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---Previously---
'Healing Palm Jutsu…' Alaric placed his hand gently on the boy's forehead. He closed his eyes, focusing his chakra, channeling a steady, gentle stream of healing energy into the child's small body. A faint green glow enveloped his hand.
For a moment, it seemed to work. The feverish flush on Deganawida's skin receded, his breathing eased, and a touch of healthy color returned to his cheeks. Shakoka gasped, his eyes wide with hope.
But then, just as quickly, the effect faded. The fever returned, the ragged breathing resumed, the greyish pallor creeping back into the child's skin. The disease was too aggressive, too deeply rooted. The simple Healing Palm Jutsu wasn't enough to fight the powerful bacterial toxin that was ravaging the boy's body.
Alaric raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful, almost calculating look entering his eyes. He withdrew his hand, a familiar, determined smirk touching his lips.
'Hmm...' he thought, the System interface already flickering at the edge of his vision. 'I guess I have to buy that...'
---Now---
Alaric's gaze was fixed on the small, feverish child, his mind racing through the vast catalogue of abilities available to him in the System.
'Wait a minute...' He was about to search for a powerful, high-level Iryōjutsu, something on par with Tsunade's Creation Rebirth, when he paused. A simpler, more potent solution was already flowing through his own veins.
His blood.
'Yeah,' Alaric thought, dismissing the System interface with a mental command. He stared at the child, a new sense of certainty settling over him. 'My blood's better than most, if not all, Iryōjutsu when it comes to diseases...'
The Phoenix Sage Mode had granted him more than just rebirth; it had infused his very life force with a powerful, restorative energy.
'The question is... how do I get a paralyzed two-year-old to drink water mixed with my blood?'
Both Shakoka and Kassandra watched him, their expressions a mixture of hope and intense curiosity.
Shakoka was still reeling from the display of power he had just witnessed… the green light, the temporary reprieve from his brother's sickness.
Kassandra, on the other hand, was observing Alaric with the keen eye of someone who had seen the impossible many times, yet was always ready to be surprised again. She had seen him grant strength, reverse age, and command forces of nature, but this… this direct confrontation with a deadly illness was new territory.
"Well... we might have to wait until we arrive at our home, Shakoka," Alaric stated, offering the worried warrior a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I can definitely cure him."
"Really!?" Shakoka's eyes widened, hope surging through him so powerfully that he almost leaped from his seat in the carriage. "Is it truly possible!?"
"Yeah," Alaric said, his voice calm and firm. "I promise."
Kassandra watched the exchange, a soft smile on her lips. 'What do you think, Aletheia?' she thought, her mind reaching out to the Isu consciousness within the Staff.
'I do not know, Keeper,' Aletheia replied, her mental voice a cool, analytical hum. 'According to my calculations, it is impossible to remove that child's illness without our kind's technology. The bacterial toxins have progressed too far.'
'Really?' Kassandra raised an eyebrow slightly. 'Even if Alaric says he can?'
'He is an anomaly that I am not able to understand,' Aletheia conceded. 'When he is a part of the equation, the sum of one and one is no longer two.'
'...'
Twenty minutes later, the carriage's journey, which had been a bumpy ride over uneven country roads, suddenly smoothed out. Shakoka, who had been bracing himself with every jolt, felt as if they were now floating on air. His curiosity getting the better of him, he peeked his head out of the carriage window.
What he saw stole his breath away.
A perfectly straight, smooth road stretched before them, lined with lush greenery and vibrant flowers, leading towards a house so vast it defied his comprehension. It was a palace of stone and fine paint, its scale dwarfing even the largest longhouses of the Iroquois Confederacy.
It seemed large enough to hold not just a village, but an entire nation.
(Yeah... that's bullshit)
"Is that... your house?" Shakoka asked, pulling his head back inside and staring at Alaric and Kassandra with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Isn't that too big?"
"Yes," Alaric smiled. "And I admit it is quite huge. There are so many people living in there, after all."
As they approached the massive gates, which Shakoka could only describe as a "Metal Moving Wall," they swung open silently, as if by magic. A guard in a simple but clean uniform approached the carriage, his gaze sharp but respectful. He peered inside and saw Alaric.
"Master Kenway," the guard, Geralt, said with a small smile and a nod.
"Geralt," Alaric returned the nod.
Geralt signaled for the coachman to proceed. This was their standard protocol: a quick visual confirmation, regardless of who was driving. Every person on the estate, from the coachmen to the cooks, was a capable fighter, but discipline and vigilance were never neglected.
As the carriage rolled through the gates and into the grand courtyard, Shakoka saw a sight that amazed him even more. People. Hundreds of them, moving with purpose. Some were sparring in open areas, their movements swift and powerful. Others were tending to the immaculate gardens, their work diligent and focused. It was like a tribe, a busy, powerful community of white and black people, all living and working together in a harmony he had never witnessed before.
The carriage finally came to a halt before the mansion's grand entrance. As they stepped out, Alaric turned to the still-awestruck Shakoka. "Welcome to Narnia!"
"..."
"...Narnia?" Kassandra raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Ehem.
"Never mind," Alaric cleared his throat. "Anyway, let's head inside, Shakoka."
He led the Iroquois warrior and Kassandra through the massive front doors and into the grand foyer. "A glass of water, please," he requested of a passing staff member, who bowed and hurried off.
Alaric then guided Shakoka to a comfortable, well-appointed guest room. Shakoka looked around, his eyes wide with wonder at the ornate baroque designs carved into the high ceiling, the fine furniture, the soft carpets. "Is this... where people sleep?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.
"It is," Alaric confirmed, gesturing to the large, soft bed. "Lay your brother down here. He will be more comfortable."
Alaric then looked at Shakoka, his expression softening. "I heard what you said to the doctor. That you were cast out by your people. You are welcome to stay here, Shakoka. For as long as you need."
Shakoka looked at Alaric, then at Kassandra, then around the magnificent room. He was a proud warrior, but he was also a man with a dying brother and nowhere else to go. He gave a slow, grateful, and reluctant nod.
Just then, the staff member returned with a silver tray holding a single, elegant glass of crystal-clear water. Alaric took the glass, and the staff member excused himself.
Alaric turned back to Shakoka, his expression becoming serious. Kassandra stood beside him, her presence a silent, supportive pillar.
"Shakoka," Alaric began, his voice calm and steady, "my blood is... different from other people's. A single drop of it can cure any disease, any illness."
Shakoka's eyes narrowed, his hope instantly warring with a deep, ingrained suspicion. He understood immediately what Alaric was implying.
"You mean..." Shakoka's hand instinctively went to the hilt of the dagger hidden at his waist. His brow furrowed, his face darkening with anger. "This is witchcraft! Dark magic! I will not have you curse my brother with your foul blood!"
He tried to draw his blade, to defend his brother from this strange, powerful man and his unnatural remedies. But his hand wouldn't move. The dagger was stuck fast in its sheath, as if held by an invisible force. He looked up, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw Alaric's own eyes. They were no longer blue. They were a deep, spinning crimson.
"You don't need to be violent, Shakoka," Alaric said, his voice still gentle, though it now carried an undeniable weight of power. "I am telling you the truth."
He released whatever hold he had on the warrior, and his eyes returned to their normal color. "I swear this to you," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "If I am not telling the truth, if this fails to cure your brother, or if it is some trick... I will offer my own life to your blade. You may kill me without resistance."
Shakoka stared at Alaric, his heart pounding. The oath, the sheer conviction in the man's eyes… it was a warrior's promise, a bond of honor he understood. He looked down at his still, feverish brother, then back at Alaric. There was no other way. He took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly, reluctantly, nodded his acceptance.
Alaric smiled faintly. He focused a sliver of chakra into his fingertip, creating a blade of wind no larger than a needle. He made a small, clean cut on his wrist. A single, perfect drop of crimson blood welled up and fell into the glass of water, dissolving instantly, leaving no trace. The cut on his wrist healed just as quickly, leaving not even a scar.
He then walked to the bed, holding the glass. The most difficult part was now. He gently cradled Deganawida's head, tilting it back slightly. He used a precise application of chakra to gently part the child's lips, then, with infinite care, he began to pour the water, drop by drop, into the boy's mouth, ensuring he swallowed without choking.
Shakoka and Kassandra watched, their breath held, the silence in the room absolute.
The effect was instantaneous.
The moment the last drop was swallowed, the fever that had raged through Deganawida's small body broke. The angry, red flush on his skin faded, replaced by a healthy, natural color. The thick, grey membrane at the back of his throat seemed to simply… dissolve into nothingness. His shallow, ragged breathing deepened, becoming slow, even, and peaceful.
He was healed.
Completely.
Shakoka stared, his eyes wide with a joy so profound it was painful. A single, choked sob escaped his lips, then another. He fell to his knees, his head bowed, the tears he had held back for so long finally streaming down his face, a torrent of overwhelming relief and gratitude.
.
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