“I would prefer if we did not have to wear these,” Wacoca said, as he tugged at his new Chutwa clothes. To the prince who was so used to the freedom of the open sea, the dark robes that covered most of his body must have felt restrictive.

“You don't want to be lynched in the streets, do you?” Corco grinned as he wondered what would happen if the verdant prince walked the streets with the clothes of the pirates who would always raid these shores.

“The people stare at us either way. It appears they have been aware of our identity for a long time.” With his neck tugged between his shoulders, Wacoca stole glances around.

“They're staring because you're so fidgety. If they knew who you are, you'd be long dead. Don't forget what my sister told us: Here, the Verdant folk are considered a vicious plague. That's why we're walking around in disguise... well, it's one reason.”

All around them, Corco could feel the foreign nature of the Chutwa. Instead of the open style of Medalan houses, everything in Chutwa was more private. The few people they saw on the streets were either hurried workers who carried supplies from one place to another or white-robed scholars, who sauntered through the streets and discussed their scriptures. With their closed-off nature and inherent bias, Corco thought their disguise might open a few of these closed doors for them.

Even though Hueatlan was a port town, Corco found very few fishermen. Though how many could there be, with the coast almost devoid of buildings. Centuries of raids from the sea had made the people in this area careful.

“How is it our fault they cannot protect their own possessions?” Wacoca asked in a tiny voice.

Even as the prince spoke, the two walked past a huddled group of beggars, the only city dwellers who would spend all their days outside.

“...let's just agree to disagree on this one.”

After a short stint of uncomfortable silence, Corco tried to steer their conversation in a different direction. He was aided by a small group of people in gaudy, bright orange robes. Although they wore swords, they did not wear the banners of Lord Huemac.

“People of Hueatlan,” one of them shouted, “Great Swordsaint Tlaloc asks the greatest doctors of the lands for their assistance! Any successful doctors awaits great honor and wealth!”

“Who are they?” Corco asked, confused at the pompous performance.

“They appear to be a young sect master and his entourage. The Chutwa have a strong sect culture. These sects often possess their own powerful cultivation techniques, so at least here on the edges of the empire, they may even compete with the local rulers.”

“Weird how they allow some lawless bandits to rule over them.”

“These are the laws of the Chutwa,” Wacoca replied with a sour face. “Since the local lords have little authority in the face of the great Central Heart of the capital, many are powerless in front of these organized forces. Even worse, some have been known to be in cahoots with these local sects, to exploit their people and steal the wealth of the capital.”

While the prince explained himself to the king in a small voice, the loudmouth of the sect member was still as active as before.

“Not any doctor may try his fortune, oh no! Only the greatest shall be worthy to gain favor from the great sword saint!”

“Looks like they have the same goal as us. Let's try and keep contact to a minimum.” While the verdant prince lowered his posture even more, Corco smirked. To him, these sects were a real danger now, but not one he had to deal with. These antiquated structures would be weeded out by time, all on their own. As soon as productivity, rather than manpower, became the decider of wars, the sects would disappear. Thus, he left them to their shouting and looked for his own doctors.

Soon after, Corco and Wacoca found their way to the edge of the town's market, and right away they saw the first object of his desire: On the market's corner stood a tiny stall with a bearded man behind it. In their strange, boxy font, the letters on the banner atop the stall distinguished the man as a doctor, although his appearance would suggest otherwise. Despite his beard, his clothes weren't in the white of the scholars, which meant he probably didn't have the allowance to wear them. Considering the sorry state of his cart, a proper scholarly education seemed unlikely. How could a real scholar ever appear so poor after all?

If only he could recruit some good doctors from the Chutwa Empire, it would solve a lot of his problems. Ever since he had taken over the south, Corco had been trying to invite scholars from all across Medala to join his cause. First among his targets were the doctors, to make sure a tragedy like the death of his uncle Sonco would never happen again.

However, he underestimated the stubbornness of the established order. To the wise men of Medala, Corco's methods were too extreme, an upset to the traditions of the ancestors. Rather than join his new academy in Saniya, most had turned north, to Amautu's lands. If he didn't want to wait years for his new students to graduate, he had to find doctors elsewhere. As stopgaps, the Chutwa doctors would be perfect. After all, they were considered the best physicians in the world. Already, he was excited when he saw the large banner with the Chutwa symbol for 'medicine' drawn on it.

In fact, Corco only became happier when he saw the man's state. Although he carried a beard, it was long and thin, not clean-shaven like the scholars would carry them. Although he wore a long robe, it was a rough and muddy brown, rather than their clean and soft white.

The 'teachings' of the Way taught students how to bend and break language, so as to better indoctrinate people and rulers. What would they know of actual medicine? Corco didn't need a charlatan, he needed the endless generations of accumulated knowledge Chutwa had to offer. As such, someone with no connection to the western cult was much more to his liking.

“Good evening, master,” Corco spoke in proper Chutwa. Although a bit rusty, he had refreshed his childhood knowledge a bit with his sister. Still, it seemed like it hadn't been enough, as the man's eyes narrowed in suspicion right away. However, the doctor's business sense overcame his hostility and drove away the frown.

“Welcome, dear guest! What is that ails you? This great Doctor Itzali can heal anything from cough to gout!” A smile formed on his face. Somehow, the man reminded Corco of his first meeting with Ronnie. His first impression reinforced, the king sat on the small stool for patients in front of the man's stall.

“Is that true, you can heal any illness?” Corco asked.

“Of course! As a student of the great master Yolotl, this doctor has been blessed with only the best education. A great physician of the chutwa faith, this doctor has traveled the country far and wide and seen all manner of suffering. Only a man who has seen the dark can speak of the light!”

“The Teachings of the Way,” Corco said and just about managed to suppress a frown as he did so. “You didn't look like a scholar.”

For a moment the king saw the doctor's own frown return, before he answered in a lowered voice.

“This doctor is not,” he said, short-bound. “However, it is a surprise to find a young master from foreign lands understand The Way.”

“It was that obvious, was it?” Corco pretended a pained smile. “I thought my accent was good.”

“Please excuse this doctor's forward manner, young master. This old master did not wish to uncover any secrets. Years of travel have merely created an excellent judge of character. If young master wishes to keep his identity a secret, he may do as he wishes. For any great doctor, one patient is the same as any other.”

In reaction to the man's last words, Corco's eyes lit up. Wasn't this exactly what he had been looking for?

“It's not really much of a secret,” he replied. “We are merchants who have traveled here from the northern provinces.”

What an arrogant name to use for their tributaries, Corco thought. As expected of such a giant country with no natural enemies, the Chutwa had no respect for anyone outside of their 'eternal empire'.

“Oh, then you are foreigners indeed?” the doctor rubbed his hands together. Somehow, Corco felt like a lamb to the slaughter. Maybe this doctor was glad to treat foreigners who wouldn't know the going rates of normal medicine in these parts.

“Now then, what can this great Doctor Itzali do for our foreign guests? What ailment plagues you?”

“I am not sick,” Corco said while a smile returned to his face. In response, the doctor's own grin froze.

“Then does this foreign trader wish to waste this master's time?”

“Of course not.” the merchant king raised a finger. “I have a proposition for you. One that, should you accept, will pay enough for you to open a proper clinic, rather than a tiny stand.”

The doctor harrumphed.

“The honor of the great Chutwa physicians is not for sale.” As the great physician spoke, Corco threw a small bag on the table. With the ring of metal, the loose band released a few silver coins onto the table. Many more were still hidden inside. “Although of course, this physician is generous enough to let such an insult slide. If nothing else, at least he will hear you out in your troubles.”

While he spoke noble words, Doctor Itzali swiped up the coins in one, swift motion. Corco really didn't care. In fact, greedy people were better. Men were easier to control when he knew their desires.

“Follow me to my homeland and serve me as my house doctor.” Corco said at last.

“What would this master want in barbarian lands?” the doctor asked with a sneer on his face. Not even the weight of silver could change his arrogant stance.

“Well, it wouldn't be forever. I only need you for a couple years.” Corco spread his hands. “On top of all the money I can pay you, it's also a great chance to improve your craft. Just think: How many medicinal plants and herbs can be found in a different land, how many more illnesses can be discovered and cured? Don't you want to strive for greater knowledge?”

Although the doctor retained his poker face, for a moment, Corco could see his eyes brighten up. Apparently, Itzali really wanted to improve his craft, or at least he wanted the money and fame that would come with greater skill.

“Although it is a tempting offer, what great herbs could possibly be found in the barbarian wastes? After all, Chutwa is the heart of the world. Any treasures found elsewhere can only ever be a dim copy of the great wealth of the ancestral lands.”

He had only been talking to a single Chutwa doctor and already, Corco felt frustrated. How could these nationalist idiots be this stubborn? Still, he had felt the spark of curiosity from Itzali. He wouldn't give up just like this.

“There's more!” he tried again in the voice of a telemarketer. “Back in my hometown, we have our own, entirely different methods of medicine. Just by studying them, you will improve beyond your wildest dreams! You can become famous worldwide”

As soon as he finished his words, Corco realized that he had been far too honest. With a red face, the great Doctor Itzali jumped up.

“Who dares insult the honor of the great western Physicians!? Begone, barbarian!”

At this point, the king felt the futility as well. No matter what arguments he would bring, he wouldn't get anywhere with this stubborn fool.

“Fine,” he spat out as he stood up, “we don't need your support. There's plenty of doctors in Chutwa, and plenty of great ones to boot. We'll be just fine without you.”

“Why does it feel as if we have wasted our time?” Wacoca asked. At first he had been a bit gloaty, but by now his voice only sounded exhausted.

As it turned out, they were not fine without Doctor Itzali. Hours later, they had traveled through the entire town. Although they had found many, many doctors, way more than could be expected for a city the size of Hueatlan, none of them had been any more receptive than their first taker. After a day of hard work, they had nothing more to show than dusty clothes and cramped legs. At this point, they returned the way they had come, only a few coin purses lighter. As they walked across the emptying market, the sun set beneath the houses all around them.

“At least we've learned a thing or two about the local doctors. If we want to win them over, we'll have to come up with some way to overcome their arrogance, or we'll have to get lucky.”

Just as Corco cursed his bad luck again, the winds turned. From across the market, they carried a shout, followed by a mix of murmurs and panicked screams.

“King Corco, it would be best we stay away,” Wacoca warned, already sure what Corco would do.

“No worries, we're just taking a look,” the careless king waved off.

“How dare a common physician looks down on this master!” an unfamiliar voice shouted. It's owner was easy to locate. When he reached the edge of the market, Corco saw that a crowd had formed before them.

As soon as the king marched towards the group, it dispersed, as if they had waited for him. Of course, they weren't so much interested in the unknown king as they were in the tall young man in their middle. Straight and majestic in posture, he swung a silver sword around to drive away the onlookers.

“Meager commoners! Who dares balk at this insult to the great sword saint, derive joy from it!? Who wishes to taste this young master's rare 'Tempest' strike?”

“Well, shit. Isn't that a young master? What the hell is going on?” Corco mumbled. How could there be an honest-to-god young master here? Had he been transported into a xianxia novel somehow?

“Great Swordsaint Tlaloc, please understand. This simple physician has diagnosed your illness to the best of his ability. Please believe in this humble doctor's abilities.” To the young master's feet sat Corco's old acquaintance, Doctor Itzali. Somehow, he had managed to piss off the young master and now was now begging for his life with a pale face.

“'Lack of virility'!? Is this what some knave would call an honest diagnosis?” the young master laughed his best fake laugh. It wasn't bad. Definitely worthy of a small-time villain. “How dare you suggest that this hero lacks virile strength? Do you not understand the powers of the Flowing Water cultivation technique?”

“Please, master, spare this mortal. Please, save me!” the doctor pleaded, desperate. Only at this point did Corco notice the blood. At some point before they had arrived, the doctor's robe had been cut through by a clean attack. Now, his blood had begun to pool beneath him, as his robe hung off his body like a wet rag. Young master Tlaloc's beautiful sword dripped a single red drop, to add to the mess on the floor.

“Are you not a famous doctor? Go ahead and heal yourself.” With a final sneer, the young master turned and left the market. Although his eyes crossed Corco, the king was far too busy looking over to the doctor and his wounds to get into a fight.

“Will you look at that,” he said, an anticipatory smirk on his face. “It seems like our luck just turned.”