CHAPTER 96: BLESSING OF THE HUMAN HEALER

[Leif’s POV—Dwarven Village—Later]

As we entered the dwarves’ village, our footsteps echoed along the tunnel walls, swallowed by the cold stone. The farther we walked, the colder the air became—like the mountain itself was holding its breath. Lanterns dangled from black iron hooks, swaying in a faint, unsettling breeze. Their light stretched shadows long and thin... shadows that twitched like frightened hands.

Alvar stayed close at my side, his arm brushing my back—steady, protective. Zephyy, now in his smaller cat-like form, padded behind us... a tiny creature of scales and wings who made the ground tremble with every step.

Then the scent of iron hit.

Then the whispers.

Then the coughing.

We emerged into the village square—a cluster of stone homes carved into the mountain’s ribs—just as Grendur turned to us, grim. "Please... follow me."

We stepped inside one of the homes.

And froze.

A dwarf lay on a bed of pelts—his face flushed and swollen, skin covered in angry red welts. Some blistered. Some crusted. Others were ripped open from desperate scratching.

Ragged breaths rattled through the room. Other beds—dozens—held dwarves in the same condition. Fear clung to every exhale.

Thalion’s voice was barely a breath. "This... this is no ordinary illness. It feels like a curse."

Eryndor’s jaw tightened. "If this spreads further, the entire mountain will fall silent."

Grendur bowed his head, beard shaking. "Our people are strong. Proud. But this... this plague cuts them down like children." His voice cracked. "They tried every herb. Every healer. Every prayer to the stones. Nothing works."

"And the Heart of the Tree?" Thalion asked.

Grendur looked up—eyes burning with shame and hope tangled together. "Yes," he rasped. "We believed the Tree’s life force would heal them. We had no choice. If we had waited longer..." His voice broke. "Our young will be buried before winter ends."

Silence fell.

Alvar stepped forward, gentle but firm. "Tell us everything. How did it start?"

Grendur’s shoulders slumped as if he had carried this weight far too long.

"It began with hunters who ventured deep into the forest. They returned fevered. Their bodies soon erupted in these sores." He gestured helplessly. "The itching drives even our bravest mad. The fever blinds, and the body weakens. Magic cannot touch it. And now..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It spreads... from one bed to another."

I stared at the red bumps. The blisters. The fever. My brain screamed a word I never expected to think in a fantasy world.

"...Wait." I blinked. "High fever. Fluid-filled sores. Intense itching. Spreads through close contact..." My voice rose an octave in disbelief.

"Is this... is this CHICKENPOX?!"

Zephyy paused mid-step. Alvar blinked slowly. "...Chicken? Pox?"

Grendur looked horrified. "You... know this beast?!"

Thalion blinked, eyes going wide. "Chickens did this?! TREACHEROUS BIRDS—"

"No!" I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "No chickens. It’s a disease. A virus. It spreads through air and touch. Kids usually get it... and once they do, they’re immune forever."

Eryndor stepped closer, concern creasing his brow. "Leif... please explain clearly. If you know the nature of this curse and how to cure it, we must act fast."

"It’s not a curse," I said, trying to stay calm. "And definitely not a beast."

I gestured at the suffering dwarves. "It’s just... a very stubborn sickness. But we can manage it with the right care."

The dwarves eyed me as if I’d claimed I could defeat a dragon with a toothpick.

"We can treat the symptoms," I continued slowly, "with a few important precautions."

Hope flickered—small, fragile, but alive. Eryndor asked, voice low and steady, "How do we heal them?"

"We isolate the sick. No crowds. No touching their blisters. Cool cloths on fevers. Clean clothing and bedding every day. Keep them drinking water. And for the itching... something soothing. Mint. Aloe. Anything cooling."

The dwarves exchanged bewildered glances.

"That... that is all?" Grendur asked, as if waiting for me to mention dragon blood or lightning rituals.

"That’s all," I said. "Trust me."

Grendur hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding sharply. "Then we will do exactly as you say. We have tried everything and there’s no harm in trying this one too."

I nodded. Eryndor stepped forward, voice soft but proud, "The elves will help. Every day. Until your people stand strong again."

Grendur’s eyes shone with gratitude. "Thank you. Truly."

A weight lifted from my chest. Success. We had a plan. We had hope. So, naturally... I opened my big mouth.

"Great! And since we know how to fix this—maybe you could return the Heart of—"

"NO." The word cracked through the air like a hammer against stone.

I blinked. "Uh... what? But I literally just gave you the cure—"

Grendur cut me off again, voice firm and iron-bound. "Our people are still suffering. Many are close to death. We will not give up the Heart until we are certain they will survive. When they recover... I swear, the Heart will be returned."

Silence crashed between us.

He wasn’t wrong.

"Alright," I murmured at last. "But if the Tree weakens too much... none of us will survive. Not elves. Not dwarves."

His gaze softened, heavy with determination. "Then let us pray your cure works swiftly."

I exhaled, shoulders dropping. "It will. It has to."

From that day forward, elves and dwarves worked side by side—changing linens, cooling fevers, and fighting off scratch-happy patients who insisted, "I’m fine, let me go back to mining!"

But me

?Oh no.

The dwarves didn’t just ask me to stay. They stationed warriors around the exits—arms crossed, glaring like granite statues ready to pounce.

Their eyes screamed:

’IF YOU DARE TO LEAVE... WE WILL CARVE YOU INTO A DECORATIVE GARDEN GNOME.THE CURE WAS YOUR IDEA—SO IF IT FAILS... YOU FAIL.’

So yes. I was now quarantined.Again. Just in a different life.

Thank the universe I had previous experience being a socially distanced human bean.

Zephyy found this hilarious.

"I never knew even dwarfs got murderous tempers, Master," he purred smugly around a stolen muffin.

I glared. He licked frosting off his claws, utterly unbothered.

Meanwhile...

Every morning, Eryndor would come and inform me of everything about the tree of life. He checked the Tree of Life—its glow through the distant roots was no longer vibrant gold but fading into a worrying, sickly gray.

"Not good," he muttered each time.

And every morning, my stomach dropped faster than a cracked elevator. If the dwarves didn’t recover soon, we wouldn’t need threats—they’d be too busy dying with the rest of the world.

But we kept working.

Kept hoping.

Kept trying not to panic.

... And kept pretending that the root vegetables the dwarves fed us tasted like real food and not slightly damp gravel.

Still—some healing signs finally appeared.

A dwarven child, cheeks no longer burning hot, waved weakly at me from his bed—little blisters already scabbing over. His mother sobbed, clinging to his tiny hand.

That one moment almost made being a prisoner-guest-doctor-walking miracle dispenser worth it.

Almost.

And then—because fate loves chaos—Gredure stomped in like a mountain on legs, holding what looked like a giant rock shaped like a heart.

Oh no, not an anatomical heart—thank the gods. No, it was shaped like those tiny finger hearts BTS fans throw at their idols during concerts.

I blinked. "...So... this tiny cute pendant is the Heart? Of literal world-saving value?"

Thalion nearly tackled it from Grendur’s hands. "Yes! Finally! We can save the Tree!"

The elder, Gredure, puffed up like a toad ready for a royal declaration. "We... give this heart back, Leif. And—"

THUD!

All of them dropped to their knees. Like synchronized bowling pins. My brain froze. "Wh—what? Why are you all kneeling?!"

Déjà vu slammed into me like a bus—A holy prophecy? A mistaken chosen one? Part 3 already??

I clutched Alvar’s sleeve. "No. No. Not again."

But Grendur’s eyes shone with embarrassing devotion. "We believed death would claim us... but you, our Saint, brought miracles we could not."

...Saint?!I’m just a nerd who survived 2020’s lockdown and remembers basic hygiene!

Yet Grendur placed the Heart in my hands like he was crowning a king.

"We dwarves vow to follow you. To be your shields in every battle. To forge your legends in stone. Please—" he lowered his head deeper "—let us live in your shadow, Saint Leif."

There was a collective gasp, followed by a chorus of, "Our Saint! Our Savior!"

Silence.

Heavy. Sincerely. Terrifying. My eye twitched. I stood there trembling—equal parts disbelief, horror, and secondhand embarrassment.

I knew it.I absolutely knew it!

Fate couldn’t just let me heal one sick child and leave, could it? No. Of course not. It had to add a new menu item to my life.

Today’s Special: "Saint Leif and His Army of Emotionally Overinvested Dwarves."Side dish: Chaos. Lots of it.

Fate, the cosmic troll that it is, had served me another unwanted Life Achievement Badge:

# Accidentally gained an entire dwarf army. Again.