WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

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◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 41: Demon Disease (3)

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Blister Plague. Red Fever. Black Plague. Curse of Decay. Bone Melt.

Those were what this world called smallpox, scarlet fever, the Black Death, leprosy, and skeletal tuberculosis.

Malaria was Southern Fever, while the cinchona tree was called the Tirlun tree.

This world sometimes used different names for diseases I knew.

Once I noticed that, the first thing I did was translate this world’s disease names into the names I knew.

And during that process, I discovered a rather unusual illness.

Demon disease.

A disease that worsened rather than healed the more healing magic it received.

Neither healing magic nor medicinal herbs could cure it. The only way to treat it was to pray to God.

It was the ultimate endgame disease of this era.

As soon as I heard about it, I confidently began searching through the records.

‘It must be cancer or some rare disease, right?’

Just as smallpox was Blister Plague and the Black Death was Black Plague, I thought demon disease would be another name for an illness I already knew.

After compiling every case of demon disease recorded throughout history, however...

I was confused.

‘What is this supposed to be?’

The first historical case I found concerned a marquis.

“A growth formed on the body. The growth became larger with every use of healing magic.”

At first, I thought demon disease was cancer.

But the next case was strange.

“An intense fever, hot enough to boil the body. Estimated at roughly 40°C.”

‘Huh? A fever?’

Cancer did not normally come with a fever.

Of course, tumor fever existed, but it was a rare symptom generally seen only in stage-four cancer.

And temperatures above 40°C were extremely, extremely rare.

In other words, demon disease was somehow a tumor disorder accompanied by severe systemic fever.

The problem was that its symptoms did not end there.

“The heart suddenly stopped.”

“The bleeding would not stop.”

“The entire body turned black.”

.

.

.

Demon disease showed no consistency between patients. The records described every symptom a human being could possibly suffer.

After that, whenever I had time, I tried to figure out demon disease.

And I found the answer relatively recently.

“Come to think of it, people in the old days used to confuse Pus Plague with Curse of Decay. They became separate terms over time, though.”

According to my teacher, people hundreds of years ago could not distinguish smallpox from leprosy, so they called both Curse of Decay.

But as time passed and healing studies advanced, it became clear that the two were different diseases.

Smallpox came to be called Pus Plague, while leprosy retained the name Curse of Decay.

The moment I heard that historical fact, I realized my mistake regarding demon disease.

This was a world where medicine was less developed.

A world where every medical standard was determined by healing magic.

So every disease that did not improve with healing magic and instead worsened was called demon disease.

In other words, demon disease was a collective term for every unknown illness, including cancer, autoimmune disorders, and genetic diseases.

Classifying those demon diseases had become one of my recent interests, but...

‘And Freya gets demon disease at a time like this?’

Freya was displaying symptoms that fell under demon disease.

‘Should I be happy about this or not?’

Looking back, my life had always been like that.

As soon as I completed my quinine research at eight years old, Father caught malaria.

After I went to gain experience in the Red-Light District, Mother and Fried nearly ended up in danger.

And now that I was studying demon disease, Freya had it.

It fit the rules of a misunderstanding story, but...

‘It wasn’t me who caused this, right? Right?’

I had simply timed things well, hadn’t I?

It wasn’t like I was some famous boy detective who brought death wherever he went, right?

...Please tell me that was true.

That wasn’t what mattered right now.

‘First, I need to classify this demon disease.’

As I had just recalled, demon disease was not a single illness.

Cancer, autoimmune disorders, genetic diseases.

Demon disease was the blanket term for every illness healing magic could not cure.

Naturally, before treating a disease, you had to identify it.

To cure this demon disease, I had to determine exactly what disease it was.

‘Let’s organize Freya’s symptoms.’

High fever, nonblanching erythema, conjunctival injection, dry mucous membranes, splenomegaly.

And most importantly, her condition had worsened after receiving low-grade Heal.

‘The principle behind low-grade Heal is enhancing regeneration and immunity.’

A list of diseases that low-grade Heal could worsen ran through my mind.

Cancer, autoimmune diseases, rheumatism, anaphylaxis...

From among them, I narrowed it down to diseases that could cause a fever above 41°C.

That alone reduced the candidates dramatically.

‘And considering her history of catching colds often, along with the fact that she’s a fourteen-year-old girl...’

Cytokine storm.

Yes. That was the most likely answer.

When the immune system fought pathogens, the body raised its temperature to turn itself into home turf.

Bacteria vulnerable to heat could barely function in a body with an elevated temperature and would be defeated one-sidedly.

“What a fucking rigged game!”

The brain normally kept a limiter on body temperature, but at times like this, it removed that limiter and allowed the body to keep raising its temperature.

The problem arose when the immune system fighting bacteria occasionally ran out of control.

“I will no longer remain under your control!”

The immune system was supposed to raise the temperature moderately, but sometimes it became intoxicated with its own power and raised it without end.

And the brain, which should normally control it, had already removed the limiter.

Then the fever rose without limit.

As a result, the brain got cooked sous vide, and the patient died.

That phenomenon was called a cytokine storm.

‘It’s like setting your house on fire to catch one thief.’

Strictly speaking, it was more complicated than that, but that was the general idea.

‘Using low-grade Heal in a situation like this made her symptoms worse.’

The pathogens inside Freya’s body were probably already dead.

The high fever and two rounds of Heal had likely wiped them out without a trace.

But in exchange, her temperature was approaching 42°C.

I needed to lower it immediately.

After gathering my thoughts, I called to the priestess, who had been constantly wiping away her cold sweat with a handkerchief.

“Sister.”

“Y-Yes!”

The priestess flinched.

“Her condition worsened every time you used Heal, correct?”

“Yes...”

“Then why did you keep using it?”

The priestess’s face turned pale.

“W-Well... Her fever would not go down, so I thought I lacked divine power...”

“If you lack divine power, the spell simply has no effect. It does not backfire.”

“...Yes. That is correct.”

“Then when the patient’s condition worsened, you should have stopped and called your superior. Why did you continue trying on your own?”

“I am sorry...”

“Hmm. You must have learned about demon disease at school. Are you perhaps an apprentice priestess?”

“I-I am lower-ranking.”

Damn it.

A dark fantasy world where romance still lived and breathed.

Of all things, they had sent a resident on a house call.

No, come to think of it, they sent interns to local emergency rooms even in the twenty-first century.

...Damn it. Even if the world changed, exhausting work still fell to the juniors.

“It was late at night and this was a house call. You must have been sent because they heard the patient merely had a cold.”

“Yeees...”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know about demon disease.

She simply lacked practical experience, so her knowledge did not come to mind when she needed it.

It was something commonly seen in residents who had only recently begun working in the field.

‘Tsk. She probably came expecting a patient with a cold. How flustered must she have been when it suddenly turned out to be demon disease?’

Her mind was probably completely blank right now.

In terms of my previous life, it was like an intern standing night duty alone when a patient stabbed in the heart pushed in on a cart.

The patient was dying, and the professor would not answer the phone.

Then the patient’s heart stopped, so the intern started cardiac massage.

On a patient with a hole in their chest!

And that patient was a prosecutor’s family member.

If I had been an intern, I probably would have cried too.

Actually, I had.

Tsk. What a fucking idiot I was.

It was fortunate that things had somehow been cleaned up properly.

Thinking back, I got roped in by the professor who cleaned it up for me, which was why I chose thoracic surgery.

Why did I do that? I should have gone into radiology and protected my work-life balance.

I was getting sidetracked again.

In any case, what this lower-ranking priestess had done was that level of disaster.

She had repeatedly used Heal on a noble young lady with demon disease without properly realizing what was happening.

As a result, the demon disease had worsened.

“Sister.”

“I have done wrong. Please forgive me, my lord. I still have daughters...”

Oh. She had daughters too.

So she was a working mother.

Judging by her wrinkles, she looked fairly old.

And yet she was still only a lower-ranking priestess...

‘Was she a late bloomer?’

That was common in medical school too.

There had been plenty of older classmates who entered medical school after thirty.

“I understand.”

I calmed the tearful priestess.

As family, I wanted to get angry and demand answers, but doing so would change nothing.

Freya was the priority right now.

And I needed the priestess to treat Freya.

‘If an emergency occurs, I need her to use Heal and keep Freya alive somehow.’

Heal had worsened her condition, but it was still essential in an emergency.

It enhanced not only immunity, but vitality and regenerative ability as well. It could delay multiple organ failure.

Freya was only enduring now because the same Heal that had sent her immune system into overdrive had also enhanced her vitality.

Therefore, this lower-ranking priestess was essentially Freya’s life insurance.

“I am sorry... I am sorry...”

Still, I could not use her as an assistant in this state. First, I had to calm her down.

Maybe I could lighten the mood with some small talk.

“Please calm down. You said you have daughters. How old are they?”

“They are fourteen and sixteen... Unlike me, they are both good students and have good personalities. Ah, the older one has recently entered adolescence...”

“Yes. Good.”

I cut off the priestess, who was rambling.

“My younger sister is fourteen as well. Think of Freya as your own daughter and do your best to treat her. Would that not be enough?”

“...Please, just spare my daughters!”

No, how had she interpreted that?

I meant that she should squeeze everything she had learned out of her head.

Did she think that if Freya died, her daughters would not be safe either?

It wasn’t like I would do that.

...My father might, though.

Hmm.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t say I thought this family would be safe if something happened to Freya.

“...Calm down. What I mean is, did you not learn how to manage the symptoms of a demon disease patient?”

The priestess shook her head.

That was what I expected.

The demon disease treatment guidelines I knew were to leave the patient alone and pray.

Do not worsen their suffering with divine magic. Just begin hospice procedures.

And if they did not die?

Then their prayers had reached God.

‘I only asked just in case, but I don’t need to worry about stepping on anyone’s toes now.’

From that moment on, the priestess was reassigned as a Heal totem.

I was truly sorry to disregard an expert’s authority like this.

But my family’s life was on the line.

I immediately began recalling the procedure for treating Freya.

‘First, I need to suppress her immune system.’

The cause of a cytokine storm was excessive inflammation.

Therefore, I had to calm that inflammation.

And there was a drug for that.

‘Steroids... I have them.’

Fortunately, I had steroids in my bag.

Steroids were anti-inflammatory medicine made by grinding up pig adrenal glands.

However, there was one minor problem with them.

The extraction yield from adrenal glands was terrible.

Unlike insulin, steroids were not hormones stored in a particular organ.

They were produced whenever they were needed.

Because of that, even if you cut open a pig’s belly, you could barely extract any steroids.

Just how little?

Grinding down about one ton of pig adrenal glands produced one gram of steroids.

Because of that horrifying, hopeless yield, steroids were one of the precious medicines I had very little of.

‘One one-gram dose.’

You could think of this small ampoule as containing several thousand pigs.

I wasn’t joking. One bottle contained about as much money as the research fund I had donated to my teacher this year.

But...

‘What am I thinking?’

There was no hesitation.

She was my only younger sister.

The reason I earned money. The reason I tried to rise through the ranks using this misunderstanding story.

It was all to make my family happy.

What was the point of saving this medicine for later?

I took out a syringe.

Without delay, I tied a tourniquet around Freya’s slender arm.

Over her bluish raised vein, one gram of medicine compressed from a ton slowly entered her body.

‘Please endure.’

Normally, you did not administer one gram of steroids at once.

A pill taken by allergy patients was usually 10 milligrams, or 0.01 grams.

That meant I was giving her a hundred times that amount in one dose.

But there was a reason for it.

‘I need to use pulse therapy.’

It was an extreme treatment that forced the runaway immune system to shut down by hitting it with a high dose of steroids all at once.

Normally, it was the kind of madness that could stop the heart.

But saving her brain came first, so there was no other choice.

‘If her heart stops, the priestess can use Heal, or I can perform CPR.’

But if her brain was cooked, there would be no saving her.

That was why I had no choice but to take this gamble.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Over fifteen minutes, I administered the entire gram.

Slowly. As slowly as possible, manually controlling the speed.

It was a final desperate attempt to reduce the strain on her heart, even a little.

‘Please...’

I removed the syringe and pressed a clean strip of cloth against the injection mark on Freya’s arm.

“Sister.”

“Y-Yes!”

“Bring towels soaked in cold water. And bring boiled, cooled water as well. She must not become dehydrated.”

“Understood!”

The priestess, who had become my assistant before I knew it, rushed from the room.

I placed my hand on Freya’s forehead.

She was still hot.

‘Of course she is.’

Steroids were not magic.

Just because I pushed a syringe did not mean her fever would drop immediately.

It would take at least two hours, perhaps four, for the medicine to begin working.

I understood that rationally, but...

‘Please...’

My mind was filled with anxiety.

Then Freya’s weak voice reached me.

“Brother...”

“What is it?”

“Are you there?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

I took my younger sister’s hand, soaked through with sweat.

The hand of a fourteen-year-old girl trembling with fever.

She knew what death was, but she was too young to accept it.

“It’s all right.”

I squeezed her hand tightly.

“I’m here.”

“...”

“What did I tell you when Fried was born and got sick?”

“...To trust you, Brother.”

“Right.”

After hearing my answer, a little strength left Freya’s hand.

An hour passed.

41.0°C. No change.

Two hours passed.

40.7°C.

A slight drop.

Three hours passed.

41.0°C. It had risen again.

‘Damn it...’

There was no sign of the fever going down.

Had the steroid dosage been insufficient?

Or was the immune system, driven wild by Heal, simply too strong?

Clicking my tongue, I gave the priestess a new instruction.

“Sister. Do you know how to make holy water?”

“What? Ah, yes. I learned at the seminary, at least... But there is not enough symbolic resonance here to make it...”

“Then go outside and make some now. There is a prayer room in the annex, so you should be able to do it there.”

“Yes! I will return shortly!”

The priestess hurriedly left the room.

After sending her away, I looked down at my younger sister, whose body was trembling.

There was another card besides steroids.

The problem was that it was a treatment with no clinical data whatsoever.

I could not easily use an unproven treatment on my family.

But... I had no other choice now.

‘Tsk.’

I had been bold when Fried was born.

Yet now that I had someone to protect, I was becoming timid.

‘Get a grip, Julian.’

I was the protagonist of a misunderstanding story.

A protagonist for whom everything turned out well.

And I was a black magic prodigy recognized by the Great Sage.

There was nothing to hesitate over.

‘What have I been hesitating for all this time?’

It was already too late to deliberate.

With resolve, I tightly held Freya’s hands.

Holding both of her hands, I quietly began constructing a spell formula.

The catalyst was the steroids flowing through her blood.

The grammar of the formula was a curse.

And the symbol would be...

‘...I’m sorry.’

The Y-shaped cross left behind by the priestess.

I used that cross as the catalyst.

‘Apostle. If you possess the symbolic resonance I believe you do...’

Then please sacrifice yourself once more.

I gripped the cross tightly in both hands and chanted in a singing voice.

“Expurgatio angeli custodis inepti atque fervidi.”

The moment the chant ended, magical power drained from my body.

Just as I began to worry that the spell had failed, the brass cross in my hands melted away.

Then Freya’s fever began to fall rapidly.

Footnotes:

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