Truman put a hand on his hip, where his dagger hung. "I fear I might be compelled to use a dagger to settle this matter, revered miss."

"A dagger?" I repeated, eyeing a twitch on the patient's lips. "No need," I said. "That could endanger the patient's life."

I wasn't lying. Knowing he's awake and listening, he might make a sudden motion, and we could end up with a murder case.

Worse yet, awake as he might be, he was still ill. His breathing was faint, and his temperature was quite high. For now, it should be a little over 38 degrees at best, but I'll figure out what to do if it goes up higher than that...

Robert had been feeling slothful and lightheaded since he woke up in the morning.

He was having quite the trouble with his breathing, something that wasn't unusual, which was why he hadn't paid his symptoms much attention.

But, for him to abruptly lose control of his limbs and watch himself collapse, only to regain consciousness later... Even Robert, with all of his 'I haven't the time to attend to this matter' attitude, was starting to think he might need to make time for a priest's visit again.

Sitting up on the ground of his tent, feeling lightly dizzy, he wondered if it would be suitable to call for one amidst their journey when, "You can do this," Robert heard someone muttering to themselves at his tent's entrance.

How embarrassing for them, He thought.

"Truman will be the only one in there with me."

Truman? Robert knew no man of such a name.

For reasons he couldn't point out, Robert's good sense had left him as he heard two stranger figures step in, because instead of standing up and regaining his grace, he threw himself to the ground and played dead. Disgraceful.

"Why's he there!?" Robert fought the temptation of opening his eyes to check on what the owner of this melodic voice looked like, but Robert was a man of grace, well-educated and well—This woman was touching his wrist! The audacity!!

The woman ripped off his clothing, and Robert's self-control began to thin.

There was another man next to them, and the man spoke softly, but at this point Robert couldn't hear things properly, his entire body was tingly, his head was throbbing, and worst of all, the stranger woman was touching his hands and chest, letting him know of how soft her skin wa—

No. What in the world was he thinking? Robert wasn't this kind of man. If anything, he must punish whoever this woman was for laying her dirty hands on a man of his caliber. She must be some maid pretending to know about medicine. Robert found the simple thought of a woman with such shamelessness nauseating.

"... dagger..."

What? A dagger! Were they trying to assassinate Robert!?

"Shit—" He heard the woman mumble.

A foul-mouthed person as well. How aggravating...

"He's swea— ... I need to— ... Truman, go fet—"

Truman?

Feeling a lock of soft hair on his neck, Robert flinched.

Along with the sniff of lavender from the stranger's intruding hair in his space, whether it was willingly or unwillingly, Robert ended up taking a glimpse at the intruder.

A tall, dark-skinned fella, with toned muscles and a disturbing eye color, and closer, a woman...

Robert blinked, his vision between blurry and clear, his breaths between faint and nonexistent, his heart between throbbing and... enamored.

Her eyes were a clear sea, trapped inside two crystal, shredded in raw and intense determination. Her neck was long and sturdy, her features delicate, yet sharp. Long and luscious hair, in long waves of a pale golden hue, reminded Robert of the clear desert sand in his favorite hourglass. Plump and rosy... Lips...

Oh dear, is that the Temple's emblem on her chest? Robert gasped, his consciousness slipping away from his grasp. It's a woman of the Temple. Oh no. Oh Korpa... Oh no...

Robert Kimberlye wasn't a gullible man in the slightest. If anything, he was everything else. He was responsible for the biggest trading business in Yilderen. He was Duke Kimberlye's only and favorite son. He was the cold gentleman who broke women's hearts because work came before anything else. Because there was nothing so important as his ambitions.

He must be ill. Right... He was ill. These thoughts were temporary and would surely leave his loyal mind and heart within the next hour. He was certain.

... Is it legal to marry a priestess...?

That was the last remorseful thought that occurred to Robert before he drifted off into a deep slumber.

I opened his eyes using my fingers, but he seemed to be unconscious now.

Alright, I don't need to act like a graceful and calm, and professional woman now.

Let's just hope he's impressed with me or something... Actually, I hope he survives, first.

"Fetch that pillow, Truman." I pointed to one of the pillows on the guy's bed.

I can't believe these people get to sleep in a yurt, furnished with a bed and everything, while I had to sleep on little more than dry ground...

"Here you go, miss."

Using the large pillow Truman gave me, I propped up his feet.

"Grab that dagger and take this plate thing off." I motioned to Truman's hip, where he hung a glass dagger. He nodded and knelt by my side.

While he did that, I stood back up and stretched my back. I then gathered my hair into a bun as it had gone loose earlier because of the way we ran here. I cringed at the burning sensation from the injury on my neck that I had hurriedly bandaged before we came here, and noted sweating all over the patient's body, which urged me to grab something to wipe it off, and...

~

"Diabetes," I told Truman, who stood by the entrance while I rewore my clothes.

I had summoned the young lord's servant and had them spill the beans about his real medical record. Turns out he has polyuria, which means he pees oddly frequently, and the reason this illness had gone unnoticed till now was because the young lord 'only belief is in the Temple's healing prowess, and finds that physicians are under-qualified to treat his troubles.'

And because priests use magic and don't actually have any medical knowledge per se, they would only appease his symptoms relatively each time, while his illness was never named or thought to be a chronic disease.

"Detebeses," Truman spoke out to the people outside the tent in such a confident tone that I had to question what I said.

I pulled on his sleeve and insisted. "Diabetes."

Half the man's body was out in the public, who were worried about their leader, while the other half I could see and speak to. His head turned back and forth between the tent's outside and inside. He was communicating with the strangers outside in my stead, since it was frowned upon for priestesses' identities to become public.

Though I don't see what that has to do with me talking to them, I respect it.

"They are asking if he's alive and well." Truman turned to me.

"Yes. He's currently asleep. I gave him two tablespoons of honey, which should do him some good for now. I will prescribe him a diet he needs to follow very strictly." I told Truman, who repeated it to the people outside. "Oh, and I insist that he see a physician. His condition is terrible for someone with type 1 diabetes. I don't care if he doesn't have time, if he doesn't want to die within the next few months, he needs an urgent solution to deal with his illness."

Did people even call it diabetes at this point in time...?

People clapped and gasped in joy when they heard it. "Yes."

While Truman retold them what I said, a figure approached the tent and abruptly made its way in.

Big eyebrows and a honey-colored gaze, it was none other than Blert.

"I dare say I am impressed, priestess." He gave me a forced grin, which he dropped immediately. "Now grab your shit. We're leaving."

I threw a look back at the patient who was now peacefully sleeping on his bed. "Leaving? I must stay until he's awake. He needs supervision at least until his physician arrives. I have no clue how to give him insulin, but I was thinking—"