When Leech reached the stables, the Groom was bent over, preparing fodder.

The Fierce-Mane mare was the first to notice Leech’s arrival, turning her head to look at him.

Leech walked over and gently stroked the mare’s head.

The Groom straightened up, turned, and saw Leech. He immediately dropped the fodder. "Lord!"

"Mm, how is she?"

He didn’t know much about mares, pregnancy, or breeding, but he knew his Groom was no simple stablehand. The Baron had hired him specifically to care for warhorses; people even consulted him on breeding pigs and sheep.

"Very healthy and strong," the Groom replied. "I reckon the foal will be born in about 300 days."

"Take good care of her. I’ll arrange for a craftsman to repair the stables. If you need money, go to Gelan," Leech stressed. "This mare’s safety is the top priority!"

The Groom just thought the Lord was being protective of his warhorse. After all, it was a beast that cost Golden Bears, and a single warhorse could support a Knight.

Especially after hearing the Lord promise a hefty reward, the Groom nodded eagerly. From this day forward, he would treat the pregnant mare like his own mother.

days wasn’t that long.

’The Magic Tide is surging, Griffins have appeared, and even Extraordinary Knights are emerging. Who knows what the world will become? When that time comes, it’s only reasonable that I should have a flying horse, right?’

The confirmation of the Fierce-Mane mare’s pregnancy kept Leech in high spirits for the next few days.

Another snowfall blanketed Porcupine Territory in a layer of pristine white.

Leech sat before the fireplace with a fur blanket draped over his knees, the firelight casting a reddish glow on the side of his face.

He was engrossed in a book titled *Miss Gregor*. The story told of a young noblewoman whose parents and siblings were killed in a power struggle. She escaped the gilded cage of her castle, apprenticed herself to a powerful assassin, and after mastering his deadly arts, embarked on a quest for revenge.

However, a war for the throne erupted, forcing Miss Gregor to follow her quarry onto the battlefield.

Miss Gregor never got her revenge; her enemy died on the battlefield. In turn, she chose to fight for her country and her people, taking to the field in the name of Gregor to rally Knights to her banner.

Leech was at the part where Miss Gregor, trapped in a ravine and left with no alternative, had to rally her Knights for a final, desperate battle.

Within the narrow canyon, Miss Gregor lowered her visor and raised her Longsword high.

Everyone fell silent, their eyes fixed on her legendary sword, the "Hope of Fire." The warhorses sensed the impending danger, their hooves stamping restlessly against the earth.

"Charge!"

Sixteen Knights facing an encirclement of hundreds. It was a suicidal charge, yet not a single one of Miss Gregor’s followers hesitated.

Leech’s blood raced as he read. It was one of the few books he could actually get into. Miss Gregor, stoic yet as valiant as any man, had launched a suicidal charge in the most romantic fashion.

Later on, however, the book started to lose its grip on reality. Flames erupted from her sword, and Miss Gregor carved a path of slaughter. Amidst a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, her horse finally collapsed from exhaustion. Miss Gregor stood atop the pile of bodies, planted her family’s banner in their midst, and the blood-soaked flag fluttered in the wind.

She removed her helmet, and the sunlight gleamed on her silver hair, making it shine brilliantly.

’I seriously suspect this is just the author giving Miss Gregor a forced power-up. One moment she’s losing, the next there’s a sudden deus ex machina that lets her defeat her enemies.’

He had only read up to the battle in the canyon. There was about a tenth of the book left, so it had to be nearing the end.

Leech took a sip of his hot tea. ’The best part of the book’s early Chapters was Miss Gregor’s escape from the castle, a battle of wits and courage. She saved her own skin by relying on her familiarity with the castle and her own agility.’

’The part where she studied under the master assassin, on the other hand, was completely glossed over.’

’Of course, the most thrilling part was the death-defying charge. Who wouldn’t take a liking to a Miss Gregor who was fierce, fearless, had an invincibility buff, and was stacked, with long legs and a great ass?’

’The book had certainly wasted a lot of ink on that particular subject.’

A gust of cold wind swept in. Leech turned to see Gelan, wrapped in white fur, approaching with a shiver.

"Lord!"

Gelan’s expression was grim.

"What is it, Gelan?" he asked, placing his book face-down on the table and rising to his feet.

"Some of the slaves have fallen ill."

Gelan said, "Their bodies are burning hot, steaming in the cold."

’The bitter cold and heavy snow... it’s probably just the flu.’

Leech stood up. "Where’s the Alchemist?"

"He’s already mixing a remedy. I’ve also arranged to move the healthy ones to other rooms. However..." Gelan hesitated for a moment. "We should burn them, to prevent it from spreading."

’Burn the sick alive?’

Leech’s heart gave a painful lurch.

He knew Gelan was proposing the most cost-effective solution. The medicine for the slaves would likely cost more than the slaves themselves. If they couldn’t be cured, they might infect others. Killing and burning them was a clean solution that best served a lord’s interests.

For them, death might even be a release.

Leech sighed. Whether they were killed first or just burned alive, neither option sat well with his values.

"Have someone boil water immediately."

"Hot water?"

The people here weren’t accustomed to drinking hot water. Since drinking cold water carried a high risk of sickness, they were used to drinking thick soups and beer instead.

Leech nodded. "Boil the river water. Every slave, and every commoner in Porcupine Territory, is to drink at least three large cups of hot water a day!"

’Drinking hot water isn’t a cure-all, but it’s much better than relying on the body’s own defenses. Besides, it’s comforting and warms you up.’

A dozing page, noticing Leech was about to go out, immediately grabbed a cloak and draped it over his shoulders.

"I won’t abandon them," Leech said. "Gather all the sick in one house. Give them the Alchemist’s remedies. Whether they live or die after that is up to them."

He and Gelan walked out of the castle. Under the watch of the guards, the slaves moved about in silence. They knew what fate usually awaited the sick.

They were relieved not to be sick themselves, but also grieved for their companions who were about to die.

"Let me go in and take care of my sister! I’m begging you!"

A young boy was kneeling on the ground, held down by a guard. The guard had been about to kick him but immediately lowered his foot when he saw the Lord approaching. "Are you looking to die? Aren’t you afraid of getting infected if you go in?!"

"But my sister’s in there!"

"The Lord is here."

"It’s the Master."

The pleading boy on the ground heard the murmurs and turned to look at the nobleman in the heavy greatcoat. He wanted to beg the Lord, but he didn’t dare to speak. Daily lessons had taught him that slaves were not to make requests of their masters, much less speak to them first.

’Maybe the Lord wouldn’t mind, maybe he’d even smile and chat, but afterward, ’Mad Dog’ Ark would surely beat them half to death.’

’The merciful Lord surely doesn’t know about this. That ’Mad Dog’ Ark is too powerful, able to hide the truth from everyone. But we’re slaves, so we can only endure it. As long as we’re obedient, the ’Mad Dog’ won’t bother us.’

"Rest assured," the Lord said, his voice carrying over the crowd. "I have already arranged for the Alchemist to prepare a remedy. The sick will not be abandoned. Everyone will have a chance to be cured!"

Before turning to leave, the Lord glanced at the boy. "Do your best to survive."

As the ice and snow melted, the flu was brought under control, and the sick recovered one by one.

According to the ’Widow’ Gelan’s tally, a total of forty-four people fell ill during the outbreak, and three died.

From that day on, Porcupine Territory adopted a new custom: every household began to drink boiled water.