often feels nauseous..."
"Uh, if they recover from berserking, usually no problem, but sometimes they can’t lift their arms or legs..."
"Ah! He’s starting to convulse!"
Garrett sighed. He was still unfamiliar with berserking, but the series of symptoms sounded alarmingly like a brain hemorrhage...
"Stranger, I have exhausted my methods. Can you help him?"
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