Seeing Rufus sprawled on the floor, gasping and twitching like a dying fish, Julius's composure snapped.

His eyes blazed with fury as he spun toward Luca, his voice breaking through the tense silence.

"You—! You—! You!"

But Luca only raised his hands and laughed softly, utterly unfazed.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up." He said casually. "Don't go blaming me for this. I didn't do anything wrong. I merely gave the man some medicine—your disciple's medicine."

He gestured to Isaac with a lazy flick of his wrist.

"If anyone's responsible here, it's him. He's the one who was so confident that this miracle sludge would heal her. Remember? He said it was perfectly safe, guaranteed results."

"So if you're going to yell at someone, Master Healer, yell at your student."

Julius's jaw clenched so hard his teeth audibly ground together. He turned toward Isaac, fury barely contained.

"Isaac." He hissed.

The young elf's face was pale as chalk.

"M-Master, I-I don't know what happened!" He stammered.

"I swear I followed every instruction perfectly! I used the freshest ingredients! It's not supposed to—"

He froze as Rufus convulsed again on the floor, his limbs flailing weakly.

"It's not supposed to do that!"

"Then what was it supposed to do?" Luna demanded, her tone sharp.

Isaac swallowed hard. "It—It's supposed to make the patient glow..."

Lulu muttered dryly. "Oh, he's glowing all right. He's about to glow so bright he'll reach the heavens."

Julius shot Lulu a glare that could have frozen a volcano, then turned back to his disciple, shaking with rage.

"You fool…"

But still, Julius couldn't waste time being angry. Rufus looked like he was about to die.

The man's hands clawed at the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin turning a ghastly pale-green hue.

So, Julius quickly crouched, rummaging through his satchel with trembling hands before pulling out a small vial filled with black pills.

"Damn it all…" He hissed under his breath.

He grabbed one pill and forced it into Rufus's mouth.

"Swallow it!" He barked, pushing his chin upward until Rufus gagged it down.

For a moment, nothing happened—then Rufus suddenly jerked upright as though struck by lightning.

His eyes rolled, and he stumbled toward the window.

Before anyone could react, he shoved it open and began vomiting violently out of it—

"Uagh! Baaghhh!!!"

—the sound echoing through the small wooden house.

Everyone winced at once.

"First a medicine that looks like poop." Lulu cringed, covering her nose. "Now someone vomiting everywhere. What kind of medical treatment is this supposed to be?"

Nyx chuckled quietly from the corner. "Authentic elven healing rituals, apparently."

After a solid minute of horrible retching, Rufus finally slumped against the window frame, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

He looked utterly drained, barely able to lift his head.

But then he looked at Isaac.

And the look in his eyes turned murderous.

"You…" He rasped, his voice hoarse. "You tried to poison me!"

He lunged forward, grabbing Isaac by the collar and dragging him close.

"You bastard! What did you make me drink?!"

And hearing his words, Leona sighed and shook her head in disgust.

Even now, Rufus wasn't thinking about his wife—about how she might have been fed that same poison—but only about himself.

Meanwhile, Isaac panicked, waving his hands.

"No! No, Rufus, I swear—I swear it's not my fault! The ingredients—something must have been wrong with the ingredients! I followed every step perfectly!"

But then he realised his master was by his side and gained some courage and added,

"A-And first of all, you weren't even supposed to drink it! It wasn't meant for you at all! If you had kept your mouth shut none of this would've happened!"

Rufus's face twisted with rage. "You bastard! Now you're blaming me?!"

He pulled his arm back, ready to punch him square in the face.

But Julius's voice boomed across the room.

"Enough!"

He stepped forward and seized Rufus's wrist mid-swing, pushing him back with a forceful shove.

"Calm yourself, Rufus." He ordered sharply. "I understand your anger, but you will not lay a hand on my disciple."

The command in his tone left no room for argument. Rufus froze, then stepped back, seething, but silent.

Then Julius turned his icy stare on Isaac. His voice was quiet now, but it carried the same weight as thunder.

"Isaac." He said slowly. "I trusted you. I defended you. And this…"

He gestured toward the puddle of bile by the window.

"This is what you give me in return?"

Isaac's lip trembled.

"I-I'm sorry, Master." He whispered. "Please, I didn't mean for this to happen. I—I can fix it! Just...Just give me one more chance."

He stepped forward desperately.

"I've been working on another method! A different one! I'm certain it will work this time! Please, just let me prove myself!"

Luca sighed, crossing his arms.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." He said lightly. "Your first treatment nearly killed someone. I can't imagine the second one doing any better."

But Julius lifted his hand, cutting him off.

"No." He said firmly. "He will do it."

Luca lips twitched, while Julius continued.

"My disciple made one mistake. Just one. He won't repeat it. This next attempt will prove his worth—and mine."

Isaac's eyes brightened, hope surging through him again. "Yes, Master! I won't fail you!"

He genuinely thought that his master cared for him so much that he was protecting him even now.

But deep down, Julius's expression said something else entirely.

He wasn't forgiving Isaac—he was using him.

The mistake had humiliated him in front of everyone and the only way to regain his image now was to force Isaac to succeed.

Isaac, desperate to redeem himself, didn't waste a single second. He immediately dropped to his knees and began rummaging through his large bag with trembling hands.

"You'll see this time, Master! You'll see!" He said, voice full of nervous conviction.

From the bag came a chaotic assortment of items—banners of cloth marked with faded runes, jars of paint, a few straw dolls bound with twine, polished stones etched with crude symbols, and even what looked like a bird skull dangling from a red string.

Everyone in the room stared in confusion as he began arranging them one by one across the floor.

He moved quickly, almost ritualistically, muttering to himself while aligning the stones in a circular pattern and placing the dolls around them.

Then he hung the banners across the walls, painting strange symbols between them in a reddish pigment that gave off an acrid, smoky smell.

Soon, the room looked less like a sick chamber and more like the den of a mad shaman.

"What in the world is this idiot doing now?" Lulu whispered, her voice pinched in disbelief.

But Isaac ignored her and instead took out a small glass filled with a clear, shimmering liquid and set it right in the center of the formation.

He circled it several times, bowing low and whispering in some incomprehensible chant like it was pivotal to what he was doing now.

Then, to everyone's bewilderment, he produced two paper fans from his belt, snapped them open dramatically, and began dancing around the glass.

Yes, dance.

It was not a graceful dance.

His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but oddly deliberate as if mimicking something sacred.

He waved the fans through the air, twirling in circles, humming a strange tune none of them had ever heard before.

The rhythm was so bizarre it almost sounded like the ramblings of an old drunk trying to sing a lullaby.

The faint red smoke from a small fire he'd lit in the corner also started to rise, filling the room with a strange smell—bitter herbs and burning leaves.

The flames flickered crimson, reflecting off the markings on the wall, and for a moment, the sight almost looked...mystical.

Luca folded his arms, watching silently.

If this were back in his own world, he would've thrown the fool out of the house by now.

But this wasn't his world.

Magic existed here—strange forces and phenomena he didn't yet understand.

And the confidence on Isaac's face almost made him wonder if this truly was something powerful.

Even the others seemed caught between skepticism and curiosity.

Finally, after several long minutes, Isaac stopped dancing.

He then pressed both palms together, whispered something that sounded like a prayer, and bowed deeply before the glass on the floor.

Then he picked it up.

Everyone leaned forward slightly.

Inside the glass, the transparent liquid glimmered faintly under the dim light. It looked pure, even holy.

Leona whispered. "Is that...some kind of sacred water?"

"Maybe he's going to sprinkle it on her." Luna murmured.

"Or make her drink it." Lulu added.

But Luca's eyes narrowed. 'If he tries to make her drink that, I'll stop him myself.'

Yet what Isaac did next caught everyone completely off guard.

He didn't sprinkle it.

He didn't pour it on her forehead.

Instead, he poured the clear liquid into his palms.

Pour! Drip! Drip!

The sound of dripping liquid broke the silence as he rubbed his hands together, coating them in the oily substance until they shimmered faintly in the firelight.

And then—his eyes changed.

That faint, restrained expression of concentration twisted into something else.

His pupils darkened; a faint gleam of hunger and lust flickered through them.

He then turned toward Esme—who lay weakly on the bed, breathing faintly and began walking toward her.

His hands, slick and glistening, extended forward and under everyone's stunned gaze, his hands actually went directly toward her chest!

Not her forehead.

Not her arm.

But her chest that was weakly moving up and down.

He actually started to reach for the fabric covering her.

And seeing this, Julius just stared, his lips parting slightly—not with disapproval, but silent observation.

And Rufus...Rufus didn't even flinch.

He just stood there. Watching as if he didn't care that his wife was about to be molested.

But the women did.

Luna's eyes widened in outrage.

Lulu clenched her fists like she was ready to throw hands.

Nyx's smile vanished entirely as her gaze sharpened to an icy glare.

And Leona took a step forward, the temperature of the room dropping in silent fury.

But that was when it happened.

A voice colder than winter itself tore through the room.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing right now?"

Everyone froze.

Isaac's hands stopped in mid-air. His entire body stiffened as goosebumps erupted across his skin.

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head.

Luca stood there.

But it wasn't the calm Luca from before.

His entire presence felt different—dark, heavy, and suffocating. His eyes, normally gentle, were now pitch black, filled with irritation and disgust.

Luca's tone was deathly quiet as he spoke again.

"For a second." He said slowly. "I actually thought you were performing something incredible. I almost believed I was about to witness a miracle."

"You set up all your little props, you painted your walls, you danced like a madman, and for one second, I thought—maybe, just maybe—you were doing something that could bring her back."

His tone dropped lower.

"...But no."

His eyes burned into Isaac's trembling figure.

"You did all that just to grope her breasts?"

His tone rose slightly.

"Is that what this circus act was for? All this bullshit, just so you could touch her? Feel her up?"

"Take advantage of the poor women while she sleeps?!"

Isaac went pale, hearing the silent fury in Luca's voice.

"N-No! You misunderstand—this is absolutely necessary!" He stammered. "The oil—it's made from rare herbs! Once I apply it to her chest and press it deep inside, her breathing will stabilize and her curse will lift!"

Luca stared at him in disbelief, then exhaled sharply and tilted his head back, rubbing his temple as if holding back an outburst before finally whispering under his breath,

"You...imbecile."

The word dropped like a hammer.

Isaac blinked, confused. "W-What?"

"You heard me." Luca said coldly, lowering his gaze again. "You...fucking imbecile."

He then stepped forward, his tone rising with controlled fury.

"Let me just ask you since I have no clue. But to you even know what's going on right now?"

"Do you even understand what you're doing?"

"Do you have any clue of what treatment you're trying to do?"

"O-Of course I do!" Isaac stammered. "I'm a healer. I'm my master's disciple!"

"Then tell me, oh great healer." Luca said coldly with a hint of sarcasm. "Why you went straight for her chest. Out of her entire body, why her chest? You could've rubbed it on her hands, her feet, her neck—but no, you go for her breasts."

"...Why?"

Isaac's lips trembled.

"It—it was written in the Dryad book. It said to apply it there—"

Luca snapped, his patience gone.

"I don't care what your damn book said!"

His voice thundered across the room.

"I'm asking you! What's your understanding behind it? Why is it effective on the chest? What's the mechanism? Why not anywhere else?"

Isaac opened his mouth—no words came out and seeing this Luca's eyes burned with frustration.

"Forget that." He said sharply. "What about the ointment itself? You made it, didn't you? Tell me—what are its ingredients? What are their purposes?"

"Why are some in high quantity, others low? Why were those herbs chosen? Can you tell me anything about how it works?"

Isaac's lips trembled. "I...It was in the book—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

The words hit like a slap.

"If I hear you mention that damned book one more time." Luca hissed. "I'll find it, roll it up, and shove it down your throat myself."

Isaac swallowed hard, shaking violently now, while Luca paced in front of him like a teacher fed up with how incompetent his student was.

"All right then, genius. What about the rest of this nonsense?"

He finally asked, demanding answers.

"The banners—what are they for?"

"The stones—what alignment are they supposed to create?"

"The fire—you're letting smoke fill the room when the patient's barely breathing!"

"Why the hell would you do that? Explain!"

Isaac's face turned white. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

Luca continued, relentless.

"And these symbols—these ugly symbols you painted all over the walls—what do they do? What's their purpose? Why that specific shape? What's the function, the effect, the logic?"

Still no answer.

Luca sighed, rubbing his forehead, looking more exasperated than angry now.

"Fine. You clearly don't know a damn thing. So let's make it simple."

His eyes darkened.

"At least tell me one thing—just one thing—and I'll let you go. I'll even apologize and get on my knees for what I've said."

He gestured toward Esme.

"Tell me what exactly she's suffering from."

Isaac froze up completely, while Luca leaned forward slightly.

"Go on. Tell me. You're the proud healer, aren't you? You should know what she's afflicted with, right?"

Before Isaac could mumble an excuse, Julius stepped forward, his tone cutting in defensively.

"I can answer that if you'll—"

But he stopped immediately when Luca turned his head toward him, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

Julius froze.

Luca's eyes flicked back to Isaac. "I'm talking to your retarded disciple here. So stay quiet and stand aside."

The shock that rippled through the room was palpable.

For the first time since they'd met, Luca's politeness was gone—completely stripped away.

Everyone could feel it now.

He wasn't angry for show.

He was furious—coldly, genuinely furious.

"Now." Luca said quietly, his gaze locking onto Isaac's trembling eyes. "Tell me what she's suffering from."

He took a slow, menacing step closer.

"Tell me." He said, his voice low and sharp. "Before I find that book of yours and make you choke on it."

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