Reagan gasped and coughed, covering his face with a handkerchief.

The maids serving his breakfast looked at him with varieties of meaningful gazes, wondering what the hell has been wrong with their usually powerful king for more than a week now.

His eyes looked tired and his steps were wobbly, and the worst was the rashes on his skin.

Just then Reagan pulled back his sleeves, examining the rashes once more, his brows furrowed in deep thoughts.

He sighed and covered it again, carefully buttoning it up. Just then, Noah walked into the dining room, bowing down slightly to Reagan.

"Noah, how is it? Has the doctor found anything yet?"...