'What the fuck...'

Viktor walked forward toward a cluster of people near a broken stall. They were whispering among themselves, their voices low and suspicious.

The moment they saw him—saw his clean clothes, his well-fed frame, his noble bearing—they scattered like rats, vanishing into the shadows between huts with surprising speed for people who looked half-dead.

All except one.

An old woman sat slumped against a crumbling wall, her body so thin and frail she seemed like little more than bones held together by papery skin.

Her hands trembled constantly, either from palsy or starvation or both, making them shake like leaves in a strong wind.

Fresh blood seeped from a wound on her palm where she'd apparently fallen, mixing with the dirt crusted on her skin.

Viktor paused for a moment, looking at her state, and realized one thing: he would go insane in this place if not for his women.

First, he saw a hellish nightmare that gave him a terrible headache, only to be soothed by his woman who provided him with comfort.

However, he found himself experiencing that headache again after hearing that name.

When he emerged, what he witnessed as the landlord of this land was incredibly depressing, to the point that if it weren't for lust, he might truly lose his sanity here.

// When I used to have nightmares, I did that. // Viktor, at that moment, realized that what Mira told him about masturbating as an anti-depressant was true. So much so that he forgot about caring what others would call him—a pervert; it was better than being called dead.

Viktor could feel... forget depression, he might really lose the last bit of his sanity without some mental support.

'Sigh, at least they are here.' The only relief right now was that he did not come here alone—his women were with him to provide him mental support at any time.

'Mira, I hope you can help me relax a bit after we return to the manor...'

Viktor's mind raced as his body moved on autopilot toward the nearby field.

The fragments of the nightmare kept surfacing, trying to coalesce into something coherent, but the pain in his skull made it difficult to focus.

It was, in itself, an irony that recalling the dream was causing the pain, and the pain was causing the dream to surface, creating a cycle where each memory fragment generated more pain.

He was stuck in a loop that would only close if he was right about what he remembered.

His hand reached out, almost unconsciously, and plucked a clump of grass from the poisoned earth.

The moment his fingers closed around it, something activated inside him—his herb mastery ability.

Light bloomed.

Soft green radiance spilled from his palm, illuminating his face from below and casting strange shadows across his features.

The grass in his hand began to glow, its molecular structure becoming visible to his enhanced perception.

He reached for another plant—one of those strange purple-leafed weeds—and brought it close to the first.

The light intensified.

From inside the carriage, both Elara and Aldrin sat up straighter, their eyes widening as they watched the display.

The way the light pulsed and shifted, the way Viktor's hands moved with practiced precision, the sheer potency of the glow...

'The Baron is awakened—?!'

The thought struck them both simultaneously.

This place—this forgotten, plague-ridden wasteland where Viktor had been banished—it didn't make sense.

Not if he possessed such an ability.

The rumors had painted him as a disgraced nobleman, someone cast out for weakness or failure or some unspoken scandal.

But looking at him now, watching the way he manipulated those herbs with skill that spoke of a high-tier awakening...

'Did this nobleman accept his own banishment by himself?' The question formed in both their minds like a seed of doubt.

They didn't consciously acknowledge it, didn't dare give it full voice even in their thoughts.

But it was there, growing, taking root.

After all, why would someone like him be in such a place to begin with?

Viktor moved toward the old woman after synthesizing the two herbs.

The process had taken only seconds—removing their poisonous properties, concentrating their beneficial constituents, enhancing their healing capabilities into something far more potent than either plant possessed alone.

He crouched beside her, his shadow falling across her frail form.

'I see, the village does have very potent herbs.' Given the quality, he realized he had just entered the middle portion of the village.

He noticed the herbs were very potent either in their poisonous properties or in their healing.

Though they were corruptly mixed with poisons, making them useless for normal people, for him they were treasures.

Naturally, treasures he had just set his eyes upon.

Her head lifted slowly, her eyes clouded with cataracts struggling to focus on him.

Viktor took her injured hand gently—so gently, as if handling something precious and fragile—and rubbed the synthesized herb paste onto her palm.

The mixture was slightly warm, carrying a faint green glow that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Her skin looked paper-thin beneath his fingers, her bones so prominent he could trace every knuckle, every joint, every fragile structure beneath the surface.

They sat there in silence for a long moment.

Slowly, visibly, the wound began to close.

Not with the dramatic flair of high magic, but with the steady, natural pace of accelerated healing. The blood stopped flowing first, clotting almost immediately.

Then the pus that had been forming around the edges—sign of infection taking hold—began to wither and dry, falling away like dead skin.

The torn flesh at the center of the wound pulled together, new tissue forming to bridge the gap.

Viktor watched the process with clinical detachment, cataloging each stage. When he was satisfied the healing had taken hold, he started to pull away.

Her cracked lips moved.

"P-Please... food..."

The word was barely a whisper, more breath than sound. But it hit Viktor like a physical blow, jerking his attention back to her face.

Her eyes—those clouded, cataract-ridden eyes—held a desperation that went beyond mere hunger.

This was the look of someone who'd been starving for so long they'd forgotten what it felt like to be full.

'She seems like she's dying... where did I see that...?'

Viktor's mind fractured between the present and the past, between the dying woman before him and the nightmare that had shown him something crucial, something he needed to remember—

He turned, scanning the marketplace with new urgency.

His eyes landed on a stall selling what might generously be called bread.

Moldy, half-rotten lumps sat on the counter, their surfaces fuzzy with spores that released clouds of toxins into the air with each breath of wind.

He walked over with purposeful strides, pulled a few copper coins from his pouch, and slapped them down on the wooden counter hard enough to make it rattle.

The shopkeeper—gaunt, hollow-cheeked, hands shaking so badly he could barely grip anything—stared at the coins like they were made of solid gold.

Like they were treasures beyond imagination. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, unable to process what he was seeing.

"Bread," Viktor said flatly, as he could see the state of the bread was very bad, but again... he could see there was nothing here to eat—forget him asking for better bread.

He rubbed those herbs in his palm, the ones possessing anti-bacterial and anti-fungal properties, to nullify any chance of food poisoning.

"Are you hearing me? I said, give me bread."

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