[BL] Accidentally Becoming the Healer of the Deranged Archduke

Allen and the other healers had worked tirelessly until their limbs felt as heavy as stones. Even a slight movement had become difficult.

While Xion had taken on the heavy role of fighting, Allen could only do his best to support from behind the scenes.

Within five days, they had managed to kill more than Berry had in the last few weeks.

The afternoon sun beat down on them, and Allen fervently prayed for Xion to return alive. An exhausted, cold teacher was better than a corpse.

Xion's heavy use of mana had begun to gnaw at Allen's mind, leaving him with a constant headache.

He was about to step down the stairs when dizziness overtook his senses.

The guards were quick to help him stand, or he might have fallen on the ground.

"My lord, are you alright?"

Aurilius asked as he helped Allen inside the resting chambers.

Allen looked at the small child who had been running errands for him all day, and couldn't help recalling little Noxian.

In a way, both kids were saved by Xion.

Somehow, Aurilius ended up recovering from his sickness and following him instead of his teacher.

"How are you doing, Aurilius?"

"Doing much better." The boy grinned, showing his pearly white teeth.

He had lost his entire family to starvation, yet Allen had never seen him cry or curse fate for taking them.

The boy was far too mature for his age.

Allen removed the mask that had become a primary need, letting his head rest on the back of the chair.

"My lord, you... You look red."

Allen's eyes snapped open. He hastily pressed his hand over his head, and it felt hot.

"How long have you been feeling dizzy?"

Allen thought back to the days and sighed. "Two days, I guess."

A sudden cough rattled his lungs so hard he ended up spitting a mouthful of blood.

"My Lord!"

"Don't come close." Allen raised his hand to stop the panicked child.

"Listen to me, Aurilius. We can't tell anyone, yeah? Tell them I am researching medicine for the plague, and I am not to be disturbed."

He wiped the blood over his handkerchief.

Though his gaze became blurry all of a sudden, making it hard to see if the red blotch was from his fingers or from the fabric in his hand.

He blinked, waiting for his blurriness to ease just like he had been doing the previous days.

"Keep an eye on everyone who came in contact with me. Leave."

He heard the hesitant footsteps leaving the room and slumped back on the chair.

They all had been wearing the masks and covering their hands, so it was hard for others to notice the flush creeping up his face.

Luckily, he had been busy dealing with more official duties and didn't step inside the infirmary.

But it made him wonder, how long, or rather, how many hours, he could hold on.

He had been blaming his bouts of dizziness and headaches on his fatigue all this time.

The moment they found any sign of plague, they would kill that person.

Because this wasn't something that took weeks to act on.

In mere hours, they had seen people spitting blood, and then after a couple of hours, they dropped dead.

The forest was still filled with the scent of flesh burning.

Pressing his fingers on his temple, he looked at the pile of documents on his table.

If he was going to die, it was better to be useful to his liege.

The Darkhelm house and the Eldritch clan were the only people he considered his family.

With a heavy push, he leaned over the table, gripping the pen in his hand.

He pulled up a black sheet from the bundle and let the ink swirl on it.

"Dear Raymond," he wrote and then halted.

What was he even supposed to write?

Perhaps it was better not to write anything.

There was no fortune to be distributed, nor was there any kin he needed to address.

The ink dripped down the pointed tip and left a dark mark on the sheet. It became a big full stop after Raymond's name.

Almost as if even fate was telling him to stop.

It was always like this. Every time he thought he found something closer to family, there would be something standing in his way.

Another cough shook him, forcing his always straight spine to bend down.

He hurriedly pressed the handkerchief to his mouth, afraid to spill even a drop of blood on the sheet.

Even if it was only a name, he didn't want to dirty it.

Despite his best efforts, a blot of crimson still fell at the edge.

His Adam's apple rolled, trying to hold back the itch in his throat.

With a trembling hand, he wrote.

"I found a kid, Ray. His name is Aurilius. He is a nice child, very obedient, and I hope you take care of him.

He lost his entire family in this war, so I hope you become one for him. Just like how you did for me.

Thank you."

There was nothing about the way he felt giddy when Ray was around, or how he never felt abandoned around that loud knight.

He couldn't.

The last gift he wanted to leave for Ray wasn't something sad.

He felt a special bond with Aurilius. And he wanted Ray to treat the boy as if he were Allen's real son.

Perhaps deep down, he knew how selfish he was.

Maybe this was his way to bind Ray to him, to make that stupid knight commander remind him that there was an equally foolish Alchemist.

The Alchemist, who was clever enough to concoct herbs, yet foolish enough to take months to realize his own heart.

If he had agreed with Raymond's proposal, would things have been any different?

In hindsight, this seemed like a good thing.

With no relationship, there would be nothing to mourn, right?

The sand slipped past the narrow center of the hourglass, and the pen fell on the ground with a light thud.

Ink splattered across the page, blooming into a dark stain like a curse.

The evening sun had yet to sink.

-------

As the hours dragged on, more enemy soldiers breached Oswin and Berry's outer shields.

Xion stood at the center, wrapped in the storm of his own power.

Hundreds of silvery threads shimmered in the light, weaving themselves into a fortress around him.

Each time someone dared to draw near, the threads struck, tearing them apart before steel could reach his flesh.

His body was failing him. His hands shook, his legs fought to keep him upright. A crooked finger pulled another thread taut; it snared an enemy's throat and snapped bone with a sickening crack.

Blood and bile clawed at his throat, threatening to spill past his clenched teeth. Yet he forced it down into the pits of his stomach.

Just a bit more, he told himself.

They feared him, terrified to come too close. However, they also started to notice the strain.

His movements lacked the sharpness of a seasoned warrior.

How could they, when he had never been a warrior to begin with?

But who was he exactly? He was supposed to be the healer.

Yet at this point, he was nothing but a butcher.

From across the field, Silas had closed the distance between them. Now they stood face to face, a few yards apart.

Crimson dripped down his gleaming sword, pointed at Xion.

Silas sneered, a feral grin plastered on his blood-matted face. "So the divine healer isn't so divine anymore. Looks like you're running out of mana."

The words rippled through the battlefield like a detonator.

"I have more than enough to deal with you, Silas," Xion said. There was no trace of deference in his voice, no "Your Majesty." Only cold defiance.

Silas didn't bristle at the insult. He laughed, golden eyes flashing with cruel delight.

"Before you die, let me tell you something about your dear husband. You must be curious, aren't you?"

Xion said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin, unyielding line.

Beneath the long sleeve of his armor, his fist clenched until his nails dug deep into his palm.

"Someone gave us everything we needed," Silas went on. "Your habits, your blindness—temporary, I see—and most importantly, just how precious you are to Darius."

A red gleam circled the edges of his golden eyes as his voice turned giddy.

"Tell me, healer, how worried would he be to see you fighting me now? You should have seen him when Michael's sword pierced his chest—such a beautiful moment. Truly, it made my day."

Xion waved his hand, his mana threads pouring on Silas like a rain of needles.

However, before they could pierce through, a shield covered Silas from head to toe, protecting him.

"You are finally here," Silas cast a glance over his shoulder.

The sight that made Xion's blood run cold.

Serena, wearing a grey robe, was standing beside Michael.