The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint - Chapter 4

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

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◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 4: Angel of the Red-Light District

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'I need to start getting my instincts from my previous life back.'

A long time had passed since I began supplying quinine to the trading company.

During that time, I realized something.

My instincts as a doctor had completely gone dull.

'Figures. Skills rust if you take even a short break.'

I realized this while researching quinine.

Making quinine itself was fine.

The problem came when I had to administer quinine intravenously to malaria patients.

'A surgeon who can't find a vein on the first try.'

At the time, I only managed to find a clinical trial patient's vein after sticking them three times.

That was quite serious.

If I spent my childhood doing nothing, I might lose all my manual skills by the time I turned twenty.

Once I realized that, I looked for a way to find patients immediately.

Fortunately, it was not difficult to find somewhere that needed a doctor.

'I can just volunteer as a doctor.'

If I went down to the slums below, there would surely be patients waiting for a doctor.

Once I decided, I acted quickly.

I went to my godfather's office to ask permission.

"While researching quinine, I realized there are many people who need my help. For that reason, I would like to visit the slums for a while..."

"Go."

"?"

"Blood truly will tell. I'll assign you an escort, so do as you please."

Unexpectedly, he gave his permission without hesitation.

Come to think of it, the way my godfather had been treating me lately was a little strange.

Before, he looked at me like an inconvenient nephew who refused to go home.

Now, how should I put it? His gaze had become oddly lukewarm.

It felt as though he found me admirable and pitiful at the same time.

And now he had readily given me permission to go to the red-light district.

'What? Does this era not care about children going to places like that?'

No way.

Even in a barbaric premodern age with little awareness of children's rights, there were things that were acceptable and things that were not.

People might smoke right beside a child, but it was not such a hopeless era that they would allow a ten-year-old to visit a brothel.

Then why had he allowed it...?

'Could this be the opening of a wastrel story?!'

That would explain everything.

It was common for a young nobleman who had lost his parents and possessed middling talent to go astray.

Did my godfather think I was one of those cases?

I wondered where I should begin correcting the misunderstanding, but eventually gave up.

When had wastrel stories ever been solved through words?

Didn't they always get cleaned up by overwhelming achievements?

Thinking it would clear itself up someday, I decided to focus on what I needed to do.

All right, then. Let's go to the red-light district to get my instincts back.

* * *

From that day onward, I began going to the red-light district regularly.

Of course, at first, the people there were suspicious of me.

"Doctor? Ah, like a healer? What's a healer doing in a place this lowly?"

Perhaps because there was no concept of medical volunteering in this world.

The residents viewed my sudden goodwill with suspicion first.

But once I proved myself through overwhelming results, they gradually accepted me.

"Doctor. Thank you for saving my younger sister last time."

In an era where puerperal fever after childbirth was the leading cause of death for women, merely paying attention to hygiene dramatically raised maternal survival rates.

And so, I was a year into my perfect attendance at the red-light district.

At some point, whenever the residents of that street gave birth, they began looking for me instead of a midwife.

Slightly exaggerating, about half the children born in the red-light district last year had passed through my hands.

There was just one problem.

'What is this? Shouldn't a protagonist who performs this well get a fortuitous encounter?'

One year in a slum red-light district.

Other than my skills and reputation as a doctor improving, there had been no dramatic change in my life.

There was no former archmage hiding in the poor district, no head of an assassin guild.

There was no polymorphed dragon, nor a Demon King out for a stroll.

There was no future Sword Saint or budding hero, either.

What the hell? Where did all my fortuitous encounters go?

'Ugh. Maybe one year isn't nearly enough.'

I had started volunteering, so I could not simply stop coming now.

In the end, all I gained were knowledge, practical skills, and some clinical trial data.

Ah, and a little honor, plus a title.

Though it was hard to openly introduce myself as the "Angel of the Brothel Quarter."

Ah, come to think of it, it was not as though I had gained nothing at all.

The slum residents had given me a proper clinic.

It was like having a building in my own name.

"All right, shall we go to work today as well?"

Enough stray thoughts.

I packed my house-call bag and got out of bed for the day's consultations.

It was December, and the weather was cold.

I put on a child's coat and grasped the front-door handle.

But today, the brass handle was so cold it seemed to cling to my palm.

The unusual chill immediately gave me the feeling that something was wrong.

Whoooosh!

When I opened the door and a cold wind slapped me in the face, I realized that instinct had been correct.

When I inhaled, my nostrils felt painfully numb.

When I barely managed to open my eyes, the world had turned completely white.

I could not even see the trees in front of the annex.

Naturally, I could not see the buildings beyond the wall, either.

I could see nothing, but I knew for certain that a person could be buried in that blizzard in an instant.

"..."

Come to think of it, it was about time for the heavy snowfall season.

The snow had been battering the windows with unusual force since yesterday, all through the night.

I briefly sized up the blizzard, which would be filthy with smog despite its white appearance.

Usually, a patient appeared at a time like this in a novel.

There was always a girl in some household hovering between life and death.

Was this the event where a doctor had to fight through a blizzard for a house call?

Hm...

'No matter what, this can't be it, right?'

Even protagonists had adventures they could take on and reckless acts they should not.

And an eleven-year-old going out into that blizzard was reckless.

More specifically, there was a better expression for it: suicide.

'I'll go missing before I even meet the patient.'

This probably was not an event after all.

The protagonist of a misunderstanding story did not have invincible cheats, so the clinic was closed today.

I put my house-call bag back in my room and threw myself onto the bed.

'Then what should I do today?'

I was rolling around in bed, spending my time productively, when the door was thrown open and the head butler burst into the room.

"Young master!"

Good grief. You startled me.

What if I had been enjoying some happy time? How could they barge in like this?

I sat up in bed and greeted the head butler.

Seeing the snow piled high on their shoulders, they must have run here from the main house.

They had not even knocked, so something serious must have happened.

"What is it?"

"The baby is coming!"

"Already?"

I did not bother asking whose baby it was.

Recently, my godfather and godmother had been expecting a late child.

They already had a daughter, but they wanted at least one more son, and the result came after eight years of trying.

The problem was that, if my memory was correct, this late child was currently at thirty-four weeks.

The baby was supposed to arrive six weeks later.

"Why is this child in such a hurry?"

"Is this the time for jokes? Please hurry! The midwife says she cannot come because of the snow!"

"Oh, what timing."

"Pardon?!"

"It's nothing. Of course I'll go."

No wonder there had been a blizzard.

The event had been in my own house.

I immediately grabbed my house-call bag and put on my coat.

The blizzard was fierce, but getting from the annex to the main house would not be a problem.

It was time for the ace of the brothel quarter to shine.

...That sounded strange. Let me correct that.

It was time for the Angel of the Brothel Quarter to shine.

...No matter what I added, it still sounded strange.

* * *

"Ghh... Aaaah!"

When I arrived at the main house, screams reached me from the end of the hallway.

The moment I opened the door, a wave of heat and an unpleasant smell struck my nose.

The damp air unique to a delivery room, mixed with sweat and amniotic fluid.

It was a smell I had encountered dozens of times in the red-light district.

My godmother was screaming atop the bed while clutching my godfather by the hair.

My godfather was taking all of it.

I wondered if he would go bald at this rate.

"Linie! Just hold on a little longer! Julian is coming!"

"Julian? That child is... Aaaah!"

Anyone could tell serious labor pains had begun.

I immediately received my godfather's permission and performed an internal examination on my godmother.

'The cervix is dilated to four centimeters, station is minus two. Her waters have broken, the baby is head-down, and the umbilical cord... I can't feel it. It's still all right.'

According to the maids, only around ten minutes had passed since her waters broke.

'There's still time.'

Thank goodness.

If the baby had already started coming out in earnest, I would not even have had time to disinfect the room.

I immediately persuaded the head butler and my godfather to prepare the delivery room.

A reasonably clean room. Freshly washed towels. Limewater for disinfecting hands.

A very fine delivery room was complete.

'This is perfect.'

Unless I had to perform a Cesarean section, this was as sterile an environment as one could hope for in a natural birth.

If only the baby were not arriving at thirty-four weeks, it would have been flawless.

Several hours later.

With my godmother's final scream, I received the slippery baby in both hands.

The process of this child entering the world was not particularly different from that of other babies.

It was just repeated pushing and deep breathing, so there was nothing notable about it.

The fortunate part was that there had been no need to attempt a Cesarean section.

If that had happened without proper anesthetic techniques, even I would have been in trouble.

But the problem had not been solved.

If anything, the real problem had only just begun.

'Thirty-four weeks... Oh dear. No need to look. This is a premature baby.'

Would this child survive?

At thirty-four weeks, the baby could easily survive with twenty-first-century medicine.

But this world was different.

The miracle called Heal could treat any wound, but it could not make underdeveloped organs grow.

That was why premature babies in this era belonged to the realm where one could only pray to God.

'Well, I'm different.'

But that was the situation in this era. As a protagonist who had possessed this body from the twenty-first century, I was the exception.

Thirty-four weeks?

I could save the baby with room to spare.

'This isn't even a difficult case.'

Compared to the bizarre cases overflowing in the red-light district, this was nothing by comparison.

'No meconium staining.'

There was no need for suction.

First, wipe the baby down and check their condition.

The baby was not crying.

So I lightly tapped the baby's sole with my finger.

Stimulated through the nerves in their feet, the baby let out a small cry.

'Okay. Confirmed breathing.'

Next, I slathered the baby with the prepared oil.

The oil masked the smell of blood, and I wrapped the baby in clean wool.

The wool felt slightly heavier as it absorbed the oil.

Since there was no incubator, these were measures to maintain the baby's body temperature.

"Godmother, you need to keep the baby against your bare skin. Please keep them warm at all times. Ah, pardon me, but I'll wipe your chest once before you hold the baby."

Finally, before placing the baby in her arms, I wiped my godmother's chest with a cloth soaked in limewater.

The smell of limewater rose from her damp skin. It would probably be bad for her skin, but it could not be helped.

One could not make an equivalent exchange between a premature baby's life and beauty.

And so, the excellent incubator known as a mother's arms was complete.

That alone would raise the baby's survival rate dramatically.

Then I spoke to the maids, who had been staring blankly from behind me.

"I'm going to the annex to make medicine. Please take good care of my godmother until I return. If I come back and find you caring for her without washing your hands in limewater, or leaving the towels dirty, I'll turn this place upside down."

I did not explain why.

There was no time, and they probably would not understand anyway.

Bacteria, miasma... Even after talking myself hoarse about them in the red-light district, no one listened.

So I decided to crush them with authority instead.

I thought that if I led the way, they would follow on their own.

I checked my godmother and the baby's condition one last time.

I wiped the sweat from my godmother's forehead and checked the baby's chest movement through the wool.

They were still all right. Still.

'Now, shall I go to the annex to get the medicine?'

At that moment, the head butler urgently called out to me as I was about to leave the main house.

"Medicine? The main house has most medicines!"

At those words, I stopped at the entrance and poked my head back inside.