Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

She was less like a noblewoman and more like a monk announcing an obituary—

Ms. Mozambique?

P.S.: Sorry for the late update. *collapses*

The following are book recommendations from friends; the titles are as follows:

Frillien in the Elden Ring

Love you all, my schedule is back to normal now.

Chapter 123 Discovery? (I'm so sorry, so sorry)

Charlotte paused slightly, her gaze unconsciously drifting towards that beautiful figure.

Mozambique Ludwig.

Even without her personal confirmation, she remains Watson's mentor who led him down an extraordinary path, and a person of exceptional beauty who treated him very well.

Having experienced all that in his past life, the only person who could truly make him let down his guard and fall asleep peacefully in her arms was probably the incredibly gentle Ms. Mosang.

But why is she here as a nun who delivers obituaries? Is she here to comfort the anxious patients, or to mourn the souls of the deceased?

As Charlotte approached, before she even stepped into the front hall of the asylum, a burly man in uniform raised his arm and blocked her way.

"Madam, may I ask who you are? To enter from here, you need to provide the appropriate identification."

Based on his outstanding demeanor, the man lowered his voice and showed humility even when asking a question.

"Isabella Valenti, a doctor who was dispatched."

Please.

Charlotte took out her identification from the inside pocket of her trench coat and showed it to the man. After a brief examination, she was no longer stopped and was able to pass through several makeshift tents and enter the hospital.

Similar to the descriptions in the newspapers, even the largest hospital in all of Florence could not accommodate the influx of patients from the city.

The outdated management system and lack of infrastructure simply could not support such a heavy burden. This sudden epidemic has intensified. The wealthy nobles were able to hire private doctors and self-isolate at home, while the middle class could pay huge sums of money to secure a bed in a relief home. However, the impoverished commoners could not afford the fees and could only stay on the streets and in factories, contracting the disease, sweating, and contributing more to their families as their lives slipped away.

Even though they already knew their fate was sealed.

Charlotte frowned unconsciously; the sight she saw was enough to rival hell.

Stretchers covered with dirty oilcloths, beds made of inferior wood – this was the living environment. The thin newspaper wall could not block out the patients' groans of pain, and heavy coughs and complaints constantly lingered in the ears, yet it was the result of the entire orphanage's best efforts.

"Eh."

With a sigh, Charlotte knew that the 'monster's' ability had created a filter of bacteria in its lungs, but even low-ranking extraordinary beings couldn't escape the ravages of the plague. Therefore, Charlotte was unwilling to let this already fragile puppet be destroyed too soon.

Perhaps due to the frequent ailments of the patients around her, it took a while before a passing nurse noticed the brown-haired beauty who had been standing quietly for a long time.

"you are?"

"The physician of the Valenti family is now receiving aid from the hospice."

A gentle, flowing voice, like a tranquil stream, can sometimes be used to enhance one's image and facilitate subsequent conversations.

"You are, Ms. Isabella!"

Upon hearing this, the nurse immediately showed a look of surprise and joy. She stepped forward and excitedly took Charlotte's hand.

"Hey, the relief center's requests for aid are posted in various places, but few doctors are willing to go. You are the first one to be invited. The epidemic in Florence is too severe. Without knowing the source of the infection, doctors from the outer cities are unwilling to risk getting infected to come."

"That's why I know about you and admire you for volunteering to come to our aid."

Halfway through her sentence, the young girl noticed that the former's face was completely unprotected. Somewhat flustered, she took out a thick cloth from her clothes and handed it to Charlotte, saying with concern.

"Madam, please put this on quickly to cover your mouth and nose. There are too many patients here, and you may inadvertently contract the same disease."

If you notice the ribbons along the edge of this cloth, you'll see that the basic prototype of isolation equipment from the previous life already existed in this era: a face mask.

"Thank you."

She didn't refuse, but her voice sounded muffled behind the fabric.

From what I could see, Florence's condition was much more serious than I had imagined. In fact, every moment, someone would cough up blood and die suddenly after a violent cough.

It's troublesome. If she were a doctor, she would probably spend most of her time on diagnosis and treatment. But having taken on this role, she should play it to the end. This is Charlotte's consistent principle.

"If that's the case, then why are you still willing to go back and forth to the orphanage? Clearly, close contact with patients makes it extremely easy to contract the disease."

It is only natural to ask this question.

The reply was exactly what Charlotte expected; the girl hesitated for a moment, her eyes gradually dimming.

"...My younger brother also contracted tuberculosis while working in the factory, and he's here now. That's why I wanted to take this opportunity to look after him and keep an eye on him."

Even if he dies, we can still bid him farewell.

His voice trembled, the sorrow of separation and death already permeating the lines.

Instead of offering comfort, Charlotte simply patted her thin shoulder gently and whispered something.

"I will do my best. Please take me to the dean's office. I will take good care of your brother in the future."

"Thank you for your kindness!"

After expressing his gratitude profusely, the nurse led him through a group of patients, from the ground floor to the third floor, and finally stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor.

Da da da--

"Please come in."

She gently pushed open the door, but didn't go in. The girl just stood there, her voice filled with unease.

"The dean doesn't like being disturbed by his subordinates, Ms. Bella, so I won't go in."

Having said all that, the former turned and left immediately, as if trying to avoid it at all costs.

"excuse me."

Unaffected by the incident, she pushed open the door and entered. The office was neatly furnished and well-lit, more like a reception room than a workspace. In the center, a well-dressed man was speaking to Ms. Mosang, whom she had glimpsed earlier, with his hands clasped together.

“Ms. Valenti, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Without addressing her by name, only by surname, and temporarily setting aside the topic, the dean stood up with exceptional enthusiasm and even made a gesture to shake Charlotte's hand.

Although I don't like it, a polite greeting is still necessary.

"Hello, Mr. Fowler."

After a perfunctory exchange of pleasantries, Charlotte found a seat and sat on the same side as the silent Madame Moissan.

"I apologize if my arrival has interrupted your conversation with this lady."

"No, not at all. Ms. Mossang and I are both patient people. In the face of national crisis, some trivial matters are no longer important. I am the one who should express my gratitude. Thank you for coming from afar to provide assistance."

"No need, this is just my responsibility as a doctor."

As she spoke, she glanced at her former mentor, while Ms. Mosang was also looking at her with the same gaze.

Not out of curiosity about strangers, but because of her extraordinary vision, she unexpectedly felt that the girl's spirit resembled that of the deceased Watson.

Although there are subtle differences, the souls of different people should not be so similar.

Is this a coincidence, or something else?

Suspicion was sown, but even more obvious was the dying, nearly lifeless vitality.

The girl is dying.

P.S.: Sorry, sorry, sorry, I will continue updating.

Chapter 124 Reunion and Flaws

Ms. Mossant's gaze lingered on Charlotte for a moment, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

Even though it was just a brief encounter, her gentle demeanor and her act of going against the grain by offering help while studying alone proved that the girl before me was a kind person.

Even someone as kind as her, who had seen countless deaths, would feel a pang of regret.

“Ms. Valenti,” Dean Fauville began, his face grave, “the epidemic in Florence has exceeded our control. The extreme shortage of medical resources has led most doctors to refuse to come. It is truly an honor for us that you have come at this time.”

Charlotte's gentle smile lingered as she glanced at Ms. Mossant out of the corner of her eye.

Indeed, as one can see, her eyes held pity and sorrow; she seemed to still see herself through the eyes of a stranger, not recognizing that she was Watson.

“I will follow the orphanage’s arrangements and do my best for those patients.” Regaining her composure, Charlotte then looked at the restless man. “However, I need to know the specifics of the current epidemic and the measures you have already taken.”

Dean Fowler nodded, quickly picked up a thick document from the table, and handed it to Charlotte.

"This is all the information we have so far, including the patients' symptoms, the transmission routes, and the treatment options we have tried. Unfortunately, the effects have been minimal."

“Initially... no one realized that this was a highly contagious epidemic. Just a month ago, the asylum admitted a patient with lung disease, but he could not be saved. By the time I noticed similar symptoms, five or six people had already died. Most of them had persistent coughs, severe hemoptysis and high fever, and often died after suffering for several days.”

"By the time we actually took the appropriate measures, the epidemic had already spread, with people constantly getting infected and dying. Under the thick fog of Florence, we couldn't even count the number of people, let alone restrict the movement of those impoverished patients, thus preventing the spread of the disease."

After taking the document and carefully reading through it several times, Charlotte frowned slightly. Based on the points mentioned above, these symptoms were almost identical to the plagues that had ravaged half the continent in her previous life.

Her fingers paused, perhaps the almshouse's plan had little effect, but in the survey data, she did find some discrepancies—

Compared to other parts of Florence, there seemed to be fewer patients on Street Sur, and the area is mostly home to breweries and beverage factories.

As Charlotte recalled the canal she had seen on her journey, and the Black River that carried excrement, garbage, and sometimes even corpses, she began to have a plan.

While a unified sewage system was effective, since Emperor Rothschild moved the capital, Florence was no longer the remote little camp it once was. It had become an ever-expanding metropolis with factories everywhere and a population boom, and everyone used water pumped from the canals for drinking, washing, and cooking.

This naturally makes certain things unavoidable.

Charlotte pressed down the footer and handed the document back, her voice still gentle, but her tone had become firm.

"I need to personally examine the condition of critically ill patients and go to the field to investigate areas severely affected by the disease. Only by seeing it with my own eyes can I develop more effective treatment plans."

Dean Fowler nodded, a relieved smile on his face.

"Of course, I'll arrange for someone to take you to your ward right away, but before that, Ms. Valenti, you'd better change your clothes."

The man took out a set of dark clothing that covered his entire body from the metal cabinet behind him and couldn't help but sigh again.

"We believe this disease is spread by bad air, namely miasma, so we need to take precautions when in contact with patients to prevent the spread of the disease through droplets."

Upon receiving the heavy garments, Charlotte immediately noticed the black and silver raven mask with its pointed beak.

"Spice and heavy salt can be stuffed inside this protruding spout to filter the air we breathe in."

Perhaps noticing that the beautiful woman's gaze lingered for a while, Fowle spoke up to remind her.

"Thank you."

After offering her thanks, Charlotte rose to take her leave and went off alone, while the sounds of conversation and sighs still lingered in the welcoming courtyard between the two people who remained seated.

"Ms. Ludwig, is this epidemic related to the Extraordinary Ones?"

The evening breeze, carrying mist, pattered against the transparent windowpane, but the rustling sound could not reach the ears of others; clearly, an invisible barrier prevented the echo from spreading.

“I cannot give a definite answer.” Her eyelashes lowered, the dark-haired beauty’s eyes, though not brimming with tears, held a deep, lingering sorrow. “As a monk who announces obituaries, my duty is to comfort the souls of the departed, but in this plague, the sorrow of separation and death is countless. All I can do is console their lingering grief.”

Having experienced too many life-and-death situations, Mo Sang's heart had long been closed off. If the passing of her dearest friend caused her immense pain, then the death of Watson left her heartbroken.

In just half a month of separation, the lively girl, like a little colt, fell like a maple leaf in the wind, both incredibly light and incredibly heavy. She was kind, studious, cunning yet pure. She promised herself that she would return soon, but when her toes touched Tinggen again, the overwhelming newspapers buried her expectations of reunion completely.

The tombstone in the cemetery tells of the girl's occasional visits, her meticulous cleaning of the accumulated dust, and how she would return to that wooden house whenever she achieved something, sharing her pride with her. She said that she would be proud to use this power to serve the people and bring them happiness.

Yes, how could she not be proud? How could she not be arrogant? But if death was the price she would pay, she would rather remain silent and keep her existence a secret from the very beginning.

However, the curtain had already fallen, and the girl died before everyone's eyes, her soul vanishing without a trace. So, Ms. Mossang regretted her actions and, as before, fled the place of her sorrow in a disheveled state.

The church in Florence petitioned her, and she, like a soulless spirit, witnessed the outbreak of the epidemic and the deaths of the seriously ill, with various emotions.

She tried to forget the traces of the girl's dying moments, but upon seeing Isabella, and that similar yet different soul, an inexplicable sorrow filled her broken heart.

Without speaking to the former again, the black-haired beauty also left the room. Regardless of whether the answer resembled that faint hope, she wanted to touch it with her own hands.

At least, I have no regrets.

Shifting my gaze, as mentioned before, Charlotte had confirmed the symptoms of those seriously ill and was now lost in thought, leaning against the cold-colored exterior wall.

Even with the compassion of a healer, she was unwilling to wait indoors, running around for countless strangers. Based on the current information, she believed that the source of the disease, rather than the miasma that everyone was concerned about, was more from the water source and from a lack of attention to public health.

Of course, extraordinary abilities might also play a role in this. Although she had clues, it was better to only provide assistance at crucial moments rather than to stand out too much in the open.

After all, distant water cannot quench a nearby fire, and providing timely help is always better than adding to someone's glory. Resolving this matter is not entirely meaningless, as a good reputation will give her more advantages in the public eye.

She stopped the speeding carriage, intending to head to a nearby tavern to inquire about the extraordinary gathering, when she saw a gauze dress wafting in the breeze, carrying a fragrance.