Most of the time, Valon was a polite and respectable gentleman. He possessed the upbringing and grace of the nobility, along with the passionate vitality of youth. This charming young man could win the admiration and affection of others, whether before the King or under a noble lady’s parasol.

And yet, whenever he ran into Rorschach and Pascal, he was invariably a wretched, miserable sight.

"Cough... COUGH COUGH..." The man was breaking out in a cold sweat, his unhealthy complexion a stark contrast to the fresh blood. Passersby wisely gave him a wide berth, and only Rorschach and Pascal, protected by their invisible filter bubbles, dared to approach.

"I... I don’t think it’s contagious... Someone, help me! Help!" The young man’s chest felt like it was being scraped raw. With every word, more blood and less air scrambled through his respiratory tract. Tears welled in Valon’s eyes. Through his blurry vision, he saw the newcomers—his destined saviors.

A gentle blue light flowed into his body. It didn’t just soothe the blood he was coughing up; it felt as if it were refilling the soul he had just hacked out. The natural-born aristocrat could finally stand again. He recognized the two Mages with astonishment and spoke, a little more smoothly than before, "Thank you, both of you. You always appear when I’m at death’s door. It makes me wonder whether you’re the Death God or Angels."

"Perhaps we’re angels of death?" Pascal couldn’t resist joking, even now. He took in Valon’s blood-soaked torso, his expensive custom-made coat now wrinkled and filthy, and his frighteningly pale face. "I was going to say you owed Rorschach two lives, but now it looks like you don’t even have one left!" Though his words were sharp, he paid no mind to the man’s filthy state and personally supported the weakened Valon.

’He’s in a bad way, Senior Brother. Did you have to be so blunt?’ Rorschach thought. But to his surprise, Valon nodded repeatedly. "You’re right, sir. I sold my life to the devil. There’s almost nothing left!" He took out a handkerchief and unfolded it layer by layer, revealing a shrunken, ugly piece of hide.

Perhaps from the agitation, Valon took a sharp breath and passed out.

"See? Your words made him faint again."

"Can’t you use that miraculous blue light on him again?"

Rorschach didn’t dare use it carelessly. If he stimulated the bacteria in the man’s lungs again, Valon might really die. Instead of touching him like Pascal had, he used Mage’s Hand to keep Valon from collapsing to the ground and gave his instructions:

"Senior Brother, you go on to the textile mill. I’ll take this poor fellow to a clinic." He had a feeling the connection between the donkey hide in Valon’s hand and his life wasn’t just nonsense. The last time he’d seen it, it had been much larger.

"Alright. It’s not like you have anything scheduled at the night school anyway. I’m off."

"Wait." Rorschach stopped Pascal and had him hold out his hands, then used the Water Creation Skill to wash them for his senior brother.

Rorschach hailed a carriage and took Valon to a private hospital where he had once stayed. Only Mages frequented this place; Rorschach had to show his Mage Badge before entering. He registered and paid the initial fee for Valon.

Rorschach was very satisfied with this level of privacy. He could sense that Valon would be a key, exploitable figure, especially after learning that one of the instigators of the investigation was a Lord Earl who held a fief in a Sub-plane.

Valon was a sharp blade that could expose the truth and, at the same time, strike at the hearts of certain people. The only condition was that the blade itself didn’t end up buried six feet under first.

"Doctor, how is my friend?"

"For now, all we can do is let your weak friend get some proper sleep." The doctor observed Valon lying on the bed, checked under his eyelids, and felt his slightly feverish temperature. "What were his symptoms before he fainted?"

"Coughing. To the point of coughing up blood."

"Any external injuries?"

Rorschach recalled, "Not that I know of, but he did fall into the water once during the winter."

The doctor confirmed his diagnosis. "Then it’s most likely consumption. His constitution is quite weak, and if he’s coughing up blood, the disease is probably in its middle-to-late stages. Only one in four patients with this illness ever recovers..."

He glanced over again to confirm Valon was still unconscious before continuing, "And clearly, this gentleman’s condition doesn’t make him one of the lucky 25 percent. I’m not cursing him, but I must advise you, as his friend, to prepare yourself mentally and otherwise, so you can grant the patient his final dignity."

"How can we prolong this poor man’s life? He’s young and still has so much to do." Rorschach didn’t feel much sympathy or pity for Valon. After all, the man had once been a gambling degenerate who had willingly thrown his life away. He had brought his current predicament upon himself.

’If only he hadn’t tried to drown himself... if he had chosen some other way to end it all, he wouldn’t be suffering these aftereffects from his failure...’

He had to find a way to extend Valon’s life. Rorschach just needed to ensure he stayed alive until the day he could be used.

"It’s hard to say. Healing-type Magic can slow the physical damage for now, but in my experience, the disease will continue to progress. My recommendation is the same as the one given by most physicians in Valuva:

"Go somewhere with high altitude, good scenery, and especially fresh air to recuperate. Be quiet and restrain his desires. Even if he can’t be cured, he’ll at least be able to enjoy a period of peace at the end of his life." Having dealt with many Mages, the doctor had become quite blunt.

He prescribed some medicine, all of which were Alchemy Products unavailable in other hospitals, but they couldn’t cure the root cause. Before leaving, the doctor turned and offered another... "interesting" line of thought:

"You’re a Middle Level Mage?"

"Yes."

"If you’re confident in your Casting Ability, or if you can find a Master in the Healing Domain, you could try an unrefined idea of mine."

"I’m listening."

"Why not try completely destroying the poor man’s thoracic cavity, then use Healing or some other Magic... forgive me, I’m not sure of the specifics... but basically, use Magic to restore him? The only thing is, that would also destroy his heart, and I’m not sure if it would succeed."

’Huh... there might be a sliver of feasibility in that?’ But Rorschach didn’t know if the tubercle bacilli would enter the bloodstream or lie dormant in other tissues. He couldn’t just blast Valon to bits, leaving only his head, could he?

Besides, he had no idea about the extent to which Healing-type Magic or Divine Arts could restore a person. Following the doctor’s crazy proposal would mean destroying and then recreating the entire lungs and heart. Would that count as dying once in the process? It was practically resurrection.

"Just a thought," the doctor said as he left the ward. He didn’t forget to add before he was out the door, "If you do decide to treat your dear friend this way, you absolutely must allow me to observe!"

Great. A doctor who couldn’t use Magic but had the heart of a Mage. His professional ethics, however, were highly questionable.

Rorschach then thought of writing a letter to the Tower of Forest. Master Humboldt had been the one to cure the microbial infection in Mariano’s massive, open chest wound.

He almost forgot to refresh his Air Bubble. Rorschach remembered to keep himself isolated from the patient and renewed his Air Filter Bubble. ’Valon, oh Valon,’ he thought, ’I can’t possibly be expected to synthesize para-aminosalicylic acid and isoniazid just for you, can I?’

With a synthetic dye company like Basif around, producing those drugs wasn’t impossible. At worst, the purity would be a concern. Byproducts and other impurities might cause the patient’s liver and kidney durability to drop even faster, along with random side effects like nausea and stomach bleeding.

Still, it was better than coughing to death.

"Rorschach Mage..." After the sun had completely set, Valon finally stirred. The first thing he did was look for his life’s "gauge." "My Donkey Hide! Where’s my Donkey Hide?"