Chapter 191: Mask

Chapter 191 The Mask

At that moment, the god's voice, tinged with surprise, echoed in his mind: "So this uncomfortable feeling is what it means to be 'sick.'"

The god, as old as Mount Song, had never fallen ill, but he had read the hero’s notes and knew that sick people needed rest and care.

66: "..."

Ilu pinched his feverish skin, somewhat surprised.

It was uncomfortable, but within tolerable limits.

66 gently reminded: "Lord Ilu, Percy has arrived at the door."

Ilu pressed his forehead. "I know."

He knew, but he couldn’t stand up.

Percy had already noticed the uninvited guest. The bartender he had saved yesterday was sitting at his table, with plates and wine glasses on it, but this wasn’t what surprised Percy the most. His gaze swept over the garden and lingered on a few particular flowers.

Elves, children of nature, could naturally sense the emotions of plants. Now, several withered pots in his garden emitted feelings of “restlessness,” “servility,” and “submissiveness,” causing the entire garden to become agitated.

"…?"

Percy forcibly redirected his attention from the flowers, subtly tightening his black robe where a dark stain, like dried blood, was visible.

Percy concealed the stain in a less noticeable spot, then stepped into the house. He walked past Ilu, placing his bow and arrows on the wall, and said coldly, "Sir, I believe I have made it clear that you are not welcome here. Please leave—"

"Thud—"

Before Percy could finish his sentence, a more intense dizziness overwhelmed him. His arms gave out, and the deity thumped onto the table, his forehead colliding with the wooden surface with a dull thud.

Percy’s remaining words were forced back into his throat.

66 hurriedly flew over, circling around Iru in a flurry: “Lord Iru? Lord Iru?”

Percy clearly paused for a moment before stepping forward to help the young man he had just picked up. Through his gloves, he felt the youth's skin, which was burning hot. The platinum-blond hair was damp with cold sweat, and his cheeks were flushed with an unhealthy red. Weakly, the youth raised his hand and pointed to a bottle of wine nearby: “I’m fine, that... I brought you a bottle of wine, it’s quite expensive, remember to drink it…”

He had specifically chosen the strongest alcohol in the store, hoping to get the Elven King drunk so he could examine the state of the necrosis.

Percy lowered his gaze and saw the bottle of wine the youth had brought.

The wine was sealed in a black iron flask, with leather straps made of sheepskin. The aroma was rich and full-bodied, one of the pricier wines in the tavern.

Given the youth’s salary as a bartender, this wine was considered a luxury.

Beside the flask were two dishes of food to accompany the wine: black pepper-cured ham and mustard clams, both neatly arranged on plates.

Elves did not enjoy such foods; they found them too meaty. With the Elven King’s refined tastes, accustomed to the abundant riches of Pine Mountain, he would not look favorably upon the ingredients from the town’s taverns.

But this was the first time someone had brought something specifically for Percy.

He picked up the bottle of wine and the dishes from the table, locking them away in a cabinet. Then, he reached out to support the young man on the table, lowering his gaze: “I’ll take you to see the apothecary.”

The town had no proper doctors, only a few apothecaries who used physical cooling methods to treat illnesses.

Iru brushed him off, frowning: “No need, I know what’s wrong. Just drink the wine first.”

Percy refused to drink the wine. If he did, hidden in his black robe, wouldn’t the fever be for nothing?

The divine beings do not die; at most, they would run a fever for two days. Moreover, Ilu had read the Hero’s Notes and knew that the town doctor’s methods of treatment were rather wild.

In this era, human medical theories were still in their infancy. Doctors were highly “innovative,” enthusiastic about bloodletting, inducing vomiting, leeches, and even more absurdly, using coffee and strong liquor for enemas. Ilu had no interest in trying any of these.

He refused to cooperate, and Percy didn’t dare to use force. The young man before him was delicate and beautiful, still dressed as a bartender, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His skin was a pale white, rarely exposed to the sun, and seemed to turn red with the slightest touch.

To the elven race, humans were a very fragile species, like dew on the grass blades in the early morning. Injuries and illnesses that were trivial to elves could be fatal to humans. Percy didn’t dare to take the risk.

Thus, the two remained at an impasse, neither making a move.

Ilu held his throbbing forehead and asked first, "Alright, what will it take for you to drink my wine?"

Percy stood silently by the table: "...Go rest first, I’ll get some medicine for you."

Elves were knowledgeable about herbs. Although the tolerance levels of humans and elves to herbs were vastly different, and Percy had never prescribed medicine to a human before, he could give it a try.

Ilu looked at him: "If I go rest, will you drink the wine?"

Apart from getting him drunk, Ilu truly didn’t know how to undress the Elven King.

Percy fell silent for a moment.

He didn’t like drinking, nor did he know how to drink, but the young man’s beautiful eyes stared straight at him, as if tasting the fine wine was the most important thing in the world.

Percy: "...Alright."

This kind of person, he couldn’t handle.

"Should have said so earlier." Ilu was also eager to sleep. Though he had never been sick, fatigue was a natural bodily response. Now that he had let his guard down, he immediately began to sway.

So, he naturally leaned to the side and fell onto the Elven King.

—Being the Mother Goddess, it was only natural for her to seek support from her creation when she felt unsteady.

Percy had been willing to play the lute for him all night long; surely, he wouldn’t mind just a lean, right?

But at that moment, the Elven King stiffened, standing as straight as a slender pole.

Clearly, Percy was not accustomed to close physical contact. No one in the Elven race had ever been this intimate with him, let alone in the human world. He was like a shadow in the night, long used to solitude. The sudden warmth of another person’s skin made his flesh crawl.

He held Yilu, trying to create some distance: "Sir..."

Yilu responded slowly, "But I can't stand steady."

Percy lowered his gaze, swallowing the rest of his words.

He supported most of the young man's weight and led him to the bedroom.

Yilu sprawled on his back on the bed, feeling the straw poking his waist.

...Hard, so hard, such a hard bed.

Yilu thought to himself that once they returned to Pine Mountain, he would definitely bring up this old grievance with Percy. Making the sick Mother Goddess sleep on a hard wooden bed was a sin indeed.

Lost in thought, Yilu watched as Percy turned to leave. Yilu struggled to keep his eyes open, waiting for the Elven King to drink the wine so he could check on the situation.

But after half an hour, Percy entered the room with a bowl. He was still wrapped in his black robe and mask, even his fingertips hidden in gloves, with no trace of alcohol on him. Instead, the bowl contained a dark, foul-smelling, bitter liquid.

Yilu: "..."

The contents of this bowl are probably medicine.

Elves occasionally fall ill; Ilu had seen elves drinking medicine more than once while gazing over the river valley from the canopy of the Mother Tree.

They often wore troubled expressions, their handsome, adorable, or beautiful faces crumpled like buns, then pinched their noses and, with the resolve of martyrs, gulped down the pitch-black liquid, revealing expressions of utmost bitterness.

Life in the canopy was somewhat monotonous, and Ilu found amusement in watching the elves seek entertainment. Each time he saw them drink medicine, he couldn't help but laugh, feeling a certain sense of schadenfreude. But now, with the medicine truly placed before him, Ilu felt no joy at all.

No. 66 noticed the deity's hesitation and poked his cheek with the screen: "Hurry up and drink it, Lord Ilu. Being human is like this; we need to get better so we can do other things."

They still needed to investigate the source of the necrotic energy. Ilu's body was already very weak, and if he remained sickly, he might not even be able to approach the edge of the necrotic aura.

Ilu: "..."

He lowered his head and looked at the strange, bubbling liquid in the bowl, then raised his gaze to meet the Elf King's eyes through the mask: "Do I really have to drink it?"

Percy was unyielding: "Yes."

Ilu: "Can I make a request before I drink it?"

In the Hero's notebook, the Hero would make requests after being injured, and they were usually granted.

Percy paused; he truly didn't know how to deal with this type of young man. But as the youth held the medicine bowl, his silver-golden eyes calmly met his, Percy found himself nodding involuntarily.

Elf King: "...What request do you have?"

Ilu: "Take off your mask."

The deity was also a face admirer; otherwise, he wouldn't have ensured that every elf possessed nearly perfect features. Ilu enjoyed admiring his creations from atop the tree, but Percy's silver-white mask was hideous and obscured his nearly flawless face. Ilu had been enduring it for a long time.

"..."

Silence.

Long silence.

Percy hastily lowered his gaze; from Ilu's perspective, he could only see his fan-like lashes.

The Elven King said, "No."

Necrotic energy is a symbol of ill omen and filth; no elf can tolerate it tainting their body. Those disgusting patterns are like curses, even Percy finds them repulsive. He covers himself from head to toe, only exposing himself during daily baths for cleansing.

Ilu: "Just the mask, not even that?"

He still held the medicine bowl steadily, staring fixedly at the Elven King as if he wouldn't drink the medicine unless the king agreed.

Ilu: "I just want to see the face of my savior. I think it’s a reasonable request."

—A line learned from the Hero’s Notes.

The Elven King straightened his posture, not looking at him.

Ilu, stubborn: "Just one look, just one."

As necrotic energy spreads in later stages, marks will also appear on the neck. Removing the mask would expose the skin there, and with just one glance, Ilu could make a judgment.

"..."

Silence.

The air was so thick that no one dared to breathe, the atmosphere sinking into a prolonged stalemate. The deity stood his ground, and after a moment, the Elven King conceded.

"Fine," Percy frowned. When he found the young man last night, he never imagined he would bring back such a huge trouble. But since he had picked him up, he couldn't just throw him away or abandon him. He raised his hand and gripped the edge of the mask.

The grotesque mask slowly slipped away, revealing a face of unparalleled beauty. His nose was straight and high, every curve of his eyebrows and cheekbones perfectly proportioned. His green eyes were like a forest in the Song Mountains swaying in the wind—a face that could captivate anyone who saw it.

The deity's gaze swept over the Elven King's face, a slight smile playing on his lips, as if the Creator was inspecting his masterpiece.

This was the first time Illu had observed Percy up close. Every previous encounter had been from atop the divine tree, and though the deity did not have poor eyesight, he had never seen Percy this clearly before. His Elven King was as beautiful as he had imagined, every detail hitting the mark of the deity's aesthetic, so much so that the deity had to admit, while every elf in the Song Mountains was dear to him, Percy was the most special.

But the next second, the deity's smile froze on his lips.

He saw the elf's neck.

Beneath the black robe, faint purple-black patterns could be seen, intertwining like vines, exuding an ominous aura.

Percy was infected, and severely so—so badly that Illu could not cleanse it, an infection that would lead to death.

In an instant, the deity's expression turned cold.

With their faces so close, even the slightest change in the young man's expression was reflected in the Elven King's eyes. He took a slight step back, his expression one of understanding.

The aura of death had long spread through South Lake Town, with many already infected. People recognized these patterns; they symbolized the call of Death, bringing doom to families and neighbors alike. Once they appeared, no one could escape.

So, Percy took the initiative to increase the distance between himself and the young man.

In truth, at their current distance and with Percy's ability to suppress the aura of death, the infection wouldn't spread to Illu so quickly. But people always shied away from the unknown, just as the elves avoided Percy, who was despised by the deity, or as the young man now avoided Percy.

It was natural, it was ordinary.

Percy thought, "Perhaps it would be a good choice to let him see."

Percy was now destitute; whatever the young man desired from him, Percy was incapable of fulfilling it. Driving him away would spare Percy from further trouble and unnecessary bother.

But for some reason, he felt a slight discomfort in his heart.

Perhaps the young man was the first to touch him physically, or perhaps he was the first to give Percy a gift.

The first person to do something always holds a special place.

This feeling was so subtle, barely worth mentioning, and even Percy himself did not notice the slight hitch in his heartbeat, like a minor discordant note in a performance that the audience doesn't have time to react to before being carried away by the rhythm and beats.

No one would stop to question it, and no one would even notice.

Percy put his mask back on, the cold silver metal concealing the last trace of emotional fluctuation. He said flatly, "Finish the medicine, and leave tomorrow. The wine you brought, I won't touch, and the food is locked in the cabinet. Return it to the innkeeper to save a couple of silver coins, enough to cover half a month's rent."

As he spoke, the elven king took a step back and turned to leave.

But the next second, a slightly angry divine voice rang out, "When did you contract it, and how could it become so severe?!"