WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 39: Demon Disease (1)

──────

* * *

[Julian. Is now a good time?]

I was in the middle of organizing the tools in the clinic.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice rang through my mind.

‘Master.’

It was my master's telepathy.

Like when we had first met, he occasionally spoke to me directly through my mind like this.

It had startled me quite a bit at first.

I had even worried that maybe I could not endure this grim world any longer and had gone mad.

Fortunately, my mind was perfectly sound.

“Yes. I have a little free time. What is it, Master?”

[I contacted you because it is that time of year.]

“That time of year...?”

I thought for a moment.

Then I realized what Master meant.

“It is already that time.”

[Yes. The Autumn Symposium is just around the corner.]

Just as I thought.

Whether in this world or my old one, major academic conferences were always held in autumn.

Summer was too hot.

Winter was too cold.

Spring somehow felt too early.

So they were usually held in autumn.

It was also the season when the best ingredients were plentiful, allowing people to entertain their guests most extravagantly.

And during that time, Master could not come down to Limbus Pit.

[There are simply too many recommendation letters this year...]

“You have my sympathies, Master.”

In this world, magic was directly tied to powerful military weapons.

That was why the Empire's Autumn Symposium was not merely an exchange of knowledge.

It was a place where young students of magic, with an average age in their forties, could promote themselves in hopes of being selected as imperial mages.

It was also where mage towers fought with everything they had to prove the results of the research funding they had received the previous year.

And Master was the one overseeing all of it.

He was the chief adviser and final judge who assessed how academically valuable and militarily useful the research of countless mage towers was.

That was why he became so busy during this period.

[Just reviewing the budgets and papers submitted by mage tower masters across the Empire is enough to make my eyes fall out. And this year, there are quite a few promising candidates the Imperial Family has taken an interest in, so this old man has to show his face at more than one or two judging panels.]

His telepathy carried a deep exhaustion.

[Some slightly twist a theory from fifty years ago and present it as their own. Others bring back experiments that already failed three hundred years ago, calling them an innovative reinterpretation. I have gone through more than ten papers without finding a single thing worth opening my eyes for...]

Before I knew it, Master had started complaining.

Once he got going, there was no end to it.

At times like this, he did not need a response.

So I let his complaints go in one ear and out the other as I received my next patient.

[In the end, I told that child where the old archives were and sent them away. I told them to find the books and read them themselves. You should have seen the look on their face.]

Master sounded much lighter once he had finished complaining.

After prescribing medicine for my patient, I focused on the telepathy again.

[Rather than attend such a dull conference, I would rather conduct research with you. So, Julian, can you think of any ideas for our next research subject?]

It seemed he had become thoroughly engrossed in our vaccine research.

Unfortunately, nothing came to mind at the moment.

“My apologies, Master.”

[I was not asking you to apologize. Still, Julian, would you like to attend the conference with me this year?]

“No.”

[Tch. Your master is inviting you. You could at least pretend to think it over once...]

“Just as you dislike academic conferences, Master, I dislike them for the same reason.”

There was nothing for me to learn at an academic conference.

Magic in this world had developed toward killing things.

In other words, it was only called an academic conference. In practice, it was little different from a military exposition.

Naturally, there was nothing there for someone whose duty was saving lives to learn.

Besides, there was another reason.

“There is no black magic mage tower, is there?”

Of the thirteen schools of magic categorized by the Great Sage, only black magic had no mage tower.

Academically, black magic was unquestionably a branch of magic.

But there was a good reason only black magic had no mage tower.

“You erased that mage tower yourself, Master. What could I possibly see there?”

In the past, the Great Sage had personally wiped out the black magic mage tower.

He had told them to gather spellcasters to protect humanity, only for them to devise ways to massacre humanity instead.

It was a problem that arose because black magic was more specialized in killing people than magical beasts.

Since that incident, there had been no black magic mage tower in the Empire.

Not only was there no black magic mage tower, gatherings of black mages themselves were prohibited by law.

That was why, unlike other forms of magic, black magic came to be passed down one person at a time.

In any case.

That history was why I had no desire to attend the Autumn Symposium.

“Or is there something you think I absolutely need to see?”

[Well. There may be new people to meet or new things to see.]

“Are there more patients than in Limbus Pit?”

[Urgh... No.]

“Then I will not go.”

[Very well...]

The telepathy sounded oddly discouraged.

It seemed Master had truly wanted to take me along this year.

[Then, even if you cannot attend the conference, could you send scholarship funds under my name again this year?]

“How much?”

[...I am ashamed to ask, but even fifty million mar would be a great sum.]

The total budget divided among the mage towers was made up of three major sources.

One was support from the Imperial Family.

Another was scholarships from senior mages.

The last was outside donations.

Each was vital money that allowed the mage towers to barely make it through the year.

“Will fifty million mar be enough?”

[How could a master ask for more from his youngest disciple?]

“I probably have more money than all my senior brothers and sisters combined.”

[Ahem.]

The Great Sage's direct disciples, my senior brothers and sisters, were mostly mage tower masters or elders.

But a mage tower master was closer to an honorary position.

Mage towers were basically forums for wizards.

Their mage tower masters were basically head mods.

So my senior brothers and sisters did not have much money.

They were not people who donated to research in the first place. They were people who received donations.

“Please tell me properly. That way, I can send the proper amount.”

[Seventy...]

“Will that really be enough?”

[...Please make it one hundred million mar.]

“I will send it.”

One hundred million mar.

Roughly a baron's annual income.

But now that the profits from the vaccines were gradually coming in, it was more than enough money for me to contribute for Master's sake.

[In my old age, I truly found myself an excellent disciple.]

“If you are moved by something like this, it makes me a little embarrassed.”

[Ahem.]

This was probably no small part of why Master liked me.

Whenever we conducted research together, he would constantly say how wonderful it was not to have to think about money.

[Very well. Then I will see you in winter.]

“Goodbye, Master.”

[Yes.]

Silence followed for a moment.

Just as the telepathy was about to cut off.

[Julian.]

“Yes?”

[Come to think of it, this academic conference may not be entirely meaningless after all.]

“...What?”

[It is nothing. Just an old man's rambling. I will contact you first in winter.]

“Yes. Take care, Master.”

With those words, the telepathy ended.

* * *

After my telepathy with Master ended, I finished my consultations as usual and closed the clinic for the day.

When I stepped out the back door, I ran into a young man with his hat pulled low over his face.

“Otto. Have you been waiting long?”

Otto.

Our frail guard and driver.

He had continued guarding me even after collapsing last time.

The reason was simple.

Ironically, it was because he had collapsed that I became connected to Master.

At the time, Otto alone had not developed enough immunity and fell victim to Belgian's curse.

That led us to take him to the treatment center, where I met Master.

So I decided to keep Otto as my guard.

I did not know whether it had anything to do with the conventions of misunderstanding stories, but I had begun to think of Otto as my good-luck totem.

On the way home, as Otto and I walked side by side, I suddenly remembered something.

“Right. It is almost time to renew your guard contract, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I will raise your salary again this year.”

“...What have I done to deserve that?”

So ever since that day, I had been raising Otto's salary by ten percent every year.

It felt like putting money into an offertory box at New Year.

Of course, that was not the only reason.

‘It is hard to find a guard as loyal as Otto.’

The most important quality in a guard was not strength, but loyalty.

No matter how strong a guard was, if he was thinking of slitting my throat, he was not a guard. He was an assassin.

In that sense, Otto was too valuable to dismiss over such a minor mistake.

He was tight-lipped and highly loyal.

And since I had earned his gratitude, he was an even more trustworthy person by the logic of the genre.

“Or perhaps you are not confident you can meet my expectations?”

“...No, sir.”

“Good.”

I nodded calmly.

“Then, Otto, let us get the beef from Wangcho, pick up Eri, and head back.”

With my reluctant driver leading the way, I left the clinic behind.

* * *

After picking up Eri, who had been training with Captain Shen in Civitas Square, I returned to the Sanctum Hill estate and had the servants unload the beef from the car.

While the servants busied themselves, the head butler approached me.

“Oh? What sort of beef is this?”

“It was a gift from below. Wangcho said he had a hard time getting it.”

“What a precious gift. I should send that fellow some wine later.”

As we spoke, the enormous quantity of beef was stored in our estate's freezer.

“I will bring back the rest tomorrow and the day after. The meat was too large to fit in the car all at once.”

“Understood. I will inform the chef.”

After a brief conversation with the head butler, I walked past the bustling servants.

Then I naturally headed toward the dining room.

“Y-Young Master?!”

“Shh. I came to cook again today.”

I held a finger to my lips toward the chef, who was still flustered even after all these years.

Cooking had become a hobby before I knew it.

I had started it to build Julian's character.

But it became fun once I got into it.

So I occasionally entered the kitchen behind Mother's back.

Of course, I was usually caught later and scolded.

I put on an apron with practiced ease and rolled up my shirt sleeves.

Then I explained today's menu to the chef.

“Today, I am making steak tartare.”

“Pardon?”

I pushed aside the horrified chef and claimed the cutting board.

When I was twelve, I needed a footstool.

Now I was tall enough to stand before the cutting board without one.

“Fresh beef just arrived. That is why I want to cook today.”

Even at Wangcho's slaughterhouse, beef was difficult to obtain.

That was why I personally picked up a kitchen knife whenever beef came in like this.

“The lean cuts can keep a little longer, so let us deal with the organs first.”

The chef frowned at the word organs.

After all, the era when offal was elevated into luxury food under the name of specialty cuts had not come until fairly recently by the standards of my old world.

Even foie gras, the symbol of high-end cuisine, had only become a luxury food in the late nineteenth century.

Specialty cuts spoiled quickly and required extensive preparation, yet even after all that trouble, they were not especially tasty.

Naturally, in a world like this, they were considered food only the lowborn would pick up and eat.

But that was only true when cooking techniques were less developed and specialty cuts were prepared badly.

‘If it tastes good, it is cuisine. If it is beautiful, it is art.’

Even organs could become delicious food if prepared well, and elegant plating made them high-end dishes.

That was why I did not throw away organs, but used them in my cooking.

“Today, I will use the cow's heart and marrow.”

While the meat was being unloaded from the car, I had secretly set aside the heart and bones.

I gave a wink to the chef, who did not dare interfere because of the difference in our status, then wiped the kitchen knife with a cloth.

A heart, dark reddish-brown in color, lay on the cutting board.

Beside it was a cow's leg bone split lengthwise in half.

‘Let us deal with the blood vessels first.’

Blood vessels were tough and tasteless.

No matter how they were prepared, they could never be made delicious.

A cow's heart in particular had many tough or greasy areas, so it needed careful preparation.

‘Remove all the coronary arteries and veins...’

I slipped the blade along the trace of the aorta.

The tip of the knife separated the two branches of the coronary arteries from the heart.

Understanding anatomy as a surgeon was a considerable advantage when cooking.

Because I knew how to treat things, I also knew how to remove blood vessels neatly.

‘Remove the fat and connective tissue too.’

I cut the remaining mass of heart muscle in half.

Then I cut it in half again and sliced the quartered heart thinly.

Keeping a rhythm, I minced it with the back of the knife.

‘Next, I should roast the bone.’

I slid the lengthwise-split cow leg bone into a scorching oven.

Before long, the marrow inside the bone began to bubble.

When heated, marrow gave off an aroma like butter, making it useful in dishes like this.

I scraped out the golden-brown marrow, now soft as pudding, and placed it over the finely minced heart meat.

Next, I prepared the seasoning.

Capers, finely chopped shallots, ground whole-grain mustard, a drop of black vinegar, and olive oil.

I mixed them thoroughly with the heart, then seasoned it with rock salt and black pepper.

That completed the steak tartare.

‘Would it sound too cheap if I just called it blanched yukhoe?’

When I had trained in America, a professor there had treated me to it. It was a French dish.

No matter how I looked at it while eating it, I could not shake the thought that it was French yukhoe.

No.

Yukhoe was high-end cuisine too.

What was wrong with Korean food?

‘...I should focus on the plating.’

As originally planned, I decided to use the bone as the plate.

After scraping out the marrow, I carefully filled the empty bone with the heart tartare.

Then I neatly arranged bitter young herb leaves beside it.

That made six completed plates.

I selected one of them and gave it a quick cook in a pan.

‘Fried may still have trouble digesting yukhoe.’

My youngest brother would turn four this year.

He ate meat well, but raw meat was probably still too difficult for him.

I cooked it one last time for Fried, then plated it again.

With that, tonight's dinner was ready.

“It is done.”

“Young Master? What in the world is this dish...?”

“Tartare de cœur à la moelle.”

“Pardon?”

I smiled at the flustered chef and wiped my hands with a cloth.

I hung up my apron and headed for the dining room exit.

“I will be upstairs. If Mother asks for me, please tell her I was never here. I trust you can explain the dish well.”

“Y-Young Master?!”

“If there is anything you would like to add, please do so at your discretion.”

Leaving behind the chef's urgent calls, I hurried toward the dining room.

I needed to establish an alibi before Mother caught me.

‘That I had something to organize in the laboratory...’

But my scheme ended in failure.

“Julian.”

A chilly voice came from behind me.

I slowly turned around.

And there stood the mistress of House Nihirit.

“Julian. Could you explain what happened?”

“I am sorry.”

“Haah...”

Julian Schnabel Nihirit, eldest son of House Nihirit.

Number of times caught by his mother in front of the kitchen.

Today marked the monumental one thousandth time.

Author's Note

Sorry for the delay...

The aftereffects of posting consecutive chapters the previous day hit me late...

It seems I was drawing on more innate energy than I thought.

Footnotes:

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried