Alexander entered his private chambers. Despite Castle Eisenberg's financial struggles, his room remained reasonably spacious—a privilege of his noble birth.
The furnishings were practical rather than luxurious: a sturdy oak writing desk paired with a wooden chair featuring a simple padded seat, and a chest of blackwood that served as his wardrobe. Near the window stood a washbasin on its wooden stand, while a wall rack held his cloaks and belt.
Exhausted from the day's events, Alexander approached the washbasin and splashed water on his face. "Ugh, I still feel so grimy," he grumbled, despite the water appearing relatively clean.
His discomfort stemmed from the harsh reality of medieval hygiene. Common folk rarely bathed, and when they did, they simply rinsed with water while wearing the same unwashed clothes day after day.
Even nobles had limited options—they might bathe with herbal waters, but this did little to eliminate germs and mostly served to mask odors. Clothing presented another challenge: without proper detergents, garments were merely rinsed in water. Wealthy nobles relied on expensive perfumes to cover unpleasant scents, but Baron Aldric couldn't afford such luxuries.
Alexander actually preferred this situation—strong perfumes could be overwhelming and still failed to truly eliminate bacteria from fabric. "I'll have to address sanitation issues later," he decided. "For now, I need to use these Health Points."
He settled onto his four-poster bed, which was far from comfortable with its mattress stuffed with straw and animal hair. Concentrating, he opened his system interface and navigated to the status tabs.
[Alexander Godric von Eisenberg - Personal Status]
Constitution: Frail and Sickly
Physical Condition: Below Average - Prone to fatigue, respiratory issues, and frequent illness
Health: 0 (Default baseline - any points added will show immediate improvement)
Alexander studied the information carefully, then noticed another tab labeled [Family Health Status].
Clicking it revealed detailed health information for his father Aldric, mother Ermelinde, and little sister Adelheit. Apparently, he could use his Health Points to improve their wellbeing as well.
"This could be invaluable," he murmured. "If any of them fall seriously ill, I can use the system to help them recover."
He also spotted a third tab: [Your Subjects Health Status], though it appeared grayed out and inaccessible.
[This feature is currently unavailable. Requirement: Become the official lord of your territory.]
"I see," Alexander nodded thoughtfully. "Once I inherit the barony, I'll be able to improve my subjects' health as well."
The implications were staggering—he could potentially eliminate disease and strengthen his people's constitution once he gained proper authority.
Without hesitation, Alexander decided to use all three Health Points immediately. The moment he mentally confirmed the action, the effects were instantaneous and overwhelming.
A powerful jolt surged through his body, causing his heart to skip several beats before racing frantically. His arms began trembling uncontrollably as waves of burning sensation coursed from his chest through his spine and into his skull. The intense pulsing lasted only seconds, but the agony seared itself into his memory.
"Ugh... I feel terrible," he groaned, nausea washing over him as fever-like symptoms consumed his small frame.
What's happening? These Health Points were supposed to improve my condition—why do I feel like I'm dying? His vision blurred as consciousness slipped away.
Just then, his chamber door opened and Ermelinde entered. She had come to discuss his impromptu feast for the servants, but the sight that greeted her drained all color from her face. Alexander lay collapsed on his bed, motionless.
"My precious boy!" she cried, rushing to his side.
The moment her hand touched his forehead, she jerked back in alarm—his skin burned like heated iron. Her heart plummeted as terror gripped her.
"Oh God, no! He's burning with fever again!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the corridors. "Help! Someone help my son!"
Alexander remained oblivious to the chaos erupting throughout Castle Eisenberg. His body radiated such intense heat that steam seemed to rise from his skin, as if he'd been submerged in boiling water. Servants rushed frantically through the halls while Ermelinde wept over his unconscious form.
In his fevered state, Alexander dreamed of transformation. He saw himself as a powerful warrior astride a magnificent destrier, clad in gleaming silver armor that caught the sunlight. Before him stretched a vast battlefield where his banners flew proudly above the organized ranks of his army.
His soldiers' voices rose in thunderous unison: "All hail Eisenfurt! All hail Lord Alexander!"
Despite the violence and bloodshed surrounding him, Alexander felt only exhilaration in the dream. This was the strength he'd always craved, the power to protect his people and transform his land. He raised his sword high, his voice carrying across the field:
"For the glory of God! For the glory of Eisenfurt!"
With a triumphant battle cry, he spurred his horse forward into the fray, finally possessing the might to shape his destiny.
---
Alexander's chamber had become a scene of desperate prayer and impending sacrifice. Around his bed gathered several figures, each bearing the weight of grief and terror.
Aldric and Ermelinde knelt beside their son. Tears streamed down Ermelinde's face as they watched his still form, while Aldric remained silent. Nearby stood Father Hensfried, a forty-year-old priest whose bald head gleamed in the candlelight.
He wore the traditional brown robes of his order, a simple rope belt around his waist, and a wooden cross hanging from his neck. In his weathered hands, he clutched his silver crucifix while chanting prayers, occasionally sprinkling holy water over the boy's fevered body.
Reinhard observed the proceedings with a mixture of pity and resignation. It appears this is the end for the lad, he thought grimly.
His gaze shifted to the man everyone held responsible for this tragedy—Fritz, the castle's head chef.
Fritz knelt on the cold stone floor beside Father Hensfried, trembling as he prepared to participate in a ritual that would cost him his life. The priest had explained the ancient rite: by offering his blood and life force willingly, Fritz might transfer his vitality to save the young lord—though success was far from guaranteed.
This is entirely my fault, Fritz thought desperately, staring at Alexander's pale face. If only I had refused his orders, if I hadn't allowed him to consume those devil's roots, he would be perfectly fine right now!
When Fritz had learned that Alexander's body burned like a furnace, he immediately suspected the cursed potatoes. In his panic and guilt, he confessed everything to Baron Aldric—the strange meal, the forbidden root vegetables, and his role in preparing them. Aldric's rage had been volcanic; he nearly executed Fritz on the spot. Only Steward Konrad's quick thinking had saved the chef's life by suggesting this sacrificial ritual instead.
Father Hensfried had been summoned immediately to perform the ancient rite of life transference. Though he warned that success was uncertain, it was their only hope.
Fritz accepted his fate with grim determination. If his death could save his young lord, then it would serve as proper penance for his terrible mistake. Living with this guilt would be a fate worse than death anyway.
Aldric and Ermelinde shared his desperate hope that the ritual might work, clinging to this final chance to save their son.
After completing his blessing over Alexander, Father Hensfried turned to Fritz with solemn gravity. "Now, extend your palm. I will make the sacred cut, and let your blood flow as sacrifice for the young lord's wellbeing."
Though Fritz had accepted his destiny, his hand shook as he slowly extended his palm toward the priest's ceremonial blade.
Just as Father Hensfried raised the knife to begin the blood sacrifice, a confused voice broke through the tense silence:
"What are you all doing in my room?"
Everyone froze. They turned in astonishment to see Alexander's eyes fluttering open, his gaze moving around the chamber with obvious bewilderment.
The room fell into stunned silence—the main ritual hadn't even begun, yet Alexander was awake and apparently lucid.
"My son! You're alive!" Ermelinde practically threw herself onto the bed, embracing Alexander with desperate relief.
Alexander looked completely confused by the dramatic scene surrounding him. "What's happening? Why is everyone here?"
"I was so terrified I'd lost you forever!" Ermelinde sobbed with joy, holding him tightly as if he might disappear again.