What happens if Napoleon Bonaparte is resurrected in a fantasy world to save a whole continent from a Demon Lord?
A moment after his death, the former ruler of Europe receives a visit from the mysterious Faucheur, who proposes him to reborn in anoth...
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Sylvie knew she was special.
She had come into the world with an affinity for magic unequaled in written history, and even before taking her vows, many people already worshipped her as a saint.
Certainly she had a pure and merciful soul like few other people, but caring for orphanages or assisting the sick in sanatoriums were not activities worthy of a Bishop, whose only duty was to live side by side with the noble to whom a Bishop was destined by Conclave, offering advice and assisting him in managing power.
However, Sylvie was too smart not to realize that her appointment had only been the result of the pressure that His Holiness had suffered from the more traditionalist members of the Conclave, who resented the idea of seeing a commoner of humble origins vying for the throne of Gaia.
But she didn't mind the Cardinals' power plays, and all she wanted was to use her talents to help others. It was not for nothing that she specialized in healing spells, which she practiced at a level unattainable even for the most experienced healers.
The plague that had hit Basterwick and was claiming so many lives was one of the worst ever seen, and her arrival had been seen as a blessing by the exhausted people of the city.
Luckily the disease didn't spread through the air, and unless you touched something infected it was difficult to get sick, so for the moment the confinement of the sick inside the city's large sanatorium was helping to control the spread of the contagion.
At the same time, however, it was not the kind of disease that could be eradicated with healing spells, and all Sylvie and her apprentice could do was ease the suffering of the sick in the hope that this would enable them to live long enough to give their bodies time to heal of their own accord, which sadly did not always happen.
Every day at the usual time the mayor and the commander of the garrison visited the sanatorium to ascertain the state of things, obviously through the upper galleries of the building.
"The stench in this place is getting more and more unbearable." Van Lobre protested, passing his perfumed handkerchief through his moustache. "Lady Valera, you shouldn't be so close to the sick. Even if you continuously wash your hands and burn your protective tunics, it's still possible for you to get sick."
"I've had this disease before." she answered without even looking up from the little girl she was taking care of. "So I'm in no danger. Rather Mr. Mayor, you promised me to allocate new resources to the sanatorium."
"Unfortunately my girl things have changed. Those Dundee rednecks reportedly defeated the Governor's punitive expedition. I can't risk leaving my boys without medicine and healers."
"But the epidemic is getting worse day by day. If we don't do something, our efforts won't be enough to curb the contagion. Also, since both the militia and the legion no longer patrol the city, we are constantly being robbed of food and medicines."
