"What do I need to do?"
"You all settle down first; leave the rest to me and the doctor," Lance said, extending his hand to him. "I am Lance, Lord of Hamlet."
"Baldwin. A man about to die," he said, raising his hand in a slight wave, still unwilling to make contact.
"Let's go. We'll talk more when we get back."
Lance turned to leave, not forgetting there were still unresolved issues.
"Why?"
The senses of those patients were mostly ravaged by their sickness. As soon as they had moved a short distance away, Grendel couldn't help but ask. She didn't understand why he would expend resources on those sick people; it wasn't his style.
"Do you think an ordinary person could still be alive in this condition? And to have killed more than a dozen heretics? His strength is no less than Warwolf's before the mutation. Keep in mind, this is while he's tormented by illness. His strength before falling ill is even harder to estimate."
