“Wait, King Corco. We will not get involved, will we?” Before Corco could get anywhere close the doctor, Wacoca held him back by the shoulder.

“This is our chance to win over a genuine Chutwa doctor! You think I'll just let fate pass me by?”

“What do you mean by 'our chance'? I am in no way involved in this plan. In addition, how is this man suddenly of value? Did he not steal your coin and call you a filthy barbarian?”

“Yeah, he's an asshole, but that doesn't mean he deserves to die,” Corco argued with his hands as much as he did with his words. Since the two disguised nobles had gotten louder and louder, they had attracted the attention of the young sword saint.

“Who dares speak to ruin this young master's moment of retribution?” the young master said as he swayed his sword around like a conductor's baton.

While Wacoca froze in the face of the sect members, Corco lowered his head and shoulders to slouch over. Although this one required a lower stance than he was used to, he didn't really mind. After all, the years in exile had made him very used to deception, even in the face of overwhelming, hostile force.

“Great sword saint, please forgive this humble servant,” Corco groveled, and made his voice quiver. Even as he heard the young master's steps come closer, he didn't lift his head. “This lowly servant is the student of the Great Doctor Itzali. Please, master did not mean his words, they were a mere misunderstanding! How could a great hero be insulted with such a diagnosis!? Master was mistaken!”

When the steps stopped, Croco could already see the young master's boots in his view, a mere step away from his neck. He was sure the young master's sword already hovered over his head, ready to strike down the useless servant. Even when he was about to kill another man, the young master's voice remained ice cold.

“Please do explain what it was this hero misunderstood. How can such a great physician be mistaken in his diagnosis?”

“Ever since the death of his lover, master has turned into a heavy drinker. Every evening he drinks, and every evening, master no longer knows what he speaks of. This mere commoner implores the great sword saint to overlook this commoner's weakness in the face of tragedy! Please allow this commoner to bring his master away from here and allow him a death deserving of Physician Itzali's illustrious name.”

“Get away from me, filth,” the young hero shouted, and kicked Corco to the ground. As soon as he felt the tension in the young master's leg increase, his fingers eased around the wood of the pistol hidden within his long sleeves. At least that, the Chutwa sleeves were good for.

“Thank you for your leniency, young master,” Corco still trembled, as he mused if the young master knew how close he had come to his death.

“Hmph. Get that drunk out of my sight!” the young master scoffed, as the king picked up the injured doctor and made his way through the streets. At last, the young king's hand left the wheel lock pistol. For now, the young master had been lucky.

Several minutes later, Corco found himself and his doctor back in his hotel room. Although he could have stayed as a guest of his sister's, Corco had decided to blend into the city for several reasons. Prime among them was that he didn't want to leave any traces of the agreement he had planned with Huemac. As such, the great King of the South had been forced to take up residence in this shabby little hotel. Normally, the room would not allow any additional guests, much less guests who bled all over the floor, but for now the merchant king had used another his coin purses to great effect. For the low-low price of several silvers, the owners had even thrown in a few extra buckets and firewood to heat up some water. He had to clean out the wound, and fast. Otherwise, he would have risked his life for nothing.

Until the water came to a boil, Corco was busy setting up the rest of his tool. Again he was thankful for the long sleeves of the Chutwa dress code. How else could he transport all this crap? Beyond the needle and thread, he even had a flat little bottle of rubbing alcohol with him. With proper equipment, first aid would be easy enough, even for someone with as little experience as him. Now if only his patient played along as well, everything would be perfect.

“Before you are under any illusions, foreign barbarian: This master will inform you right away that, even if you have helped him in his need, this master will not accept you as his student!”

“Keep the pressure on the wound, you moron!” Corco shouted, and slapped the doctor's hand back on the bloodied cloth atop the gaping wound on the great master's chest. Since they had to stem the blood flow, Corco used some extra pressure. The fact that his actions also stemmed the doctor's insufferable whining was a nice added bonus. “You wanna bleed out?”

“What does a barbarian know about medicine?” the doctor hissed between his teeth. “Pick up this doctor's bag! Inside, there should be some Moonwarts! You need to make a paste and put it on the wound! Otherwise, bad Qi will enter and let the blood fester.”

Somehow, neither the near-mortal wound nor the pain were enough to shut up the doctor. Annoyed, Corco narrowed his eyes.

“Listen up, buddy: I've stuck my neck out for you back there. I didn't have to step in front of that xianxia young master, but I did anyways. Why? Because I wanted to help you. No, that's bullshit. Honestly, I'd get some decent satisfaction out of seeing you die from your own arrogance. How's that for karmic justice?”

As he talked himself into a rage, Corco went over to the doctor's bloodied bag and searched through the contents. Only at this point did he realize that he could identify none of the strange jars or leaves and twigs. At some point halfway through the contents, the doctor shouted “this is it!”

Confused, the king held up the little jar of leaves. “And what's this supposed to do.”

“Properly prepared, it will reduce and prevent swelling around the wound. Quick, there is no time to lose!”

In response to the doctor's words, Corco's eyes brightened. Maybe this great physician was more useful than he had first thought. With renewed vigor, the king returned to his patient and continued his procedure.

“Actually,” he said, “I don't really want to help you. I want help from you. You see, back home, we lack good doctors. Even worse, we have no one who can teach medicine, so the number of doctors will never increase, no matter what we do. This insufficiency has cost my uncle his life. That's why I'm here: To recruit a good doctor and make sure something like that never happens again. While you didn't seem that impressive, playing around with some weeds to cure a friggin knife wound, at least you seem to know about antipyretics. That's good. It means you're still useful, despite everything. So how about you consider me saving your life a personal debt and let me do my job in peace?”

For a while there was silence, as Corco cleaned out the wound with the alcohol and the hot towels.

“If I survive this torture, you can do with me as you wish.” The doctor's pale face was underlined by his sad smile.

“You think you won't make it,” Corco guessed.

“Life and death is never in our own hands. There is always someone bigger, someone to decide our fate. When the end comes, what can we do but submit?”

“That's true, huh?” Corco grinned. Hadn't his entire goal since the start been to defeat fate itself? “Let's see if we can't shake that little adage up a bit. This might sting a little.”

Although the doctor still showed a critical look at Corco's actions, he no longer complained. Prick by prick, the needle and thread entered the doctor's flesh and bound it back together. Although the process was slow and would leave a horrible scar, Corco thought it could be a nice reminder for the doctor to heed his own arrogance.

“You say you are a merchant? Are you not a tailor instead?”

“Sure, why not?” Corco replied with a grin. “I've had a bunch of jobs in the past. Why not be a tailor too?” Just as the atmosphere in the room threatened to lighten up, the door was shoved open. When Corco realized who had entered, his hands left the pistol in his sleeve again.

“What in the heavens have you done?” Wacoca shouted as he stormed across the room, towards Corco.

“Done what? I'm working here! We need to save the doctor's life.” Corco returned to his work.

“You have offended a saint of the local sect! What could be more important than that!?” the prince shouted again. This was getting annoying.

“So what? If he comes back, we're just gonna faceslap some young master and then hide in my sister's manor. What's the big deal?”

“Do you understand anything about Chutwa? I told you that the sects are in cahoots with the lords, or worse, more powerful than them!”

“Aren't they just some bandits?” Corco's derisive tone brought even his patient back into the conversation.

“How could the great sectists ever be considered bandits?” Doctor Itzali said. “The flowing water sect has hundreds of inner sect members who have been taught in their ancient secrets of cultivation. Together with the members of the outer sect, the grunt workers, their strength goes beyond even Lord Huemac's forces.”

“...okay, I might have underestimated that sect, but we got away clean, right? The young master had this 'I won't bother with this filth' face on, didn't he?”

“See, this is why I have come this late,” Wacoca said, still out of breath from panic. “After you left, I stayed behind to take the doctor's stall and make sure the sectist did not plan anything further. And indeed, the great sword saint tasked his own men to guarantee the impudent doctor who insulted his honor does not survive his wounds.”

At once, Corco's brain went into overdrive. This situation still seemed workable, but they needed a proper plan this time. No more improvisation.

“...where are they now?”

“The members of the flowing water sect are waiting outside our inn. In fact, they have acquired some chairs since you started your work. They will not go anywhere until they see a corpse.”

“How many?”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Nothing, just wanna know their numbers.” Corco smiled an innocent smile.

“They are two,” the apprehensive Wacoca answered. In response, the king's smile turned into a grin.

“Nice.”

“We really should have brought our guards. How could I have ever been so foolish to go along with this ludicrous disguise plan?”

“Well, okay, things aren't looking good. But this is exactly the sort of reason we didn't bring guards. After all, even when we have offended that water sect: How will they trace two northern merchants who don't even exist?”

“Wait, what do you mean, you do not exist?” the doctor asked, his face even more pale.

“Shush, patients don't get a vote.”

“I understand.” Wacoca nodded, now a bit calmer. “Even so, we need some security. At this point, any travel outside these walls will be dangerous.”

“Yeah, we'll have to stay low-key until Yasimi has arranged the meeting with the local lord. Until then, I guess we're stuck together with our new employee.” At last he finished the last stitch and began to bind off the thread. When his work was done at last, he looked back over to the patient Wacoca. “You think you can make your way out and back to the harbor without being seen?”

“Do you intend to leave yourself behind?” the young prince asked.

“What? No! That's ridiculous. I'm gonna write you a little letter. I'd appreciate it if you brought this to my servant warriors. It seems like we need to get some pieces moving,” Corco smirked. With the time gained during the operation, he had been able to make up a rudimentary plan. If everything went well, they could turn this single chance into a massive windfall. He really loved killing birds with stones.