Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 337: ’Bring Up The Matter.’

"Continuing from the issue with Emberhold," Florian began, straightening his posture and letting his voice project with calm confidence, "I’d like to ask something that’s been bothering me. Why do you refer to it as the ’flu’? From what I read in your letter, the symptoms you listed don’t match what’s typically seen in flu cases."

He tapped the paper gently against the table, eyes briefly flicking across the nobles seated before him.

"Based on the letters—there was diarrhea, cramps, nausea, fatigue. People weren’t dying from the sickness itself... but from dehydration and malnutrition due to the aftermath."

There was a pause.

"Easy," Alexandrius replied, voice thick with smug certainty. "Flus are airborne. The illness spread quickly through the villages. It was easy to deduce it was a flu."

’How... how idiotic.’ Florian blinked, resisting the urge to scoff aloud. ’Is that really your logic?’ A dry laugh almost slipped past his lips.

He leaned back slightly in his seat, folding his hands in his lap with exaggerated politeness.

"Your Grace, pardon my boldness," Florian said sweetly, though there was a sharpness to his tone like a blade beneath velvet, "but please replace all your healers and doctors if they truly allowed you to continue believing such nonsense."

The air turned brittle.

Alexandrius bristled, visibly offended. "Excuse me? All my healers and doctors are from reputable families. They are the best in the region."

"I’m sure you pay them handsomely as well?" Florian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course." Alexandrius straightened, puffing his chest a little, proud as a peacock.

"Hah." A short laugh escaped Florian, dry and biting. "That’s why the illness has dragged on for so long."

"What?" Alexandrius snapped, his voice rising in disbelief.

A quiet tension fell over the room. Roland’s brows furrowed in thought, Cedric leaned forward slightly, and even Elara was watching with more curiosity than scorn. They were starting to understand.

’At least some of them have functioning minds.’ Florian thought, pleased.

"Think about it," he continued smoothly. "Flus typically come with coughing, sneezing—sometimes nausea, yes, but those are usually secondary. What you described, however, is almost entirely stomach-related. And not just that—people recover, then get sick again. The cycle doesn’t break. Most of them died from dehydration, not the illness. That’s not a flu. It’s far more likely that they’re ingesting something—again and again—that’s making them sick."

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alexandrius stiffened. His eyes widened with dawning realization, and Florian couldn’t help but run a hand through his soft curls, feigning casualness.

’This idiot...’

"How could that be?" Alexandrius said, shaking his head. "It’s impossible they all eat the same thing. These are different villages we’re talking about—spread out. Some not even near each other."

"Well," Florian tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a little, "I never said it was the food."

He let the silence stretch just long enough before asking, "Let me ask you this, Duke Alexandrius—where are these villages located?"

"Huh?" Alexandrius blinked, caught off guard. "What does that matter?"

"Are they near anything in particular?" Florian’s voice was calm but deliberate now. "Say... a common body of water? Emberhold is known for one major feature, after all—the Virellen River. The longest in the kingdom, if I recall correctly?"

He saw it—the shift in Alexandrius’ eyes. A flicker of fear. Or worse, realization.

When no answer came, Florian pressed on, voice steady and cool.

"I spoke with Lysander about this—the royal healer and doctor. He agreed with my theory. All the villages reporting stomach-related symptoms? They’re clustered near the Virellen. Villagers depend on that river for drinking water. If they’re all falling ill repeatedly..."

He let the rest hang in the air like a loaded crossbow.

"It might be the river itself."

Alexandrius was pale now, his mouth slightly open. It looked like his eyes were going to roll out of their sockets.

"That’s... impossible," he whispered. "The Virellen River has been their lifeline for decades—long before even this kingdom was built!"

"And yet," Florian replied calmly, "parasites exist. Contaminants exist. And if the river’s been around for that long without proper regulation or magical filtration? Then yes. Contamination is very possible."

He leaned forward just a bit. "You can verify all this with Lysander later. But the immediate solution I propose is simple: investigate the water. Check for any contaminant or parasite. And if you want my honest advice—stop listening to those incompetent doctors and healers of yours who clearly gave you false diagnoses just to keep the funds rolling in."

For a moment, the chamber was completely silent.

Stunned.

Even the ever-composed Elara looked rattled. Florian felt a surprising warmth rising in his chest—confidence. He was doing it. He was remembering everything he thought he’d forget. He wasn’t stumbling. He was winning.

Cedric was the first to speak.

"I might need to look into that myself," he murmured thoughtfully. "Some of the smaller villages near rivers in my territory have also reported symptoms, though it hasn’t escalated as much."

"That brings me to my final point," Florian said, locking eyes with Alexandrius. "This theory holds even more weight because of the river’s course. The Virellen flows straight into the river system that connects to your territory, Your Grace."

He turned to Cedric with a nod before returning his focus to the duke.

"However, due to the distance, the contamination’s potency might lessen the farther it travels downstream. That could be why Frostspire’s villagers are only mildly affected."

Then, his tone shifted—quiet, but firm. Cold with clarity.

"Check which village near the Virellen River has the highest death toll. The worst symptoms. That area may be the source of contamination."

And with that, Florian leaned back again—calm, composed, and thoroughly in control.

The stunned silence in the room remained unbroken for a long moment.

But Florian didn’t need their praise.

He had their attention.

And finally—finally—he was being taken seriously.

But of course, there were still people in the room who weren’t satisfied—displeased that Florian was being taken seriously. Heinz had warned him about this, prepared him for it.

The one thing more unbearable to men like Alaric and Alexandrius than Florian being a joke... was Florian actually succeeding.

Alaric raised his hand with a calm smile, the very image of noble etiquette. Florian nodded toward him out of courtesy, though his gaze narrowed slightly.

"If that matter is settled," Alaric began smoothly, "then I would like to go next, considering my concerns might align with those of the other dukes present."

’He’s smiling and being polite... that’s suspicious.’

"Go ahead," Florian said, his tone neutral, his spine straight. He folded his hands over his lap, appearing composed.

’Whatever happens, I’ve prepared. A lot.’ He was still feeling the high from shutting Alexandrius down. He was confident—more than he had been in a long time.

But then—

"I would like to bring up the matter of the village of Forgotten Waters," Alaric said evenly.

Florian’s body stiffened. His breath caught. His eyes widened the slightest bit—enough for anyone observant to notice.

Forgotten Waters.

"It burned down some time ago, well, just recently." Alaric continued. "But before that, there were reports—tips, in fact—that the village was engaging in the act of cannibalism."

Florian’s vision blurred at the edges. He felt the words like needles against his skin.

He remembered.

The sickening stench of scorched wood and flesh. The silence—unnatural and heavy. The thick, metallic scent of blood that coated the air like humidity. The chopped meat that had once been Leila. Levi’s younger sister. Her body spread across a butcher’s table like livestock.

He remembered the bone saw.

The discarded limbs.

The pieces missing from her face.

He slammed a hand to his mouth.

A wave of nausea clawed up his throat.

"Your Highness?" Elara’s voice cut through the tension, soft and concerned.

Heinz was already half out of his seat, eyes sharp with alarm. "Florian?"

’Fuck... I want to throw up.’ The memory had come back too vividly, too violently. His stomach churned. His hands trembled.

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