Astartes of the Bear School

Chapter 1987 1959. The Healer

"Please, please stop." The mixed-race man with a large head and a crooked mouth mumbled incoherently, "Our healer, please stop."

His back was pressed against the corner of the wall, and the wings on his waist were squeezed so tightly that there was nowhere to put them, but he still tried his best to shrink his body back, wanting to get away from the perfumer in front of him.

But the perfumer remained unmoved, and with a half-squatting body, she reached forward and pulled the scaly hybrid by the shoulder.

With one hand holding the mixed-breed to prevent him from running away, the perfumer slightly lifted her veil with her other hand.

After a few twitches of her lips, saliva, accompanied by a wonderfully fragrant powder, drifted from the woman's lips and landed on the hybrid's body.

This technique, which uses the mouth and the perfumer's saliva to enhance the evenness of the fragrance powder application and deepen the therapeutic effect, is considered excellent among perfumers.

It looks like it's elegantly scattering a cloud of pollen.

Perfumers with such outstanding healing skills are not easy to find, even in a place like Rodel, which is full of out-of-town lords and imperial officials.

But now, this perfumer is actually spreading his skills onto lowly, filthy bastards.

This is a rare, oppressive, and gloomy place within the magnificent inner city of Rodel.

Towering, pristine white stone walls and a radiant golden dome, interspersed with enormous human figures that are either bold, wise, or devout, constitute the basic style of Rodel's architecture.

In addition, the city is situated at the foot of the Golden Tree, with the towering trunk of the Golden Tree serving as its backdrop, and the fallen leaves here are far more numerous and brighter than elsewhere.

The entire city is simply a synonym for magnificence and grandeur.

Even in such a city, gaps still remain between buildings.

The towering, pristine white stone walls blocked out the light from these gaps, making the area still dark even though they were very close to the golden tree.

The light of the golden tree will not shine here.

Just as the Golden Law's blessing repels those who are different.

This place is nestled between two enormous buildings. It's not a large area, but there are a dozen or so strangely shaped hybrids, as well as two huge, obese figures, all with the perfumer here.

There were quite a few people, but their voices were not loud.

These guys seem to have a set of cautious ways of surviving, and they all try to avoid attracting attention in Rodelne.

Only when the perfumer insisted, even forcibly, sprinkled the perfume on the mixed-breed did the group of figures stir slightly.

"Enough, enough!"

"Stop! Stop! Stop! Healer! You... you're running low on your incense! No, don't waste it!"

The bastards shouted in hushed tones, and those who were closer even tried to shove the perfumer away from the bastard in the corner.

The bodies of the mixed-race individuals were all strangely shaped, and their vocal organs also became very strange due to this deformity.

Their speech is far more ambiguous and difficult than that of normal people, which makes them seem even more foolish and thus they are more likely to be belittled and rejected by normal people.

In the past, if this happened outside, any bastard who dared to rudely approach a perfumer would be subject to criminal charges.

Perfumers are mostly of noble birth, so what is a mixed race?
But at this moment, these mixed-race individuals, who had been disciplined and discriminated against for so long during the Golden Age, no longer cared about anything else.

Ignoring their lowly status and their awe and fear of the people of the Golden Tree, they hurriedly pulled the perfumer away.

There were also some mixed-race individuals who frantically tried to gather up the scattered incense powder in mid-air, but after all, they knew nothing about it.

After a series of thrashings, his hands came away empty-handed, and his ugly face looked as if he was about to cry with frustration.

Finally, he tore off a piece of his tattered clothes, managed to gather some perfume powder, and carefully ran to the perfumer's side.

They cherished it so much that they wanted to put this small amount of perfume powder back into the perfumer's pocket.

The surrounding hybrids suppressed the perfumer's struggles, making it seem as if a group of crazed hybrids were trying to kill a Golden Tree Citizen.

But in reality, what they do is completely different from what it seems.

Only after the bastard poured the remaining perfume powder back into the perfumer's pocket did the bastards surrounding the perfumer suddenly retreat and disperse, solemnly prostrating or kneeling on the ground.

The perfumer, with his neck stiffened, wanted to go forward again.

But when she got closer, she saw the bastard huddled in the corner, shaking his head violently.

He tightly covered his abdomen with both arms.

The perfumer knew that there was a gaping wound there that almost pierced him from front to back, and that the opening in his abdomen had cut his intestines into pieces.

The immense and persistent pain caused the hybrid's large, deformed face to twitch nervously, and copious amounts of cold sweat plastered his filthy hair to his scalp and face.

But he kept shaking his head at the perfumer with pleading eyes. Covering the wound with your hand to prevent the perfume powder from coming into direct contact with it would greatly reduce the effectiveness of the treatment.

For a perfumer, such a hybrid act is tantamount to a direct declaration: Stop treating me!
The perfumer stopped, her hands clenching tightly: "If this continues... you'll go crazy from the pain. Nobody's going to die now, don't you understand? This isn't the time to endure until you die and find relief!"

The mixed-race man was in so much pain that he could barely speak, but he kept shaking his head.

“We…we can,” the mixed-race man who had just grabbed the perfumer stammered with difficulty, “we…can hold on!”

"Even if it's impossible, we will go berserk in front of the Healers' enemies. We will never, ever harm the Healers."

As she spoke, all the mixed-race people around her raised their heads and looked at the perfumer.

The perfumer looked around, observing these lives—those who were not accepted in the Golden Age of Law, yet who also met with no good end in this era of collapsing laws—in the dimly lit crevice of Rodel.

Their ugly faces even had crooked eyes.

But those crooked eyes, when looking at the perfumer, revealed a kind of... almost childlike longing for his mother.

The perfumer's hand clenched almost uncontrollably, her nails digging into her palm. A sudden discomfort and a lump formed in her throat.

The mixed-race individuals around her all looked at the perfumer with that same gaze. At that moment, the two obese figures, also standing in the shadows, spoke up.

“What you should have given us was [Invigorating Incense], not healing incense.” A burly figure emerged from the darkness, walking among the hybrids. “Now that it’s rare for people to die, we, as your bodyguards, should be of maximum use.”

These two figures were about the same height as Lan En, but they were much fatter, by more than five or six sizes.

His entire body was covered in rough, dark skin due to the harsh environment. Despite his disheveled hair and tattered clothes, he was adorned with numerous gold ornaments.

But none of these things were as striking as the unusual feature on him.

His obese body was covered with large, hideous scars on his face, head, chest, stomach, thighs, and ankles... It looked like festering sores all over his body, covered in scabs and bleeding.

But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that these are not sores, but rather scars left at the base of the horns, like those of a deer or cow, after the horns have been sawed off while the animal was still alive!
This is a bad omen!

Its large body makes a thumping sound when it walks barefoot on the ground.

"Play the most important role?" A shrill, almost absurd laugh came from behind the perfumer's veil. "What do you mean by 'play the most important role'? Just because you won't die, you use you as a defensive line and a meat shield..."

“That’s how you should use us!” The Child of Omens interrupted the perfumer before she could finish speaking.

The Child of Ominousness's voice was unwavering, and he looked directly into the Perfumer's eyes as he repeated, "This is how you should use us! This is how we can protect you, our Healer!"

The perfumer looked at the hideous, dark face, and saw a pair of eyes staring straight at her.

The eyes of the Child of Ominous Signs, even just a glance, would instill disgust and resistance in the people of the Golden Tree.

But the perfumer just stared so directly at the son of the ominous sign.

She looked at this son of misfortune, at him forcing himself to appear cold and stubborn, a defiant figure who was completely uncompromising and difficult to persuade.

But deep within those eyes, the perfumer discovered that his gaze was no different from that of those hybrids... In the eyes of the son of the ominous sign, there was a hint of filial piety.

She felt as if she were their mother.

But now, what kind of mother am I doing?

Just as the perfumer's mind was in complete chaos, footsteps sounded outside the narrow alleyway in the Rodel complex.

The other ominous child, still lingering in the shadows, pulled a double-edged axe that had been stuck in the ground with a 'bang'!

The axe gleamed with the color of steel, and its handle was as thick as a normal person's wrist.

However, it seems that when used, it cannot withstand the violent force of a user lacking skill, and the axe handle looks crooked.

The mixed-race individuals instinctively reached for their weapons.

Just then, a voice came from outside the alley asking a question.

“Torishyam,” Lann called out from the street illuminated by the golden tree, looking into the crevice in the shadows, “is that you in there?”

He was uttering a question, but his face conveyed an unequivocal meaning.

In the alley, the perfumer immediately pressed his palm down, signaling the hybrids and children of ominous signs to lay down their weapons.

"I'm inside. Is that... is it Lan En? You're back!"

“Yes, I’m back after finishing my mission.” The Witcher said as he stepped forward, disappearing from the golden light into the shadows.

(End of this chapter)