A Gamer's Guide 241 (Patreon)

“Is he really…?”

“He is,” Moleman answers as he stands over one of his patients, healing the opened rash spread across her back.

“But he’s… Well, he was kind of… But he doesn’t…”

“I told you, he isn’t what you think,” Moleman says as he wraps the wound again, smiling at the patient thanking him. With that, we move onto the next. “I didn’t know what to make of him when I first met him, either. I guess I still don’t know. But he’s wonderful with the patients, and even though he’s technically a vagabond, he’s been able to carve out a decent position of authority here. Even more miraculous than his actual miracles, the mayor and judges actually seem to respect him. That’s what keeps me up at night.”

As we move up to the next patient and Moleman begins checking for open wounds to be healed, I feel a need to explain myself. “Well, sure, but… Look, the god of cruelty’s been on my ass for years now. I know him. As I told you—he’s the one who gave me the clear requirement to kill the pirates, not to mention handing me the heart skill to begin with. He’s not a good guy. So this doctor, this apostle… He has to be some kind of ruse. Some sort of demon-in-hiding, eating the patients at night and… Whatever else you can do!”

“No, he doesn’t do that,” Moleman says with eerie certainty. “He’s exactly what it says on the tin.”

“But he’s an apostle.”

“And what, exactly, is an apostle?”

“It’s… It’s someone who… Who gets power from a specific god, and acts in their will?”

Pointing his finger at a half-open laceration, he casts a healing spell, bringing the bleeding under control. “Yeah, essentially. And he, much like the rest of the scholars of cruelty, are of the Schopenhauerian belief that since living causes more suffering in the world than dying, the best way to make the world a more cruel place is to save as many people as possible.”

“That’s stupid,” I say. “So, what? They’re all doctors or something?”

“Yep.” He bandages another wound. When he straightens out to face me, he looks immeasurably tired. “They’re all a bunch of doctors, forbidden from learning or using healing magic, working tirelessly to make the world worse by saving people.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s really dumb,” I say. “They can’t actually think they’re being cruel by making people happy.”

Moleman shrugs in a way that tells me that he agrees with me too much to try to defend the doctor’s position. “I don’t get it, but if it gets him to do good and help people, there’s no real reason to try to change his mind.” As we exit the slightly crowded room, he gives me a long look. “To reiterate, he’s an apostle. The fact that he’s on our side and helping us is good enough.”

I want to disagree with him or something, but at the same time, I don’t actually know what being an apostle means. He didn’t seem especially divine. Sure, there was a smell about him, and the way he acted… But it’s not like he had a halo or anything. Eccentric, sure, but I’d never presume him to be a divine lapdog.

In the end, I drop the subject, mainly because Moleman doesn’t seem too interested in it. So, I focus more on our little task.

“Oh, hello, doctor,” one of the many patients greets, her feeble face wrinkling up in a smile. Her voice makes a slight squeaking noise with each breath she takes. As always, Moleman greets her in turn, quickly checking her state and then asking her if she’s gotten better or worse. “My head feels much clearer now, thank you. But tell me—who’s your friend?” And, as all the other times, he introduces me, calling me his assistant—a title I’ve yet to grow tired of hearing. “Assistant? How charming!” And then he heals her, and she sighs because the pain’s gone, thanking us as we move towards the next one.

“...And what did you think about Grennhild?”

“I’d say she has a week or so left,” I say. He makes a pained face. Oh, God, I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that. “Well, if you keep healing her like that, she might last up to a month.”

“And you’re sure? You’re absolutely certain?”

“Uh, well… Kind of, at least. I mean, the infection’s spread from the skin into the lymph nodes, and going by the size of her abdomen, I’d say her intestines have started swelling, which means—”

“I—I get it. I understand. Just…” Eyes on the floor, I can barely see his face. “I thought she might have had a bit longer in her.”

I reach out towards his back. The sight of my claws almost touching his shoulder is overlaid by a thousand images of the same hand, the same claw, touching the same place—slipping inside skin and muscle and bone and… I draw my hand back. Deep breaths, deep breaths... “It’s okay,” I choke out. “We can help her. We can save her, if we just…”

He holds up a hand, urging me to silence. I obey. “Please—” He swallows dryly. “Please don’t talk about that.”  Another room presents itself. “We still have many more to visit. Let’s discuss that later, okay?”

“…Okay,” I say. We continue on.

At his request, I begin jotting down notes on how far gone people are. Of course, just because someone’s far gone doesn’t mean they’ll die. It’s just that in the numerous people I’ve observed so far, by the time their lymph nodes and intestines start to fester with putrid pus and swarming bacteria, there’s nothing to be done anymore. After noting down a few too many times that some people are beyond saving, I’m starting to feel really bad for Moleman. He seems to like these people, and they seem to like him, so seeing them die is not very good for his mood. He’s putting up a strong front, but I can tell he doesn’t enjoy this in the least.

So, even though I’m far from a doctor, I start writing down exactly what the issue is, what might be possible to salvage them. I can only hope that Moleman will take it a bit better.

I guess, if I can say anything, it’s that most people are alright. Within time, maybe only a month or so, most people will either be cured or too dead to complain. And when that happens, I’ll disappear, and Moleman will sigh with relief because the plague is over and I’m gone, and…

“Good morning, Linne. How are you feeling today—”

“Today,” I echo, thoughtlessly. “Today, he’ll—”

The way Moleman looks at me snaps me out of it. What was I…? Below him, in a bed soaked with sweat and pus and blood, with his covers half tossed off, lies a goblin who’s going to die today. His neck is so swollen by infection that his breaths rasp through only barely, his slick, sweat-covered chest covered with the characteristic swollen hair follicles, making it look as though he’s got goosebumps across his whole body. A few of the bumps have developed into marble-sized nodules. Some patches are covered with cracked skin upon skin, healed and scarred and then opened to be healed and scarred again, currently made into rashes and open wounds. Going by scent, I can assume that the bandaged, pus-sweating right hand is where the never-healing wound is festering. I wonder when someone last changed those bandages? I think I can smell corpseworms in there…

“Today?” Moleman asks as he draws the blanket back over the guy. “What do you mean, Fennrick?” His gaze bounces down to the listless, dead-eyed goblin in the bed, desperate eyes returning to me. “I agree—today is a wonderful day. I’m looking forward to experiencing it with—”

“He’s deaf,” I say, firstly. “The infection’s reached his ears. He can’t hear anything.”

“That’s no reason to—”

“I give him twenty-four hours, maybe one or two more if his bandages get changed.” I do another once-over. Let’s see here… Sniff sniff… I turn back to where Moleman stands, motionless. “It’s amazing that he’s still alive. If it hadn’t been for the magic at play, I’d wager he would’ve been dead over a week ago. I mean, seriously. Heh, I can’t even tell how old he’s supposed to be with all the welts and blisters covering his—”

“Stop!” Moleman shouts. The air between us seems to freeze over. I turn to him stiffly; silently. He takes a shaky breath, supporting himself on the edge of the bed. Somehow, looking down at the living corpse between us, he’s able to muster a smile. “Let’s… Let’s not take this in front of a patient.”

“...Okay,” I say. “I was only…” The look on his face makes me swallow my words. “I’m sorry. Yeah. I went too far.” Head still lowered, he doesn’t look up at me. Damn. I messed up. I always do this, somehow. Why can’t I just…? Damn it. I tap my foot, trying to figure out whether Moleman’s silence is him trying to gather himself or some unsaid cue for me to, to… I gulp. “Do you want me to wait outside?”

His head falls a bit further. “I’ll be out in a minute or so.”

I take a step towards the door. “Right, okay. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah. Thank you, Kitty.”

Exit stage left. I close the door behind me and put my back to it. Phew… That was… Is he overreacting, or am I underreacting?... It’s just some soon-to-be dead guy. What’s the point in keeping him alive longer than he’s got? I don’t get it. It doesn’t make any sense. Even if I try to think about it from Moleman’s perspective, I still can’t follow it. He’s clearly in pain. Pain is bad. So, let him die.

…But it isn’t that simple. At least not to Moleman. I need to respect that, otherwise he might… I don’t know. It’s just that, sometimes, he looks at me in a way I really don’t like; the same way Simel used to look at me, the same way Vann looked at me, the same way he looked at me, way before all of this. The same way everyone looks at me.

I take a step away from the door, melding a little with the shadows. Inside the room, I can hear Moleman speaking softly.

I guess, in truth, what I’m scared of is that since everyone else sees me this way, then Moleman is the exception; which means that, one day, he might realize that he’s the one in the wrong, and he’ll start looking at me like that, and he’ll see me for what I really am, what I’ve always been, what I’ll always be: a monste—

The door creaks open and Moleman exits, his heavy eyes falling on me. He isn’t looking at me like that. He’s… smiling. The door slides close behind him. “Hey, Kitty. Sorry about shouting in there, I was…”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” I say. “Being here is stressful for you, I get it. And seeing people in so much pain… It gets to you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It does.” He smiles warmly at me, because I’m his friend, and he’s my friend. “Thank you for understanding. You’re a good friend.”

Somehow, it feels like he only said that last part for my sake.

He pats my shoulder. “Let’s keep going, alright? Once we’re finished at the hospital, we’ve got a few home-visits, but after that… How about some breakfast?”

Only now do I remember that the time is almost nine and we haven’t had breakfast again.

I agree without hesitation, and off we go.