That night, Lucien sat alone in his chamber, the room lit only by the faint blue glow of E.Y.E. hovering above his palm like a mechanical halo.
"So the patient is suffering from Scrofula," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "If I'm correct, that's a form of tuberculosis."
He wasn't a doctor, he barely knew the basics of medicine—but with E.Y.E., he could become one. A Soldier, engineer, priest or politician the system turned knowledge into instinct and skill into execution.
The synthetic voice hummed softly, steady as a heartbeat.
[E.Y.E: Objective: Cure Scrofula. Available materials—limited. Recommending improvised synthesis.]
Lucien leaned forward. "Improvised? From what exactly?"
[E Y.E: Primary antibacterial compounds can be extracted from mold cultures, herbs containing salicylic acid, and distilled alcohol. Begin by collecting bread mold, honey, and willow bark.]
He arched an eyebrow. "So… garbage and tree bark."
[E.Y.E: Correction: Penicillin prototype. Willow bark contains salicylates- the primitive foundation of aspirin.]
A small smirk tugged at his lips. "I stand corrected."
By dawn, he had what he needed, stale bread from the kitchen, wild honey from the hives, and strips of willow bark peeled from the trees near the stream. The servants barely glanced at him. The quiet, odd son of Lord Valemont was used to being ignored.
Back in his chamber, he followed E.Y.E.'s instructions with mechanical precision.
He boiled the bark to draw its essence, mixed in honey to preserve it, and set the bread mold to ferment in the warmth of a sealed glass jar. The scent was foul—earthy, sour, and strangely alive.
[E.Y.E: Fermentation process: 43% complete. Maintain warmth. Avoid direct sunlight.]
Lucien waited,his eyes fixed on the slow bloom of pale green across the mixture's surface. Hours passed. Then, as the mold settled into a luminous hue, E.Y.E. pulsed brighter.
[E.Y.E: Compound active. Antibacterial potential: sufficient.]
Lucien exhaled slowly. "So it will work?"
[Efficacy estimated: 78%. Enough to save a human child in early stages.]
"Good." He stared into the jar, its surface reflecting his faint smile. "Let's go save a life, then."
---
He waited until sunset, when the estate quieted and the torches burned low.
The cottages smelled of smoke and damp hay. Inside one of them lay the frail boy, pale and still beneath worn sheets.
Martha rose in shock when Lucien entered. "My lord what are you doing here?"
Lucien raised a hand, calm and firm. "Don't kneel. I came for him."
She blinked, confused. "For my son?"
"Yes." He set the jar down on the rickety bedside table. "Let me try something. No charge. Just… trust me."
Her lips trembled. The boy was her whole world, and she'd already lost hope. Everyone in the estate knew Lucien was gifted—strange, but brilliant. That faint thread of belief was all he needed. She nodded.
Lucien soaked a clean cloth in the mixture, then pressed it gently over the open sores along the boy's neck. The child flinched, then relaxed with a shallow breath.
"Let's see if this works," Lucien whispered.
Seconds passed.
[E.Y.E: Disinfection successful. Bacterial activity decreasing.]
Lucien's eyes widened slightly. "It's working…"
To Martha, nothing seemed to change. Doubt flickered in her eyes.
"We'll wait until morning," he said. "Then we'll see."
---
By dawn, the swelling had lessened. The sores began to dry. By the third day, the fever broke. When Martha saw her son sit upright and smile weakly at her, she collapsed to her knees before Lucien, sobbing uncontrollably.
"My lord," she gasped, "you've done what even the gods could not. You saved him!"
Lucien said nothing for a moment, simply watching her trembling hands clutch at his sleeve. Her faith was absolute now, unquestioning and pure.
Inside his mind, E.Y.E. pulsed softly.
[Target's loyalty level: Absolute.]
[Loyalty—100%.]
Lucien smiled faintly. Bigger things were to come. He had acquired his first true follower, someone he could rely on, manipulate, and use as the seed of influence. He'd found her weakness and cured it. Now she was his.
"Rise, Martha," he said softly. "Your son lives. That's all that matters."
As she wept in gratitude, Lucien turned toward the door, his expression already void of emotion.
Behind his calm eyes, the Order's first thread of control had been woven.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: E.Y.E]
[Congratulations, Lucien.
You have successfully created your first Loyal Node.]
[Node Name: Martha Halwen]
[Type: Servant]
[Loyalty Level: Absolute (100%)]
[Bond Stability: Permanent (sustained through Gratitude Protocol)]
[Influence Network Progress: 1/6]
[New Function Unlocked: Medical Synthesis Interface (Tier I)]
[You can now analyze biological structures, identify infections, and create low-grade cures using available organic resources.
Accuracy increases with additional loyal nodes.]
[System Objective Updated:]
[Expand your Loyal Network to strengthen your hold on the Valemont Estate.
Influence five more individuals to reach Influence Progression Tier I (100%)]
---
Lucien stared at the hovering symbols, his reflection flickering across the pale blue light. He could feel something deep within him align. The system wasn't just guiding him but also building him.
"Five more," he whispered, watching the data fade into darkness. "Five more souls huh?"
E.Y.E.'s cold whisper echoed faintly in his head.
[Affirmative. Influence the purest form of control.]
Lucien turned his gaze back to Martha, who was still kneeling in reverence.He placed a hand on her shoulder, his smile gentle yet unreadable.
"Rise," he said softly. "There's much work to be done."
---
He already knew what would happen. Martha would tell the others. That was the nature of servants, news spread with the speed of fire. But Lucien didn't want the story. He wanted the shadow. Quiet power, not the glare of gratitude.
"Not a word. Not until I say so," he told her.
Martha's face went pale, then obedient. She nodded, her lips trembling. He could see the vow written across her features.
He didn't want the spotlight. He wanted to be the hand in the dark that moved things. And he already had the next steps mapped in his head. This could be a business, his business, not his father's—one that turned miracles into coin. He pictured supply lines, discreet cures sold to neighboring households, favors traded for information, all while his name stayed buried behind the miracle.