WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

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◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 19: New Skill Tree Unlocked? (2)

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It was lunchtime at the clinic.

The morning consultations had passed like a storm, leaving a brief moment of peace.

I filled a cup with water and snapped my fingers.

Crackle. Bubble, bubble.

Using the matchstick beside it as a catalyst, I created a small flame and brought the water to a boil in an instant.

Even if it wasn't combat magic, household magic could be used as long as you had a catalyst.

Even without magical sensitivity, you could force a crude miracle like this to work by pouring enough mana into it.

Of course, using magic this way didn't make someone a mage.

It wasn't as if I would be waving a matchstick around in front of magical beasts.

Once the water had boiled enough, I mixed in some herbal powder, not instant coffee, and stirred it.

In a world without electric kettles, magic was an excellent substitute for household appliances.

“Hmm.”

I took a sip.

It tasted awful.

Was it because I had used a matchstick as the catalyst?

I couldn't control the heat, and there was no charm to it either.

No wonder nobles used expensive tea sets and butlers who specialized in tea.

I'd tried it once, but I didn't think I'd ever make tea this way again.

“Wow...”

Still, the spell hadn't been a complete failure.

Eri, who was chewing on a sandwich across from me, had opened her eyes wide.

Heh. Who was I?

A genius who had mastered the basics of magic in three months at the age of twelve.

As a performance meant to show off, this spell had been a success.

“Doctor, that was magic just now, right? The fire thing.”

“Mm. It was household magic.”

“Can I learn it too?”

Eri pulled her chair closer, her eyes sparkling.

A small smile rose to my lips at her enthusiasm.

That's right.

My assistant shouldn't be intimidated. She should come at it like that.

She shouldn't give up just because she came from Limbus Pit.

“If I could do that, I wouldn't need matches, and it'd be useful when walking at night. Snap your fingers, and poof! Fire!”

Even her gestures were full of enthusiasm.

There was a teenage girl's innocent curiosity and shining admiration in her eyes.

It naturally brought a pleased smile to my face.

If I were an ordinary fantasy-novel mentor, I might have said, “Yes, I see talent in you,” and taught her some basic breathing technique.

But that was impossible in this world.

“No.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Eri, how old are you?”

“I’m still eleven. My birthday hasn’t passed yet.”

Only a few months younger than me.

“That’s why. Ask me again after your birthday.”

Eri pouted.

“What does age have to do with it? I’m smart too.”

“It’s not about being smart.”

I set down the tea I had been drinking.

I'd only been drinking it for the image, but it really tasted awful.

“You can't learn magic before the age of twelve. It's prohibited by law.”

“Huh? What kind of law is that?”

“This Empire has one.”

It really did.

And if you broke it, frightening men from the Imperial Family would come down to tell you off.

“You're not just saying that because teaching me would be annoying, right?”

“No. Learning magic before twelve is genuinely dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous about it?”

“If things go wrong, your body could be damaged, and you might never be able to use magic again.”

Eri set down her sandwich and focused on what I was saying.

“Really? How does that work?”

“To use magic, your mana circuit has to mature. It varies from person to person, but twelve is considered a safe age by which the circuits should have fully developed.”

“I could grow faster than other people.”

“You could. But you could also grow more slowly.”

There was no way to tell whether a person’s mana circuits had finished developing.

Based on experience, people simply considered twelve old enough to safely assume they had.

And that was a painful lesson learned from the Empire’s long history of mistakes.

“Magicians are rare, and mages are even rarer. The Empire doesn't want to lose talented people for such a ridiculous reason.”

That was why they had made it illegal.

It applied to everyone without exception, from the lowest-born to commoners, nobles, and even the Imperial Family.

“So unless it's an especially exceptional case, you can't learn magic before twelve.”

“What counts as an exception?”

“Discovering it yourself without anyone teaching you, or being in a situation where you might die without learning magic. There are others, but none of them apply to you right now.”

“What if I do it in secret...?”

“Don't even think about it.”

Did she think an Imperial Family that had maintained power for a thousand years in this hopeless dark fantasy world was a joke?

If you broke that law, they would find out like ghosts, and those frightening men who came to tell you off would come for you.

Once dispatched, they were frightening men who could wipe out not just a baron's house, but an earl's.

Erasing a poor neighborhood like this from the map would be nothing to them.

“So wait one year.”

“Then can I learn it?”

“Probably.”

Honestly, I wasn't completely sure.

I didn't know whether the Central Magic Administration would approve it.

Magic was treated almost like firearms in this world, so you had to register before you could even learn it.

Afterward, you had to register as a magician or mage.

They could even deny permission if your magic, criminal record, or background made you seem dangerous.

As a result, people from poor backgrounds rarely received magical permits.

That had become even stricter after some insane pauper caused trouble in Sanctum Hill about a hundred years ago.

‘They might approve it if I say I'll take responsibility.’

Well, that was something to consider when the time came.

“Now, if you're done with brunch, let's get ready for the next patient. We only have morning consultations today and need to leave early, so we'll be busy.”

“What was our afternoon schedule again?”

“We have an experiment to do at Wangcho's slaughterhouse today. We're going there.”

“Okaaay.”

* * *

When we arrived at the slaughterhouse, Wangcho’s men were hard at work breaking down pigs.

They carefully separated the lungs for neonatal surfactant and the pancreases for insulin so they wouldn't be damaged.

Recently, they had added another step: separating the small intestines and scraping out the insides.

Eri covered her nose beside me as I wore my crow mask.

“Ugh. It smells like poop. You're not making medicine from that poop, are you?”

“No. We're making it from the intestines.”

I would make heparin from those pigs' small intestines.

A medicine that dissolved blood clots.

It was also one of the ultimate weapons available in internal medicine.

‘With this alone, I feel like I could start a cult.’

Even in this world, strokes and myocardial infarctions caused by blood clots were among the worst diseases, ones even divine magic couldn't cure.

If I administered heparin and revived someone suffering from one, it would be no different from a divine miracle or the return of a saint.

Then I could say, “Rise and walk.”

And there you had it, Otherworld Jesus.

Of course, I had no intention of starting a cult.

Even a protagonist in a misunderstanding story would lose their plot armor if they deliberately started a cult to deceive people.

Unless the genre was picaresque fiction or xianxia, it was best to avoid doing bad things like that.

“But, Doctor.”

Eri peered into a bucket full of washed small intestines.

“Is this medicine really necessary?”

“Of course it is.”

“Hmm...”

Eri tilted her head.

This was a world where people didn't properly understand blood clots, much less how strokes worked.

It was probably difficult for her to understand why they needed to dissolve them.

“Well, if you say it's necessary, then it must be.”

I quietly watched Eri shrug.

The truth was, I was making this medicine for her.

The PNH, paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria, that she suffered from carried a high risk of strokes caused by blood clots.

She was fine now, but once she passed twenty, the danger would rise exponentially.

If I couldn't cure PNH, then I at least needed to prepare heparin in advance in case of a stroke.

‘Magic has made controlling enzyme temperatures much easier, too.’

I could now control temperatures with magic.

The water had to be maintained between thirty-seven and forty degrees for the enzymes to work properly and produce heparin. Before, I had no technology capable of maintaining that temperature precisely.

Magic had solved that problem to some degree.

‘As expected. This was an event telling me to take the alchemy route.’

This incident had also given me confidence about the direction in which I should develop my magic.

“You bastard!”

A sudden shout beside me cut through my thoughts.

It was Wangcho.

The middle-aged man in an apron had grabbed a young man who appeared to be a new employee by the collar.

“Do you know how much this intestine costs, huh?!”

“I-I’m sorry!”

“This small intestine is worth more than your own insides...”

Wangcho, who had been shouting, met my eyes.

There was a moment of silence.

Then he continued, lowering his voice slightly.

“...It isn't worth more than your own insides, but still, be careful! If it gets damaged like this, we can't deliver it!”

“I’m sorry...”

“Ugh. I'll only dock a little from your pay. I was going to deduct the full amount of the damage, but you'll be working here in the future, so I'll only take one day's wages. No complaints, right?”

“Huh? Y-Yes!”

The new employee hurriedly gathered the pieces of small intestine scattered across the floor.

Then he disappeared as if fleeing.

Eri watched the scene with admiration.

“Wow, Wangcho has gotten a lot gentler.”

“...”

What exactly had he been doing when I wasn't around for a child to judge him like that?

After finishing his employee training, Wangcho let out a deep sigh and walked over.

“You're here, Doctor Schnabel.”

“Wangcho. You've been working hard.”

“The small intestines are being prepared smoothly. However...”

Wangcho scratched his head.

“The processing yield is good, but... Ha. We've received some complaints.”

“Complaints?”

“From the butcher shop bastards. They're making a huge fuss because the intestinal casings are being delivered too late and they have none left to make sausages. They're saying they'll have to shut down tomorrow. Those worthless little... I can't exactly bury them, either.”

Oh, dear.

Sausages were a serious matter.

As someone who made sausages by filling casings myself when cooking, I understood.

“Are there many complaints?”

“A great many. Three butcher shop owners came by this morning alone and raised hell. Doctor, is there anything we can do?”

“Hmm.”

I rested my chin on my hand and thought.

“How are you handling the process?”

“Pardon? Well, just as you told us. We cut open the intestines and scrape them hard with spoons while trying not to damage them...”

That was the problem.

How long would it take to scrape all those intestines with spoons?

They were probably trying to remove everything delicately because the intestines were valuable, but that would inevitably delay the casing deliveries.

Besides, scraping with spoons made them tear more easily.

“Do it like this instead.”

I picked up an unprocessed small intestine.

I broke a beer bottle that had been lying in the corner of the slaughterhouse, leaving only the neck so it resembled a funnel.

Then I pushed the intestine through it and spoke to Eri.

“Pull it.”

“Ugh... It’s slimy.”

Eri grabbed the other end of the intestine and pulled.

As it passed through the narrow opening in the bottle, the mucosa inside was pushed out and spilled from the mouth of the bottle.

Drip. Splat.

From the other side came a transparent, thin membrane with the mucosa cleanly removed.

A perfect sausage casing.

Wangcho's mouth fell open at the incredibly easy process.

“...Can we really do that? We're using it for medicine. Shouldn't we scrape it out carefully?”

“You don't need to remove the mucosa delicately. Even if you scrape it out roughly, there's no problem using it for medicine.”

“Then the casing...?”

“This method will damage the casing less than a spoon would. It'll also be faster.”

“Good grief... They say ignorance makes the body suffer. Perhaps I'm fated to never escape Limbus Pit.”

Afterward, I discussed a funnel to replace the beer bottle with Wangcho.

The principle was simple, so we decided to have one custom-made by a blacksmith.

The separated casings would go to the butcher shops, and I would receive the remaining mucosa.

That was truly killing two birds with one stone.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I'll take the mucosa.”

I had Eri carry the container of mucosa.

Someone might ask what I was making a young girl do, but I'd hired her as an assistant for exactly that sort of thing.

And lately, after feeding her plenty of food, I had learned that she was stronger than me.

Was it because she had the potential to become a mage?

...Still, it hurt my pride a little.

“Let’s have lunch at Civitas Square today.”

I spoke to Eri, who was carrying the container of mucosa beside me.

Normally, we would eat lunchboxes because of afternoon consultations, but today we had to head up for afternoon research.

I needed to borrow the trading company's laboratory and make medicine.

“Really? Can we have a buffet?”

“Of course we can.”

That day, we had a buffet for lunch.

Even after visiting a slaughterhouse, she ate meat without hesitation. She really did have a strong stomach.

* * *

Several months passed.

The heparin extraction was going smoothly, and the clinic remained busy.

Winter in the Red-Light District was cold, and there were many patients.

It was about the same as every other year.

‘Is this my second year in the Red-Light District now?’

Around this time last year, I had been too busy because my youngest sibling was being born.

The heavy snow season would probably start soon, too.

‘I should prepare medicine in advance.’

Too many people had died during last year’s heavy snow season.

I couldn't stay here, but I should make sure those who needed it could receive medicine from Wangcho out front.

‘And if necessary, I should tell them not to punish anyone for stealing food from the clinic.’

You never knew.

There might be a Jean Valjean who needed help this winter.

It wouldn't hurt for this world to have a priest who helped people like that.

Ah, was he not a bishop rather than a priest?

Anyway.

That day, after finishing the morning consultations, I headed to Fleischhof, the meat restaurant Wangcho operated.

“Erika, walk slowly. You’ll fall.”

When we arrived at the restaurant, I looked up.

An Imperial-language sign hung prominently from the roof, whose eaves curved toward the sky.

Below it, gilded beastfolk characters resembling an ancient Eastern language spelled out, “Buraesu Hobu, Fortune Comes, Long Life, Grand Manor,” a phonetic echo of Fleischhof.

When I looked down, red lanterns darkened by grease hung on either side of the round doorway.

“Doctor! They say Fleischhof got sausages in today. Should we have those for lunch?”

“Let's look at all the meat that came in yesterday before deciding.”

When we entered, an open two-story interior stretched all the way to the ceiling.

Dozens of square wooden tables filled the central hall, while Wangcho's female employees, towels draped over their shoulders, hurried between them carrying plates of meat.

I didn't know much about martial arts fiction, but I knew this layout was an inn, and the employees should probably be called inn attendants.

Except the menu served Western food as well.

‘It still feels strange every time I see it.’

I wondered where I should even begin criticizing it, but I'd decided to simply accept it as Wangcho's sense of style.

As we headed from the entrance of that bizarre hybrid establishment toward the room we had reserved, Wangcho called out to me.

He had been waiting outside the room with his arms crossed.

“Doctor, do you have time right now?”

The man who usually grinned at me called out with a serious expression.

It was identical to the look the emergency medicine professor in my previous life used to wear when waiting for me as I headed out for lunch.

My appetite suddenly vanished.

“...What is it, Wangcho?”

“Would you consider heading up a little earlier this year?”

What Wangcho proposed was that I leave before the snow came.

“The atmosphere around H Sector has been unsettling lately. I don't know what those bastards ate wrong, but their eyes have gone wild, and they're creeping into our D Sector.”

“Guess the coming blizzards have them snow-blind.”

Eri interrupted from beside me.

“It’s the season when everyone tears at each other’s throats to claim even one more garbage bag before the blizzards come.”

“Eri. Watch your language.”

“Fine.”

What was a twelve-year-old doing using an expression like tearing at each other's throats?

Still, I understood what she meant.

It was something similar to wild animals coming down into residential areas as hibernation season approached.

“All right. When should I go up?”

“It would be best if you left today, if possible.”

Wangcho looked around, then leaned in to whisper to me.

“During the heavy snow season, us trash need to settle a few things among ourselves. It wouldn't be a pleasant sight for someone like you to see, so take Erika and stay up there. I'll contact you once things have been sorted out.”

Footnotes:

Buraesu Hobu uses faux-Eastern wording that echoes Fleischhof while meaning roughly “Fortune Comes, Long Life, Grand Manor.”

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