The diseased were housed in a red brick warehouse, now repurposed into a barracks of sorts. The dim storage hall had seen a rapid transformation, turning into a makeshift hospital in a matter of hours. Plywood walls had been hastily erected by [Builders] to separate the patients, and crude beds had been assembled for them to rest in.

Only a few [Doctors] worked inside, wearing much heavier protective gear than Olivia as they guided the newcomers to their spots, more like prison wardens than nurses. [Guards] stood warily, grasping spears and checking over their masks and coats every few minutes. Nobody liked being around the sick.

And there were many of them. Most had been easy to identify at a glance, with obvious signs of disease showing. Many were further weakened by days of hiding in squalor, evading monsters. They were a sorry lot indeed.

To Olivia, it all felt nostalgic. It was a sight she had seen once before, quite a few years ago now. But even with the years, some things didn’t change that much. Sure, the warehouse was rather different from the old clinic she had apprenticed at, but the methods… they didn’t really change.

See, magical illnesses were a tricky thing. Chiefly because of their unpredictability and constantly shifting nature—only truly gifted or high-level [Doctors] had any chances of striking the diseases at their cores. Thus, the standard treatment procedures were rather ingenious in their simplicity.

Olivia paused in front of one bed and eyed the patient resting there. He was a gaunt man of perhaps fifty or perhaps thirty, his bloated face made it hard to tell. But—just like all the other patients in their beds—he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. The shackle keeping him in place took care of that.

A bowl of cold porridge was on the floor next to him, just in reach of his shackled self. The iron chain connected to an iron pipe that ran around the factory’s far wall, secure enough to withstand even an enraged monster.

Porridge and shackle. A carrot and a stick, one might say. Some nutrition to help his body fight the illness, and a manacle keeping him in check in case he failed and ended up mutating into a monstrosity. A simple treatment. Wait and see what happens.

It made Olivia feel angry. She eyed one of the [Doctors] with disdain as he locked another newcomer in place, then scuttled as far away from him as possible. Even with the enchanted gear he had on, nothing was sure. They weren’t even trying to make things better. Not really. Just doing the bare minimum required of them, working first and foremost to keep themselves healthy.

And they had tried to bar Olivia from even coming inside here. The thought sent a jolt of anger through her, but she held it in check. Too much was at stake, but still… she gritted her teeth. They just show up, late to the situation once things are clearer, and then try to dismiss me from it all. Didn’t even believe I had a [Doctor] class at first…

It had taken an annoying amount of arguing and convincing, but she had finally been allowed inside here. So she held herself in check and did not say what was truly on her mind as the others passed by her.

Sighing, Olivia shook her head and kept moving forward. She was only here to see one very specific patient—though she would be keeping quiet about the why of that for quite a while. Just like she liked to keep quiet about her past, and many other things.

She had a lot of secrets these days. For example, she actually had gone past level 20 already. That last operation on Fayette’s injury had put her at level 21.

But Olivia had not gained a capstone skill yet, though that was how it was supposed to go for most classes. And she feared she knew exactly why.

Her class was hardly the usual sort. But that was also the key, to why she might be able to do what the other [Doctors] could not.

She spent a few minutes walking the big hall, looking the patients over one by one until finally, she found the patient she had been seeking. Olivia approached a very specific bed. The silver-haired man lounging in it gave her an odd look.

The [Doctor] stopped a good distance from the aged hunter and pulled out a keyring from her coat. “Sorry, mister Martin? Let me open those shackles for you, I need to have a word in the backroom. Patient confidentiality and all that. Please keep a small distance from me as we walk.”

—

One of the warehouse’s backrooms had been furnished into a workable medical facility: beds, supplies and all. Nobody had used it yet, so Olivia took her time inspecting the place, walking around the room, and peering into every single cupboard one by one.

Naturally, at the center of the room, there was an examination chair for the patient to sit in, and the man waiting in it was starting to get anxious. The wheels on the bed squeaked as Martin’s eyes followed the [Doctor], who was circling the chair like a shark. He had to break the silence.

“E-excuse me? Why did you call me here?”

Olivia turned a half-circle, and her dark eyes fell on the aged hunter. He was surprisingly calm for someone who had been told he had the plague just an hour ago. “Why, because you are ill, and I am a [Doctor] of course. What other reason is there?”

His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t seen any of the other diseased taken anywhere, and the talk was that none of the [Doctors] they have here can cure us. What are you after?”

Olivia continued circling the room, at a languid pace, closing the cupboards she had opened as she walked. “You are mistaken, there. I can cure you. In fact, I can guarantee it. But due to my methods… we have to be discreet.” Her eyes jumped back to him. “Understand?”

The aged hunter was silent for a moment, then leaned back in the chair. “So, you’re helping me first? Is this some nepotism thing? If so—I’m glad we’re friends enough for that.”

Close, but not quite. Olivia completed a half-circle around the room, arriving right behind the chair, and stopped there, staring Martin in the back of his head. She still felt like the man had eyes on her, despite him pretending to the contrary. The light from the grimy windows lit the chair like a theatre’s stage, but Olivia kept just a bit away. It wasn’t her time to become lead actor just yet.

That was why she had chosen him. He keeps up a jolly front, yes, but his eyes are much keener than one would think at first. And his front is very deceptive indeed… But Olivia was good at pretending too—and she could recognize her kind.

The [Doctor] leaned forward, and just a hint of light hit her black hair. “I can cure you, I guarantee it. But first—I will need a small service from you. Nothing too big.”

Martin didn’t turn to meet her eyes, but still, his words came as if he was facing right her way. “So, the healer has a cost?” He asked, then paused for only a short moment. He nodded. “I can pay.”

“Good,” Olivia said, nodding, and circled back to his front. “It’s just… this is an important matter. One I can’t leave to chance. And I just got the handiest skill a few days back…”

She put her hand out, as if for a handshake. “I’ll need to make a [Medical Contract] with you.”

The aged hunter looked at the hand, just a bit confused. “You would touch hands with someone diseased?”

“I’m confident in my abilities,” Olivia replied, expression betraying nothing.

“A contract skill… what exactly are the terms?” Martin finally asked, meeting her eyes once more.

Olivia shrugged. “A small matter, as I said. Help me put on a little performance, and do your best job acting. Then—keep quiet about it after. The skills I used, those you think out on your own, speak of them to no one. It’s important.”

Martin’s eyes narrowed in intrigue, and he hesitantly nodded. “Alright… that sounds fine to me. Do I shake on it to activate the skill?”

“Please do.”

Martin took Olivia’s hand into his, gave it a brief but firm shake, then felt a skill activate. Olivia let out a nervous breath. It’s done.

She let her bearing relax and slumped back against the shelf behind her. “Ah, glad you took it.”

Martin stared at her. “Umm… aren’t I supposed to get a cure now?” He asked.

Olivia cackled, just a bit, then straightened herself up and looked at the man, a twinkle in her eyes. She used [Comprehensive Diagnosis], nodded and gave a quick clap. “Congratulations, you are cured of the plague!”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Martin stood up from his seat, gaze darkening. “Explain.”

Olivia motioned him down. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, the gash you took is nasty and I’ll give you some salves and the like for it but… you never had the magical illness in the first place.”

The aged hunter blinked. “What?”

The [Doctor] sighed. “Look—sorry for scaring you with it. I just… really needed your help for a bit, and this bit of acting I need you for… I’ll need to have you pretend to be diseased.”

The man was looking at his arms, and feeling the skin on them. “So that’s why I wasn’t feeling any symptoms…” then he looked up at her, some genuine anger in his eyes. “You really scared me with this! Martino was crying!”

Olivia flinched a bit at the hurt she heard in his tone, and gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry—really. But… it’s for a good cause. Believe me.”

Martin searched her eyes, looking for malice or further deception in them, and eventually nodded. He sighed and fell back into his seat. “Fine, got the damned contract thing forcing my hand anyway right now. Though… it doesn’t feel that strong. Not too high level of a skill, is it?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that,” Olivia said, smiling nervously. “But it won’t be nothing either. Still, can I rely on your help?”

“Fine—I’ll do it. What’s the gig?”

Olivia shifted to motion, grabbing pills and salves from her bag. “Right, I’ll take care of that wound of yours first, my part of the deal, and then—” she paused and looked at Martin’s skin, frowning. “You really do look too healthy as you are… I’ll need you to eat some pills. Actually, many pills.”

Despite the relief from not actually having a deadly illness, those word still sent a jolt of foreboding through Martin. The aged hunter gulped and his face paled.

Olivia smiled. “Hey, that’s already quite a bit better!”

—

There were many patients awaiting their fate in the compound, eyes listless and bodies weak. Some had rashes on their faces, others had blisters. Some were coughing up blood, others were pleading for more water to quench their parched throats. Some looked as if nothing at all was wrong with them.

That was the group [Doctors] were most wary of. The way the illness showed often told how it spread from those specific patients, but few were the same truly.

Then there was Gespard, who seemed to belong to all the prior groups at once. His symptoms came and went like the tides, but they were never the same two days in a row. First, he had coughed his lungs out, then yesterday he had felt completely fine, then overnight he had developed painful blisters on his fingers.

That had been the morning. Now, as evening neared, the blisters covered his arms all the way to the elbows.

He feared what would come next.

Gespard had felt some hope when the hunters had found him hiding in a cupboard, but that relief had faded the moment he had stepped into this prison masquerading as a hospital. Because the [Doctors]… they were only watching. And waiting. The only help to come was one’s own strength.

Oh, how he hoped that he would be one of the lucky to recover on his own, but he didn’t harbor much hope. He had felt hope yesterday when all the symptoms had faded, but he now knew better. Don’t taunt the disease. Or it will taunt right back.

So, he had chosen to lay still, waiting for whatever would come, head clear of thoughts.

And then the backroom’s door slammed open with a thundering bang, and all eyes in the hall went to the pair who emerged from there, his included.

“Clear the way! Guards, get over here—I need eyes and spears!” Shouted a female voice, and then Gespard’s eyes widened.

Not because of the [Doctor] who emerged from the door, but because of the man shackled to the chair she was pushing. He had silver hair, and he looked absolutely terrible. His skin had an unnatural greenish tint to it, and red dots were spreading along it at an increasing rate. His eyes looked haggard, and his breath came with wet rasps.

Something pricked at Gespard’s mind. Hadn’t that man just gone in there? He didn’t look half as bad just a moment ago.

Then the [Doctor] was yelling again. “This patient’s had a rapid flare-up of symptoms! I’ll have to try an experimental treatment! Where are my guards?”

Everything burst into motion. The chair arrived at the center of the room with the squeak of wheels, and then the few guards monitoring the place arrived, pointing shaking spears at the man sitting there. A few of the attending [Doctors] made to approach, but the dark-haired woman waved them off, and her intense glare stopped them in their places.

“No—not you lot, guards are what I need! I’m going to attempt a cure! But—” the woman hesitated for a moment, looking down at the man in the seat, and then she spoke to him gently. “Are you ready? I warn you, this may be very painful.”

The silver-haired man struggled to lift his head up, but a subtle fire burned in his eyes. He spoke in a whisper, but somehow everyone in the hall heard it. “—whatever it takes.”

The [Doctor] nodded, then reached into her breast pocket, taking out a pill. She held it up in the air like a divine artifact, and all eyes in the room went to it, Gespard’s included. It was stark black. Ominous. Large. But could it really be a… cure?

But the [Doctors] were saying there is no cure? Were they wrong?

To confirm his suspicions, he glanced at the other [Doctors] in the room—and he saw their confusion even through thick masks and protective gear. They stood silent, glancing at the pill, at each other, and shrugging shoulders. Gespard’s heart thumped. They don’t know what it is. Can it really work?

The [Doctor] handed the pill to the diseased man and took a step back. The man winced, apparently struck by a truly noxious scent. Even as far gone to the illness as he was, he still looked at the pill with disgust. How terrible is it?

But regardless, the man ate it.

And then began convulsing.

“Fight! You have to fight! Stay conscious and fight!” The [Doctor] shouted, voice high with hope.

The guards tensed, fixing their spears right at the convulsing man, afraid he was monsterifying right on the spot. The other [Doctors] in the room stared, unnerved. Only the dark-haired one remained calm, not stepping one bit back from the man.

And then the symptoms started receding.

A gasp went through the watching crowd, and the watching [Doctors] froze in their places. Gespard let hope once more grasp his heart. Because the man seemed to be getting better.

Slowly at first, the red dots on his skin fell back further and further, and every second seemed to fill him with newfound vigor. The convulsing calmed, and the green tint to his skin started to fade, more and more, until he looked as if the illness had never had him.

Gespard realized that he had barely blinked for the 5-or-so minutes the process had taken. He closed his eyes, then reopened them to confirm he wasn’t seeing things. But it was true—the man seemed to be cured. Sure, he looked rather drained and tired, but that was a small price for salvation.

But then the other [Doctors] crowded in, voices loud in disbelief.

“—this can’t be—”

“—how could a mere—”

“—what is that—”

The dark-haired woman fought the crowd off, pointing them at the man who was still shackled to the chair. The gaggle of [Doctors] quieted, and finally, the gloomy woman spoke. “If you don’t believe me, test him yourself! He doesn’t have the plague anymore—it’s true!”

Hesitantly, the crowd of white-clad people turned and approached the patient. Evidently, they didn’t like getting too close to him, even with the heavy protective gear they were wearing. Gespard saw eyes close in concentration and hands pointing at the patient as skills were activated.

Then came the disbelief, and they crowded right back to the gloomy woman.

“It’s true! He doesn’t carry the disease!”

“What did you give him? What was your method?”

“What was your name again? I don’t believe we were properly introduced…”

The dark-haired woman just smiled ominously and stepped back from them all. “Sorry, afraid it’s too experimental to be made public quite yet. A private method. However…” She turned to the patients, who were all watching, eyes agog. She raised another dark pill into the air. “Who wants to go next?”

Everyone began shouting and raising their free hands, but Gespard did not shout. He only stared, eyes shining with hope. Maybe believing in salvation wouldn’t be so bad this time?

And as the [Doctor] looked around the room, she saw his eyes. And smiled. With a wave of her hands, the shouting quieted, and then she was walking forward. “You. You’ll be the first.”

Gespard looked first to the right, and then to the left, and then remembered that nobody was placed in the beds besides his. The hope he felt overflowed—because the woman was walking toward him.

—

Olivia’s heart thumped nervously as she handed the man one of her pills, but she didn’t let the emotion show on her face. She had to seem confident, mysterious—ominous. She never could do learned and practiced well—it just didn’t fit her bearing. But she could seem dangerous. That was key.

She lowered the tone of her voice, then spoke. “Now, be ready. This may be extremely painful. If you want to survive, you will have to fight. And the pill just might be able to save you. Very experimental, understand?”

The man nodded, and his eyes still shone with that same conviction. That had been the reason she had chosen him. “I will. Whatever it takes, if it can cure this…”

He ate the pill, then grimaced in pain. He didn’t convulse. Olivia held her breath, frantically keeping her [Comprehensive Diagnosis] trained on him. She could feel the burning gazes of the other [Doctors] on her back, but she tried her best to ignore them.

This was the key moment. The moment that would either crash everything or make thing worthwhile.

She waited, long long minutes, as the man sat there with his eyes shut, shaking just a bit from the pain… and nothing seemed to happen. Every second that passed was like a dagger thrust into her core, but she stayed standing despite them all. She had to.

And then—just a bit—the man’s blisters receded.

Just two of them, on his right arm.

And Olivia breathed out, feeling a tide of relief wash over her. She confirmed it with her diagnosis skill, and then let the relief roar through her soul. It’s working.

Slowly, so so slowly, his illness was being fought back. Olivia smiled, then turned around. “This patient has started his recovery, please keep a watch on him.” She said, loud and confident.

Then she started walking away, back to that backroom. Away from the bustle of pleading voices and curious demands. Past Martin, still shackled to his chair. The hunter gave her a thoughtful look, and Olivia answered with a meaningful one. Do not speak of this.

She was glad to have enforced it with a skill, even if it wasn’t ironclad. It was something. She smiled, promised to be back in just a moment to the others, said a few words about how she should not be disturbed, and then stepped through the door, closing it behind her.

Olivia collapsed onto the ground right there, hyperventilating. She let her calm fade, and almost started laughing madly at the spot. I can’t believe that really worked. A magical illness cured, all with that one skill…

It had taken her a lot of setup and preparation, a lot of practice and leveling, but yet again, her new skill had proved its worth. The skill that almost taunted her, mocking her lack of true medical skill, because it relied on the strongest medicine of all. Because her pills—

They didn’t truly contain anything of note. Just herbs to make them really nasty and painful. It was all just…

[Placebo].

She laughed, just a bit, and then a tear slid from her eye, uninvited. She loved that she had managed it, but she hated the skill all the same. For what it represented. For why it came.

Oh yes, [Gutter Doctor] was a class quite different from the others. There was a very good reason she had yet to gain a capstone skill despite her levels. She dreaded it so.

But that was what her class was all about. It lay in the past. A past that haunted her to this day. Two faces, burned into her memory. The only [Doctor] class she had been able to take, despite what she had first sworn to do.

It wasn’t a coincidence that the skill domain she had gained with her class was titled Hypocritical Oath.