Chapter 142: The Audience

When crossing the Westmin Fortress, visitors experience a sense of novelty.

The foundations of the complex are not a flat plane but occupy the entire mountaintop, shaped to the terrain. Buildings at different levels and orientations often do not lie on the same horizontal plane.

The ramparts forming the barbican can simultaneously serve as roads leading to the bastion. After circling inside the bastion, one encounters an archway topped with a double-winged ring on the third-floor open terrace; entering a small chapel, the pulpit cleverly blocks the passage opening to the inner keep tower behind it.

Everything is interconnected and closely packed, yet clearly separated into distinct functional zones, transforming the unlevel terrain from a construction obstacle into an advantage.

Outsiders would lose their way in such a traffic network, while defenders would rely on their familiarity with the roads to appear anywhere or seal off a specific area. Not to mention every design detail is intentionally crafted for the defenders' convenience, such as consistent clockwise spiral staircases ascending from bottom to top, favoring the use of right-handed weapons by those above in confined spaces.

Following Martin as their guide, they traversed the shortest "shortcut" an attacker would take after breaching the outer wall—assuming anyone could manage it—circling nearly halfway in a gradual ascent, half exposed to the crossfire of the inner keep walls and flank towers, the other half consisting of indoor obstructed scenes like the aforementioned spiral stairs.

If one wishes to avoid falling into this desperate, one-sided urban warfare maze, one must honestly face the "inner gate" that remains closed at night, repeating the siege process under the pincer attack from both sides overhead.

The designer skillfully integrated these concepts into the architectural structure, the ultimate embodiment of the defenders' malice. Kraft nodded repeatedly along the way, arriving at his destination with some reluctance just before the torches extinguished: the absolutely secure guest room in the inner keep. Perhaps originally used as firing slits during wartime, the windows, devoid of any wooden parts, are made vertically narrow and elongated; at the very least, guests need not worry about anyone breaking through here.

Yet even in this purely stone world, tenacious life can still sprout; he discovered a few clusters of fungi, no larger than a fingernail, in the accumulated grime on the windowsill.

The warm and humid climate here seems particularly suited for the growth of these fast-growing little things; with just a single rain, they can be found outdoors, indoors, on dining tables, and everywhere imaginable and unimaginable.

High above the ground by over thirty feet, with a rugged cliff below the window, Kraft spent a night guarded at the door. It was an unexpectedly yet not unexpected peaceful night; when he opened his eyes again, he was glad to see the first light of dawn illuminating a normal room, not some other strange and desolate place.

After breakfast was delivered, no one disturbed him again, and he idled in the room until noon.

"Good afternoon, Professor Kraft. I hope you slept well last night." A familiar greeting came from outside the door. "If you wish, you may choose your most customary black robe."

"Oh? I thought it would be more formal." Though saying so, Kraft without hesitation changed out of the banquet attire that made him uncomfortable from his skin to his marrow, putting on a black outfit instead.

"No. Today is a private meeting with no unnecessary participants, so ordinary attire is sufficient." Waiting outside the door, Martin moved with the relaxation of strolling through his own living room, yet grew serious when mentioning the schedule. As he moved, he made sounds like an empty tin can wind chime. Kraft opened the door to find Martin wearing a blue-and-white oak-leaf patterned surcoat and armor he had never seen before, no helmet, leading a retinue of guards and servants.

"Of course, no unnecessary people should know either; that is something I must remind you of." He took a sash from a tray held by a servant, wrapped it around the back of Kraft's neck, and let both ends hang on his chest. "Let us depart."

By this point, the passage was no longer winding or confusing. Following the standard octagonal layout of the inner keep, rooms and thoroughfares were distributed layer by layer; they were moving along the main thoroughfare penetrating one of the sides toward the fortress core.

Two people were already waiting at the door. One was a nobleman in fine clothing with two delicate mustaches; the other, surprisingly, was an acquaintance they had just met.

"Mr. Wilbert, this is Professor Kraft whom I wish to introduce to you." Professor Feiernan, or rather Viscount Feiernan, wore the black robe from last night's banquet and did not seem to be in good spirits.

"I arrived a step late. Please forgive me; I cannot endure the jolting of you young people. Consider it a small privilege for the elderly."

"Greetings. I am Wilbert, the Duke's steward. Once inside, please maintain silence; my lord's spirits are not very good." The man with the small mustache bowed to Kraft—a bow not very deep but extremely rigorous and standard, suitable as a mold for a sample—then shook his head slightly upon seeing the visitor's obviously unfamiliar return gesture. "Your hand should be slightly higher, placed closer to the shoulder, not in front of the heart."

It sounded more like a duty within the military ranks, yet his demeanor fit the identity of a fastidious noble steward with some obsessive tendencies.

Professor Feiernan interrupted his rambling. "Enough, Wilbert. The Duke will not mind these details. We are in a hurry; we must let him see 'that'."

【That?】

Kraft looked at Feiernan in confusion, receiving no answer from the other man's face, but the steward was successfully persuaded to drop his insistence on etiquette. He turned sideways and beckoned to the fully armed guards on either side of the heavy double doors.

A warm current surged from the opening door crack. Steward Wilbert extended his hand toward them, issuing a silent yet clearly intended invitation to step into the carpeted interior. Blue long-leaf serrated-edge embroidery led them straight to the central burning fireplace, where servants were throwing in dry spices and incense-like substances.

Beneath crossed swords, a longsword, and oak-pattern shield wall decorations, a figure seated on a chair lined with thick fur faced the fire, his back to the guests.

"My lord, the doctor has arrived." The steward glided lightly across the carpet to the chair and whispered the reminder, then stepped aside, signaling with his eyes to Professor Feiernan and Kraft—to follow.

"Come in, Viscount Feiernan. And the knight from the North... Knight Kraft."

Kraft followed Feiernan in small steps to the side of the castle's master, watching the old professor bow, and bowed as well, remembering to move his hands up by two intercostal spaces.

This was the first time someone had addressed him thus. Theoretically, as an heir before inheriting his grandfather's title, he should have held such a temporary title. Border nobles generally did not care much about such theories, and Old Wood had been too lazy to grant him a knighthood, but one must admit this form of address was standard.

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"Ahem, ahem."

A series of consecutive coughs, vibrating and impacting the throat and chest cavity, caused the person on the chair to arch his body, and the bear skin draped over his chest slid off. The pause in the previous sentence was not due to forgetfulness or hesitation, but to shortness of breath.

Wilbert quickly stepped forward, picked up the bear skin, and draped it over him again. Kraft finally got a clear view of the mysterious figure who was likely the main reason for his invitation this time.

A circular crown pressed upon his neatly combed gray hair. When his half-closed eyes opened, they reflected a weary yet clear spirit under the glow of the fire. His will remained sharp, yet his body could no longer sustain this state for long.

Beneath the wrinkled skin, muscles with obvious signs of past exercise were visible. They had once risen to fill the skin in a more robust and full manner, but now only broad outlines remained. Like an old oak tree stripped of its leaves, one can only recall the former image of its lush, expansive canopy from its tall, sturdy trunk, and such reminiscence only makes one more regretful of nature's ruthlessness.

"Please bring some chamomile and licorice sweet tea for the Duke." Feiernan gave the order. Several servants attended in this spacious room, along with guards standing against the wall.

"Professor Kraft, I believe you have already guessed; the case we hinted at during the gathering is right before your eyes. Everything prior was a measure of last resort. As a core part of Westmin and even Dunling, the Duke's physical condition cannot be revealed to the outside world, as that would cause irreparable damage to the situation."

It was content unknown to Kraft; he briefly thought it over.

"What do you mean?"

"We cannot let people know that a royal military leader with no heir and outstanding prestige may meet with misfortune at any time, at least not now." This statement revealed something a northerner on the border who never cared about the kingdom's politics could not possibly know: the land he had lived on for nearly twenty years was not as calm as he thought.

But compared to these matters he was not skilled in, he was more concerned about what Feiernan meant by "that." It sounded like a symptom with a time pattern; he must perform a physical examination before that time arrives.

"I need to perform some examinations; the patient will need to temporarily remove his upper garment. Is that acceptable?" Kraft put on the mask stored in his black robe's inner pocket, rubbed his hands to warm them, and looked at Feiernan and the Duke of Westmin to seek their opinion.

"That is no problem at all." The Duke readily agreed to this point, and the second half of his sentence brought an unmistakable embarrassment to Feiernan's old face. "After all, it won't be worse than an enema or medication, will it?"

Having received approval, Kraft warmed his hands and began the physical examination.

Apart from extremely rigorous exams, in an era where imaging technology was gradually developing, a complete standard physical examination of the lungs was actually quite rare to see. In these difficult days without instruments, where spiritual senses were avoided whenever possible, the lazy dog was forced to pick up his craft again.

Under visual inspection, the respiratory movements on both sides were symmetrical with no obvious chest wall collapse, but a slight rightward displacement of the trachea was discovered. Upon palpation during phonation, a glimpse of the lung lesions in the lower chest cavity could be seen: different areas exhibited varying vocal fremitus, either enhanced like solid conduction or reduced and wavering like echoes in a hollow cavity, indicating complex and diverse lesions within.

When the examination progressed to the next step, the changing tones produced by percussion made the seriousness of the situation clearly felt by everyone in the room except the examiner. On every vertical percussion line across the front chest, under the armpits, and beneath the shoulder blades, Kraft, trembling with fear, tapped every intercostal space. Almost every two or three spaces downward produced sounds of varying clarity and dullness, as if this pair of lungs had been molded by disease into some pathological complex instrument, with scales tuned by twisted scar tissue and cavities near the chest wall.

Based on the experience of a soul from another world, such tuberculosis had exceeded the severity he had ever witnessed in his previous environment. Had it not been for the patient's own strong constitution and sufficient nutritional supply, he would have already succumbed to the disease. There was very little he could do.

Just as Kraft pressed his ear against the chest wall, trying to listen to the sounds within the lungs, his fingertips felt warmth emanating from the patient's skin. This did not seem to be a temperature difference caused by his fingers gradually losing heat during the operation, but rather some rapidly developing change. While raising the body temperature, it blurred the remaining consciousness in those eyes, causing the pupils to drift hazily.

"Pay attention, Professor Feiernan." Feiernan also noticed the Duke's change, or perhaps he had been waiting for this all along, wanting Kraft to see it. "The progression of the illness we could not finish discussing has arrived."