The Lady Nun Vows Revenge - Chapter 245: Chapter 245

"I don't want to die... I don't want to die..."
"Doctor, please—please save us..."
"My son—where's my son?"
"Let us out, please! We're not even sick!"
"He's infected! He's infected—run!"
Even before the carriage reached the gates, Eliza could already hear the voices pouring from within the stone-and-timber barricades of the quarantine zone—voices choked with fear, panic, grief, and despair.
Some wailed. Some begged. Some shouted accusations. Others simply crouched in corners, too quiet, too still—their bodies pale, their skin sallow, their eyes vacant, as if they had already accepted death.
"This one holds a little over two hundred infected," Nolan said quietly, his horse riding alongside Eliza's carriage. "It's actually the smallest outbreak among all the counties in Noganlul."
Because the number of patients was relatively small, only a little over a hundred masked guards were stationed here, aided by a few county officials—just enough to maintain control.
"Don't step out yet," Nolan instructed. "Wait until I call for you."
Eliza nodded. "Alright."
She had promised to follow his lead, and she did just that.
At the gates, Nolan presented his token, spoke briefly with the head guard, and whatever he said made the guards' eyes light up with excitement. They stretched their necks, peering behind Nolan toward the carriage as if hoping to catch a glimpse.
Then Nolan said something more, and suddenly the soldiers were patting their chests earnestly, nodding and giving what looked like solemn assurances.
A moment later, Eliza heard his voice.
She didn't veil herself today. Instead, she wore the flower crown Mary had woven for her—its petals crafted from silk thread, delicate and lifelike—and stepped gracefully down from the carriage.
"Your Grace?" one of the masked guards gasped. "Please—put on a mask! The plague—"
Eliza shook her head gently.
She was already well-acquainted with the spiritual water from her pocket farm, and the moment she stepped down, she could feel its subtle presence floating in the air of the quarantine zone.
The herbs were doing their work. The spiritual energy was spreading.
Nolan nearly lost his composure when he saw she wasn't wearing a mask, but Eliza gave him a reassuring look that made him hold back his protest.
She turned toward the soldiers and offered a soft smile.
"It's alright," she said. "The sickness will pass soon."
Then, to their astonishment, she placed her hand on the barricade and pushed it open.
Eliza stepped inside.
The Black Flag soldiers had been briefed the day before. As soon as the gate opened, they surged forward and quickly cleared a space for her within the quarantine zone.
Her blessing ritual today was simple: she would recite scripture.
The infused herbs were already taking effect. But the patients, not yet aware, were still trapped in fear. What they needed now wasn't just medicine—it was calm. Comfort. Hope.
"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord," her clear, ethereal voice began to echo across the plague-ridden compound, "My spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for He has looked with favor on His lowly servant..."
She wore a flowing gown today—half white, half gold—with delicate gold embroidery curling along the edges. On her head sat the silk flower crown, glistening faintly.
Before leaving, she had sprinkled it with spiritual water.
He couldn't see the energy it carried, but what he did see... was enough to steal his breath.
Slowly, the chaos inside the quarantine zone quieted.
The cries died down. The panic faded. It was as if an invisible hand had swept through the crowd, gently brushing away their fear, leaving only a hush of reverent stillness.
One by one, the infected began to shuffle forward—some with trembling steps, others crawling—to get closer to the voice.
But before they could reach her, a solid wall of Black Flag soldiers stepped into place, forming a protective barrier around Eliza.
At once, tension returned.
The patients stirred uneasily, murmuring again.
Sensing the unrest, Eliza paused in her recitation and spoke, her voice tinged with gentle exasperation. "The blessing has already begun. Don't you want to hear it?"
That single sentence calmed them instantly.
A chorus of eager voices rang out. "We do! We want to hear!"
Eliza smiled, soft and kind. "Then stay where you are and listen closely."
And just like that, they obeyed.
All two hundred-plus stood still, gazing at her with wide, longing eyes. Eliza took a breath, preparing to continue her scripture.
But then a small, trembling voice called out. "Are you... are you the Holy Lady who came to save us?"
It wasn't a grown man who spoke, but a child—his cheeks hollow, his frame far too thin, and pustules blooming across his face.
Eliza looked at him, heart clenching at the sight. She opened her mouth to speak. And in that moment, seeing the child's eyes filled with fragile hope, she nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "I am."