Medieval: Kingdom Come: Deliverance

Peter felt as if he was carrying not a person, but an active volcano, the kind that could erupt at any moment.

"Fool... idiot! You could have done it with a simple iron lever, but you went to all that trouble to treat an old man like me who's about to die."

"Even if you heal me, what will you gain? I have no reward more valuable than a knighthood."

"Wouldn't it be better if you helped me complete the final task? I simply can't face the deception Margaret has been up to all this time."

"Steady...steady! You're...walking like a drunkard who's drunk three barrels of ale!"

......

The old hermit on his back hadn't stopped talking the whole way. He didn't look a day over heels for someone dying. Peter was starting to regret forcing those two bowls of mushroom soup down his throat. That mouth of his was truly something else!

"Save your breath, old man. If you keep nagging, believe me, I'll throw you into the woods for the wolves to eat. They don't have my good temper!"

After Peter carried the old hermit, he exceeded his normal load of 360 pounds. Not only could he not sprint, but walking too far or too fast would also deplete his stamina, so stumbling was inevitable.

I've tried so hard, and you're still being picky? Of course I have to fight back.

A near-choking cough came from behind, followed by even more ferocious panting, clearly indicating that Peter's words had really stung him. The old hermit caught his breath, his hoarse voice laced with mockery: "Wolves?... Ha! With your... wobbly gait... by the time you reach the wolf's den... old man... I'll be long gone!"

"It's not that serious an illness; you can't just die so easily. As long as you find the herbalist in Troski Village, you'll recover quickly."

Peter didn't care what this foul-mouthed but soft-hearted old man said. The reason he didn't take the old hermit back to his own camp was twofold: first, the journey was too long, and the old man probably couldn't withstand the bumpy ride; second, Bodina's healing skills were truly lacking. She was originally a midwife, and her herbal knowledge came from the herbalist Emeric in Trossky village.

Upon hearing the name of the place, the old hermit immediately reacted, "No, no, no, I'm not going to Troski Village."

"Why? You're already a knight, your previous wanted posters are long gone, why are you afraid of running into acquaintances?"

Peter asked curiously.

"God, I doubt you have any common sense at all. I am a monk of God, and monks of God do not drink herbal remedies when they are sick, but rely on devout prayer. Do you want to make me a laughing stock? Believe me, if the villagers see you going to seek help from a herbalist behind my back, it won't be long before the news spreads: a false believer sought help from a herbalist who practices witchcraft, and the two of them may be punished by God for their lack of faith."

The old hermit had spent his life reciting the Bible and was unwilling to ruin his reputation before his death.

"If you're sick but don't take medicine, if you bleed but don't bathe, if you chant scriptures but don't eat, you'll die sooner or later."

Peter strongly disagreed with the medieval church's medical practices. Not only did he lack knowledge of healing methods, but he also widely denigrated and rejected herbalists. No wonder the church did nothing when the Black Death swept across Europe, indirectly contributing to the Renaissance.

That doesn't make sense. Aren't there religious orders like the Knights Hospitaller? Doesn't that show that church monks valued medicine? The Knights Hospitaller, as a member of the Benedictine Order, is a knightly order sworn to protect travelers to the Holy Land. Originating from the Crusades, the word "hospital" originally referred to a place that cared for travelers, similar to the modern word "hotel." The Knights Hospitaller are essentially the House of God.

The Knights Hospitaller learned from the Byzantine medical model, providing medical care to the sick and spreading this model from the Holy Land to other parts of Europe. But just as many have heard of charitable relief but rarely experience it themselves, it was scarce and elusive. Many conservative sects remained hostile to herbal remedies and hospitals.

"Peter, I never imagined that someone who claims to be blessed by God could be so unfaithful to the Lord. Do you really think that the Lord's gifts are less valuable than a few bottles of potion from a herbalist?"

The monks in the Knights of the Church, being monks who needed to study scripture every day, were very dissatisfied with Peter's rhymes.

"My piety is enough to move God, so He blesses me, not you. That is to say, my heart and my actions are as pure as divine grace, and all my deeds are just."

Peter's wit and banter were as sharp as ever. But he also understood the old hermit's concerns, so he changed course and, instead of heading to Trossky village, headed north into the forest.

"Where are you going?"

The old hermit also noticed the change in Peter's route and was secretly grateful. This kid is stubborn and arrogant, but he still cares about my face.

"Let's find another herbalist nearby." Peter huffed and puffed as he continued on his way.

"I told you, I'm not going to look for him..." the old hermit continued to whine.

"He is a herbalist who lives in the forest in a semi-secluded state."

Peter's words left the old hermit silent for a long while.

"Ah, in that case, it's not unacceptable for me."

After deep thought, the old hermit heard that not many people went there, and his hostile feelings lessened considerably.

According to the third law of self-deception: if you can't hear it, it doesn't sound; if you can't see it, it doesn't appear; if you don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist. If other villagers don't see him, isn't it the same as not seeking treatment from the herbalist? If he doesn't acknowledge the herbalist's medicine's effectiveness, can he continue to maintain his piety towards God?

The logic is closed, so it is!

"Ahem, how's that reclusive herbalist's skill level?"

After accepting the treatment plan, the old hermit began to worry about whether the herbalist was skilled enough to cure him.

"I heard it's pretty good," Peter replied casually.

"I heard?"

The old hermit trembled and exclaimed in surprise. "Seeing how decisively you turned around just now, I thought the herbalist held a high position in your heart. But you're telling me it's just something you've 'heard of'?"

"Of course, I've only been in Troski territory for a week, and this is my first time here. I've never met this reclusive herbalist; I've only heard about him."

"Huh? How could you be so careless? Herbalists vary in skill level, and the potions they concoct are all over the place. Giving them medicine to treat patients would be like testing medicine for them. Why don't we go to Troski Village? The herbalist shops there have been passed down for generations, and their skill level is definitely better than those in the wild..."

The old hermit felt a pang of regret.

But Peter gave him no chance to back down, gripping the old man on his back with both hands and quickening his pace.

In fact, the herbalist he was looking for was an anomaly among herbalists—a male herbalist.

In the female-dominated field of herbalism, Romeo, as a boy, grew up in a small cabin on the edge of the forest with his grandmother, his fingers more familiar with the scent of herbs than the shape of swords. Six years ago, he followed his grandmother to Troschi Castle as an apprentice herbalist.

As he grew older, Romeo became somewhat overly handsome. He wasn't the rugged kind of handsome, but rather as clear and gentle as the morning light in the forest. He had supple, brown curly hair like polished oak, and his grey-green eyes often reflected the flowers and plants he carefully tended, like the reflection of a pine forest in a deep pool when quiet.

With his solid knowledge of herbal medicine and his undeniable good looks, he became a prominent figure in the castle.

Inside the castle, from the lively kitchen maids to the bathhouse servants, people with headaches, fevers, or bruises all seemed to prefer seeking out the young Romeo.

He only needed to listen quietly for a short while to quickly diagnose the illness and then begin treatment. His fingers were steady and gentle as he bandaged the wound, and the prescriptions he gave were mild and effective. The scent of him, a mixture of earth, sunshine, and dried chamomile, made the girls, who were already harboring some secret feelings, look at him with even more fervent and bold gazes.

Unfortunately, Romeo never felt any romantic interest in these beautiful flowers. Because he was a medieval LGBT person, or simply gay.