Just like the first clinic, the second one had a thin strip of fabric substituting for a missing door.

Bertrand figured that having two houses have broken doors in a row was unlikely, so it was more probable that in their efforts to rebuild the wall a few soldiers had scavenged the doors to use them as basic materials with which any breaches could be repaired and watchtowers created.

It wasn’t like in their efforts to preserve their lives anyone put much thought to preserving the town.

So just like he did before, he brushed aside the thin veil of fabric and made his way inside.

As with the previous clinck there was no one inside to greet him at the entrance, he could only hope that this clinic contained something beyond dozens of beds and a few cots.

Bertrand still didn’t know if he was being rude as he started to walk around the inside of the house and honestly he kind of didn't care anymore, he had to voice his concern and then quickly get back to the wall.

He didn’t really have the time for pleasantries, well he did but every minute he spent idly was a minute his fellow skirmisher was suffering.

Thankfully there was no need for him to exit the clinic and hope that the third time was the charm as while walking down the main hallway he spotted an occupied bed inside one of the rooms.

A bloodied and gruesomely wounded man lay there on top of the sheets.

Everything below his kneecaps was gone for both of his legs and he had a giant stitched up gash across his forehead, how did he even get such brutal injuries?

Bertrand took a few seconds to think about it but couldn’t come up with anything other than a possible explosion that robbed him of the lower half of his legs.

It was truly a disturbing sight. He was practically a part of the bed, with dried pools of blood connecting him to it and acting as a sort of glue.

Bertrand actually thought he was dead until he noticed the weak rise and fall of their chest.

Not wanting to disturb the clearly grievously wounded man, he carefully poked his head into the room just to double check and make sure there were no doctors or medics in there and after noting that the crippled man was all alone in there, he slowly backed away from the room and went back to walking down the hallway.

Soon enough he found another few injured soldiers resting in some beds, none of them were as gravely wounded as the one he had seen earlier though.

He passed by them all though, the questions he had weren’t something he could ask patients, even if they had learnt a bit about medicine by being around the doctors, he actually needed an expert's opinion.

Though the real reason was that he just didn't cope well with being around sick or injured people.

Walking out of the hallway and into the dining room turned operating room, he saw a sight that turned his stomach.

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Compared to this man, the soldier who was crippled seemed to have gotten off easy.

They were laid out on the oak table while a total of two doctors and three medics worked on them, slicing up their skin so that they could rearrange their bones.

They seemed to also be doing something with the tendons and muscles as well, Bertrand looked away from the table before he could figure out what exactly it was they were doing with the meat.

Seer it was disgusting. They seemed more like butcher's than surgeons.

“Hmm. Can we help you?” One of the medics who seemed to be acting as a general assistant to the surgery asked.

“Just came over because I was concerned about my friend, didn’t mean to bother you.” Bertrand replied, somehow managing not to stutter despite how uncomfortable and heavy his tongue felt.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, their already dead.” The medic said cheerfully.

Bertrand mentally prepared himself for what he was about to see, then he took a quick look back at the table.

The medic who was talking to him seemed genuinely confused about his reaction while his colleagues continued to peel away at the man's skin and tinker with his organs, not even sparing him a glance.

Then realising he had been staring at them for a few seconds now while the medic patiently waited for him to continue speaking he hurriedly said.“Thanks? I just wanted to ask about my uh, friend and see if you could do a checkup for them, they seem to have gotten hit pretty hard in the head.”

“Hmm and what's your friend's name? Also, what caused you to become concerned?” The medic questioned him politely.

“My friend's name is Olivier and he seems to be acting completely different. Although I don’t know him terribly well, his personality seems to have changed recently and he told me that he bumped his head quite hard. So I’m just worried he might have some internal injuries.”

It wasn’t exactly wholly truthful as Olivier had never said that he had hurt his head, just that he had been rendered unto the Seer’s hands or something like that.

But all things considered, what else could it have been that caused such a dramatic shift in their personality if not a head injury? And even if he was wrong at least he was trying to do the right thing.

The medic seemed to hesitate for a bit, welcoming smile frozen on their face before they regained their joyful spirt and said.”Don’t worry about your friend Olivier, although I haven’t met him I have met some other people with conditions similar to his. We ran some testing and examinations and I can assure you that people with his condition are perfectly fine.”

“Oh, what caused all this then?” Bertrand asked, puzzled.

“We know that it is not magical in nature thankfully, which is good because mental magic is incredibly difficult to deal with. That just leaves head injuries and poison as well as a few other things, but considering the number of people who display the same symptoms it can’t be head injuries. So we’ve narrowed it down to some sort of poison or venom that they have been infected with, likely a failed new type of weapon by the zombies.” The medic explained calmly. Staring rather intently at Bertrand to make sure he understood what he was being told.

It was a bit demeaning but it was done out of kindness so there was little Bertrand could fault them with.

He was still confused about their apparent nonchalance about having a large number of soldiers poisoned. “Isn’t this even more of an issue then?”

“Not really, like I said before it's a failed poison. The only effects it causes are mild confusion and fanaticism, for officers, runners, Francia, or the Seer of course. Which does make things a little weird but it’s ultimately harmless.” The medic explained further and despite the dismissive words they said, their tone was still polite and happy.

Perhaps they didn’t even notice how dismissive they sounded.

“So what’s been done to solve this? Is there any way I can help?” Bertrand asked hoping to make this trip worthwhile.

His concerns were invalid after all but maybe he could still have gained something on this trip, like how he should go about interacting with Oviler if he met up with them again.

“For now, people affected by the poison have been temporarily relieved of duty, their now supporters rather than combatants. So cleaning up, repair work and any other sort of supportive task is what they are doing. There’s not really a lot you can do to help them, just try to be understanding if they act weird and wait, they should be back to normal in four to five days at most” The medic said. Still smiling and seeming to be happy to help.

With a nudge from one of the doctors though, he turned away, fumbling on one of the chairs for a bone saw to hand over to the doctor.

Then after giving them the tool he turned back to Bertrand and politely said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”