Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 231 - Two Hundred And Thirty

The wind in Strathmore was different. It didn’t smell of pine and earth like it did back home. It smelled of sickness. A heavy, cloying scent of decay and stagnation hung over the borderlands, thicker than the morning mist.

It had been two weeks since the Thompson Army had made camp on the edge of the territory. The tents stretched out in neat rows, a city of canvas and steel.

Derek stood outside his command tent. He wore a simple cloth mask over his nose and mouth, a precaution Marissa had insisted on. He held a small packet of dried herbs in his hand.

"Drink," he ordered the young soldier standing guard. "Every man. Every morning. No exceptions."

The soldier took the packet, bowing. "Yes, Your Grace."

Derek watched him go. He looked out over the camp. His men were healthy. They were strong. Marissa’s medicine—the crates of willow bark, fever root, and immune-boosting teas—had arrived just in time. While the local garrisons were falling ill with fever and dysentery, his troops were standing tall.

"She knew," Derek whispered to himself, a mixture of awe and fear in his heart. "She knew this was coming."

He didn’t dwell on how she knew. He just thanked the gods she did.

"Your Grace!"

Ian rode up, his horse kicking up dust. He jumped down, his face covered by a mask as well.

"Report," Derek said.

"The plague is widespread, Your Grace," Ian said, his voice muffled. "It is not just the soldiers. The towns... the villages... they are dying. The people are too weak to harvest the last of the crops. If we don’t help them, winter will kill whoever the fever spares."

Derek nodded. This was what he had feared. A war fought on two fronts: one against the Mercian army gathering on the horizon, and one against an invisible enemy already inside the walls.

"Prepare the wagons," Derek commanded. "Load half the medical supplies. Load grain and clean water."

He adjusted his sword belt.

"We are not just here to fight," Derek said. "We are here to save Strathmore. If the people die, there is nothing left to defend."

He turned to the group of officers waiting for orders.

"We deploy now," Derek announced. "I will lead a unit into the capital of Strathmore. Lieutenant Wade , you take the northern villages. Captain Kohen, the west."

He looked around.

"Where is Carlos?"

A figure emerged from the command tent, looking miserable. Carlos was wearing his fine new uniform, but he had a thick, perfumed handkerchief pressed tightly over his nose and mouth. He looked at the muddy camp with disdain.

"I am here," Carlos mumbled through the cloth.

"You are coming with me," Derek said. "To the capital."

Carlos’s eyes widened in horror. "The capital? That is where the sickness is worst! It is a death trap!"

"You are the supervisor of supplies," Derek reminded him coldly. "It is your duty to ensure the distribution is fair. Or would you prefer to explain to Prince Liam why you stayed behind in safety while the Grand Duke rode into the plague?"

The mention of Liam made Carlos flinch. He remembered his orders. Monitor him. Spy on him. Kill him. He had to be by Derek’s side. He had no choice.

"I... I will come," Carlos said, his voice sullen.

The ride to the capital of Strathmore was a journey through a nightmare. The fields were empty. The farmhouses were silent, their chimneys cold.

When they entered the city gates, the silence was deafening. The streets were empty. Doors were barred. A few figures, wrapped in rags, huddled in alleys, watching the soldiers pass with hollow, feverish eyes.

Derek stopped his horse in the main square. He signaled for the wagons to halt.

"Set up the distribution point here," Derek ordered. "Boil the water. Prepare the tonic. And for god’s sake, keep your masks on."

He dismounted. He walked to the nearest wagon and grabbed a crate of medicine himself. He carried it to a long wooden table his men were setting up. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Carlos dismounted slowly. He stood as far away from the sick people as possible, clutching his handkerchief. He watched Derek work. He watched the Grand Duke lifting boxes, pouring water, talking to the frightened citizens who were starting to emerge from their homes.

"He acts like a saint," Carlos thought, sneering behind his mask. "Playing the hero. Does he think this will save him? A few herbs against a plague?"

He felt the dagger hidden in his boot. "Just wait. When the chaos starts... when the crowd presses in... an accident is easy to arrange."

Ian rode back into the square. He had been scouting the perimeter.

"Your Grace," Ian said, riding up to Derek.

Derek looked up from pouring a ladle of medicine for an old woman. "What is it?"

"I confirmed the situation in the outlying areas," Ian reported. "The eastern village... it has the worst plague. It is a slaughterhouse, Your Grace. A lot are infected. They have no doctor. They have no water."

Derek sighed. He rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of the crown he didn’t even wear.

"I don’t know if we’re here for a war or to avert a pandemic," Derek muttered.

He looked at the line of people forming in the square. They were desperate. They were scared. But they were looking at him with hope.

"No matter which it is," Derek said, his voice firming, "we must succeed. We cannot let them fall."

He looked at Ian.

"The eastern village," Derek said. "We will go there next. But we need to stabilize the capital first."

He pointed to the wagons.

"We’ll distribute medicine and food there first," Derek decided. "But we need more manpower. The people are desperate. Desperation leads to violence."

He looked at the crowd. They were orderly now, but if the supplies ran low...

"Bring more soldiers from camp," Derek ordered. "To prevent riots. To keep the peace. And to help carry the sick."

Ian nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

Derek turned back to the table. He saw a young mother holding a feverish child. He saw the fear in her eyes.

He poured a cup of the bitter tonic. He knelt down.

"Drink," he said gently to the child. "It will help."

The child drank. The mother wept with gratitude.

Carlos watched from the shadows. He saw the vulnerability. Derek was on his knees. His back was turned. His guards were busy.

"Now?" Carlos thought. "Is this the moment?"

He took a step forward, his hand drifting to his boot.

But then, Derek stood up. He turned, his eyes scanning the square, sharp and alert. He looked right at Carlos.

"Brother," Derek called out. "Come here. Make yourself useful. Help carry this water."

Carlos froze. He pulled his hand away from his boot.

"I am a supervisor," Carlos protested weakly. "Not a laborer."

"Today," Derek said, "we are all laborers. Move."

Carlos gritted his teeth. He walked to the wagon, grabbing a heavy bucket. He glared at Derek’s back.

"Not yet," Carlos thought. "But soon. The war hasn’t even started. There will be blood. And yours will be among it."