Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 238 - Two Hundred And Thirty Seven

The western village of Strathmore was a place of grey stone and grey skies. The plague had hit hard here, harder than anywhere else. The narrow streets were quiet, the only sounds the hacking coughs of the sick drifting from behind closed shutters and the creaking of wagon wheels on the uneven cobblestones.

In the small village square, a makeshift aid station had been set up under the shade of a few gnarled trees. A long wooden table sat under a canvas awning, piled high with the medicine packets Marissa had prepared with such foresight. The scent of boiling willow bark and mint hung heavy in the air, a sharp, clean smell fighting against the odor of sickness and damp earth.

Derek stood behind the table. He wore a simple grey tunic over his light armor, trying to look less like a Grand Duke and more like a soldier doing his duty. A thick cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, protecting him from the miasma. His eyes, however, were alert, scanning every face in the line that stretched down the street.

Ian stood beside him, handing out packets with grim movements. A few other soldiers guarded the perimeter, watching the crowd for signs of unrest or Liam’s spies.

A line of villagers had formed. They were tired, scared people, clutching their shawls tight against the cold wind. Their eyes were hollow, their hands rough. They looked at Derek not with awe, but with desperate hope.

A woman stepped forward. She was thin, her face drawn and pale. She carried a small child in her arms, wrapped in a threadbare blanket. The child’s face was flushed with fever, its breathing shallow.

Derek took a packet of herbs. He placed it gently in the woman’s hand.

"Thank you for helping us," the woman said, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. "May the Lord reward you, sir. We thought we were forgotten. We thought the King had abandoned us to die."

Derek smiled beneath his mask, though she could only see it in the crinkling of his eyes. He felt a pang of guilt that he was here hunting a ghost while these people suffered, but he pushed it down.

"It’s okay, we were sent here by the king," Derek said softly. "Boil the roots thoroughly. Let it steep until the water turns dark. Drink while it’s warm. It will break the fever."

"Bless you," she whispered.

She left the line, holding the medicine like it was gold, hurrying back to her home.

The next person stepped forward.

It was a man. He was dressed in worn, dusty clothes that had once been good quality wool. A heavy cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, concealing his frame. He wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, and a cloth mask covered his face, just like Derek’s. He kept his head bowed, looking at the table, avoiding eye contact. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

He didn’t speak immediately. He held out a rough, calloused hand. It was a hand that had held a sword, Derek noted subconsciously. The calluses were in the right places.

Derek picked up another packet. He placed it in the man’s palm.

"Boil the roots thoroughly," Derek repeated the instructions automatically. "Drink while warm."

The man nodded. He took the packet, his fingers closing around it. But he didn’t leave. He hesitated. He shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable.

"Thank you very much, sir," the man said. His voice was raspy, muffled by the mask, but it had a certain cadence to it. A rhythm of authority that he was trying to hide. "But... my wife and child are ill at home. They are very sick. Can I have an extra packet? Please."

Derek looked at him. It was a common request. Everyone was desperate. Everyone wanted more for their families.

"Of course," Derek said. He didn’t hesitate. He reached into the crate and pulled out a second packet. "Here is an extra packet. Make sure they both drink it. And keep them warm."

The man took the second packet. His hand shook slightly as he tucked them into the inner pocket of his coat.

He raised his head slightly to look at Derek.

"Thank you very much, sir," the man said again.

For a brief second, the man’s eyes met Derek’s. They were tired, haunted eyes, the eyes of a man who had seen too much death, too much betrayal. They were eyes that looked familiar.

And then, Derek saw it.

Right above the man’s left eye, sitting on the brow bone, just below the brim of his hat, was a small, dark mark.

A mole.

Derek’s heart slammed against his ribs. The world seemed to slow down.

The image of the charcoal drawing Ian had shown him flashed in his mind. The artist had captured one specific detail perfectly. That mole. The one feature that couldn’t be disguised by a mask or a beard.

It immediately clicked to Derek.

"That man," Derek realized with a jolt of adrenaline that made his fingers tingle. "That man had a mole on his brow. The same eyes. The same height. It is him."

Derek nodded slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn’t react. If he spooked him, the man would run, and in this crowd, he could disappear.

"Go in peace," Derek said, his voice steady.

The man turned. He pulled his hat lower. He walked away quickly, melting into the crowd, heading toward the edge of the village where the old miners’ huts stood.

Derek watched him go. He kept his face impassive. He handed a packet to the next villager, an old man with a cane.

But his mind was racing. He turned slightly to Ian, keeping his voice low so the villagers wouldn’t hear.

"Ian," Derek whispered.

Ian leaned in, sensing the change in his master’s demeanor. "Your Grace?"

Derek nodded toward the retreating figure in the dusty cloak, now almost at the end of the street.

"That man," Derek said, his eyes fixed on the back of the stranger. "The one who just left. That must be Captain Nigel."

Ian’s eyes widened. He looked at the man’s back.

"Are you sure?" Ian asked.

"The mole," Derek said. "And the voice. He sounded like a soldier trying to hide his command tone. Follow him."

Derek’s eyes were hard.

"Follow him discreetly," Derek ordered. "Do not approach him yet. We need to know where he is hiding. We need to know if he is alone, or if Liam’s assassins are already watching him."

Ian understood. If they spooked him, he would run. If the assassins saw them, they would kill Nigel before Derek could get the truth.

Ian bowed his head.

"Yes, Your Grace," Ian said.

Ian stepped back from the table. He signaled to one of the Shadows disguised as a guard to take his place distributing the medicine.

Then, Ian slipped into the crowd. He moved silently, a ghost in the daylight, trailing the man who held the key to the past.

Derek turned back to the line of villagers. He picked up another packet of medicine.

"Next," he called out.

He continued his work, handing out hope to the sick, but his mind was on the man walking away, and the secrets he carried in his heart.