Kenji and Francesca, united by their growing concern about the healing potions, devoted themselves to meticulous research. Francesca, with her experience as a healer, observed the soldiers who received the potions and recorded every detail of their effects on their bodies. Kenji, on the other hand, took a more direct and investigative approach. He requested permission to perform autopsies on the dead soldiers, looking for signs of tumors or other changes caused by the potions.

  At first, the findings seemed reassuring: so far, Kenji had found no malignant tumors in his scans, only the benign nodules he had expected. However, this was not enough to reassure him. The science of his world had taught him that a seemingly harmless problem could develop into something more serious over time. Francesca, with her deep respect for Kenji, shared his concerns, even if her magical instinct and traditional experience made her hesitant to believe that the potions, considered miraculous, could cause harm.

  One of the biggest obstacles they faced was the lack of access to the alchemists responsible for producing the potions. These masters remained secluded, isolated in their towers and laboratories, far from the chaos of the battlefield. They entrusted the transportation of the potions to soldiers, who delivered the batches to the army, but there was no direct line of communication.

  Kenji, accustomed to working with hard data and engaging with other healthcare professionals in his home world, found this lack of transparency unbearable.

  “How can we understand what’s causing these nodules if we don’t even know the ingredients used in the potions?” he said, rubbing his temples in frustration.

  Francesca, who was watching him as he arranged medicinal herbs in his tent, sighed.

  — Alchemists are like mysterious recluses, Kenji. They trust no one, not even the army that protects the borders. Only those who are of their order can have access to their formulas and methods.

  Kenji narrowed his eyes.

  —Then we need to find a way to get closer. If I could talk to even one of them, I'm sure we could figure something out.

  Francesca, while sharing Kenji’s desire to understand what was happening, felt torn. The potions were essential to the battlefield; without them, the death toll would be incalculable. And so far, none of the benign nodules appeared to pose an immediate health risk to the soldiers. But at the same time, she knew that ignoring something potentially dangerous could be disastrous in the future.

  One night, as Kenji reviewed his notes by the flickering light of a lamp, Francesca sat beside him.

  — Kenji, I believe you. I know what we’re doing is important. But what if we’re wrong? What if these lumps are just a harmless side effect? Are we worrying for nothing?

  Kenji placed the pen on the makeshift table and looked directly at her.

  — Francesca, I hope you’re right. Nothing would make me feel more relieved than to find out that these potions are safe and that there’s nothing to worry about. But as a doctor, it’s my job to question, investigate, and make sure we’re doing the best we can to save lives. I can’t just accept something without fully understanding the risks.

  Francesca nodded, admiring Kenji's determination.

  — You're right. We can't ignore this, even if it means upsetting some powerful people.

  Despite the limitations, the two decided to continue their investigations with the resources available. Francesca increased her observation of the patients and began keeping detailed records, something she had learned from Kenji. She catalogued the location of the wounds, the amount of potion used, and any notable changes in the soldiers' bodies.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Kenji, in turn, began testing small samples of potions on smaller cuts he made on himself, trying to observe patterns or repetitive reactions. He also began writing down hypotheses about how the magical ingredients in the potions might interfere with the natural healing process.

  Although it was still too early to draw conclusions, the two knew they were dealing with something bigger than they had imagined. They just hoped their search for answers wouldn't attract the wrong attention, especially from the alchemists, who certainly wouldn't want their methods questioned.

  Francesca watched Kenji one night as he worked tirelessly.

  — Kenji, do you think we'll find an answer to this?

  He stopped writing and stared at her, his expression determined.

  — Come on, Francesca. It doesn't matter how long it takes. The truth always finds a way to come out.

  And so, even in the face of uncertainty and obstacles, they continued their journey for the truth, knowing that their discoveries could change everything the world knew about healing and magic.

  Fabrizio Baldo

  In the silent night, where only the sound of the sentries' hurried footsteps cut through the air, an uproar took over the Custodi della Luna army camp . Soldiers were dragging, amidst shouts and resistance, a man in army clothes, but whose expression of despair did not hide his guilt. He had been caught red-handed, trying to send coded messages to the enemy.

  General Fabrizio Baldo , in his tent crammed with maps and strategies, was interrupted by a soldier who rushed in.

  — General, we have captured a spy! He was sending messages to the enemy army.

  Fabrizio looked up, his face stern and penetrating, and adjusted the cloak that hung from his shoulders.

  — Bring him here. Now.

  The spy was thrown to the floor of the tent, his clothes torn and his face stained with dust and sweat. Fabrizio looked down at him, his gaze sharp as a blade. For a moment, the silence hung tensely as the general studied the traitor before him.

  — Name. — Fabrizio’s voice sounded like muffled thunder.

  The spy kept his gaze on the ground, as if he had lost the will to fight.

  — Marco… Marco Ferranti, sir… — he replied with a trembling voice.

  Fabrizio crossed his arms, approaching slowly.

  “Do you know what happens to traitors, Marco?” he asked, his voice cold.

  The man tried to defend himself, muttering something inaudible, but Fabrizio interrupted him with a harsh tone.

  — I don't want apologies. I want answers. How many messages did you send? And what exactly did you tell the enemy?

  Marco remained silent, but Fabrizio was not a man to be intimidated by silence. He picked up a parchment that had been found with the spy and threw it on the table.

  — This is the last one you tried to send, isn't it? Reporting the weak points of our defenses and the positions of the healers. It was because of you that they were attacked! — Anger rose in Fabrizio's voice, and he slammed his fist on the table, sending the papers flying.

  Marco tried to mumble something, but Fabrizio didn't give him a chance. He quickly approached, grabbing him by the collar.

  — Because of you, innocent lives were lost! You knew that the healers were our most vulnerable point and exposed them to a cowardly attack!

  The general, overcome with fury, threw a violent punch at Marco's stomach, who groaned in pain, falling to his knees.

  “Take him to the cells,” Fabrizio ordered the waiting soldiers. “He will be interrogated again. And spare no effort in extracting every secret he still holds.”

  After the traitor had been dragged out of the tent, Fabrizio was left alone, staring at the parchment that proved the betrayal. His mind was racing. Although he had managed to capture the spy, the pain of the losses he had caused still burned like an open wound. He knew he could not let his guard down; if one spy had infiltrated the place, there could be others.

  Walking to his desk, he picked up a glass of wine and took a sip, trying to contain his anger. In his mind, the image of the dead and wounded healers gave him no rest. He was the general; the lives of his men were in his hands. And failure was not an option.

  Fabrizio sighed and turned his attention back to the maps and strategies.

  — If the enemy thinks they can defeat us with treachery, they are mistaken. This time, I will make them retreat once and for all.

  Determining the next steps, Fabrizio called his captains to a meeting. He knew that, in addition to planning the next offensive, he needed to reinforce the internal defenses. Any breach could be fatal, and he would not allow another tragedy to occur.

  Meanwhile, Marco Ferranti was locked in the darkness of his cell, awaiting his fate—a fate that would certainly not be merciful.