The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint - Chapter 42

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

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◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 42: Mistaken for Daddy Long-Legs (1)

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The desperate night passed, and morning came.

I looked down at Freya as she breathed evenly.

The temperature beneath the back of my hand resting on her forehead was normal.

The 41-degree fever that had tormented us all night, the metallic rasp in her breathing, and the red rash that had covered her entire body.

They had all subsided as though they had been a lie.

‘...It worked.’

I had succeeded.

Maybe it was thanks to the black magic talent my teacher praised so highly.

Maybe it was the luck of a misunderstanding-story protagonist.

Either way, the spell had succeeded despite being my first attempt.

Creak.

Just then, the door carefully opened.

Through the narrow gap, I saw the priestess who had gone out to make holy water.

Perhaps because she had prayed all night, she looked utterly exhausted.

She carried a small silver cup in her arms.

“Young master, the holy water...”

The priestess’s eyes widened as she spoke.

“Her fever... has gone down?”

“Yes.”

“How...?”

“Shh.”

With a faint smile, I raised my index finger to my lips.

“Every spellcaster has their own secrets. Just as healers do.”

“My goodness...”

The priestess covered her mouth with the hand not holding the silver cup.

The demon disease had been cured.

She did not know how it had happened, but the result was right before her eyes.

It was no different from a miracle found only in myths.

“Then, did you do this, young master?”

I did not answer.

Instead, I took the cup of holy water from her hand as she stood there blankly.

“You worked hard, Sister.”

Clear water with a gentle glow rippled inside the cup.

I approached Freya with the holy water.

‘Freya’s immune system is weakened right now.’

Holy water was originally a substance specialized in driving away curses, ghosts, and other unholy things.

That meant it had almost no regenerative effect like healing magic.

Still, divine power had seeped into it, so I could expect at least a very slight strengthening of her vitality.

‘She had a high fever until just moments ago. This should be safer for protecting her organs.’

I did not even understand the exact principle behind the spell I had cast.

Under those circumstances, I could not cast low-grade Heal on Freya again.

So I used holy water instead.

Unlike low-grade Heal, I had never seen any record of holy water worsening demon disease.

“Freya. I know you’re sleepy, but drink this and then go back to sleep.”

“Mmm...”

I carefully helped her drink the holy water so she would not choke.

Only after confirming that her dry lips had become moist did I finally let out the breath I had been holding.

“Ha...”

After catching my breath, I called to the priestess, who had been standing there like a sack of barley.

“Sister.”

“Y-Yes! Young master!”

The priestess answered with a start.

Was it because she had just witnessed a miracle?

Or because she thought she would have to pay for the mistake she made last night?

There was fear in the way she treated me.

If I had any stamina left, I might have corrected that misunderstanding.

But I had not slept a wink, so I had no room to be considerate enough for that.

“Freya suffered from a fever all night, so she must have sweated a great deal. I told the maids to prepare hot water. They should be here soon.”

I handed her the half-full cup of holy water and continued.

“Please wipe her body with water diluted with holy water. If possible, help her change clothes as well.”

Normally, wiping down a patient’s body in a clinic was the maids’ job.

Just as doctors did not bathe patients in hospitals.

Therefore, this could have been insulting to the priestess.

Like doctors in modern society, priests were respected professionals, above commoners but below nobles.

Yet despite my request, the priestess answered without hesitation.

“Understood!”

She was still dwelling on last night’s mistake.

“I will take good care of the young lady.”

“And if her condition changes again, call me immediately.”

“I will remember, young master.”

The priestess nodded repeatedly.

Just then, I heard the hurried footsteps of maids approaching through the corridor.

“Then I’ll leave her to you.”

With a slight bow, I left the room.

In the hallway, I met several maids carrying steaming hot water and pure white towels.

“Young master...?”

The maids all stopped at once and bowed.

However, their gazes as they greeted me were strange, unlike usual.

They kept glancing at my face, then flinched whenever our eyes met.

A few of them were even blushing.

Pointing at those whose cheeks had reddened, I spoke.

“Do you two happen to have a cough? Your cheeks are red.”

“N-No! We were just... just in the cold...”

“I see. However, Freya is weak right now, so make sure you wear masks.”

“Yes, young master!”

Even so, their eyes would not leave me.

Wondering if something was wrong, I followed their gazes.

They seemed to be looking at my hair, drenched in sweat.

‘Oh dear.’

I had been so focused on caring for her that I had not noticed my hair was a mess.

At home, I always played the role of a dignified and perfect young master.

Yet I had let them see me looking this disheveled.

‘I still have a long way to go.’

I fixed my messy hair.

I heard something like sighs from the maids, but decided I must have misheard.

They had probably gotten out of breath carrying that basin of water up to the second floor.

“Please take good care of Freya.”

“Yes! Young master, please get plenty of rest too!”

After sending them on their way, I headed for my room at the far end of the corridor opposite Freya’s.

The moment I arrived, I locked the door and collapsed into the chair before my desk.

As my tension eased, all the aftereffects that adrenaline had hidden came rushing in at once.

“Urk...”

The moment I sat down, a terrible wave of nausea rose up.

A headache followed, as though someone were stabbing my head with a sharp awl while flashes of light burst before my eyes.

A typical case of mana sickness.

It occurred when you consumed a great deal of mana too suddenly.

‘Were the catalyst and chant insufficient?’

It was also one of the common hurdles wizards faced when developing new magic.

Unlike established spells, refined through countless years of history, new spells lacked that optimization, so this sickness often occurred.

‘I’ll need to optimize the spell formula later...’

But the aftereffects were not what mattered now.

I slumped in my chair and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Enduring the headache, I reviewed what had happened the previous night.

Freya’s high fever.

The cytokine storm.

Steroid pulse therapy.

And...

‘My black magic...’

I still could not believe it.

That I had successfully used black magic.

And an improvised spell formula I had tried for the first time at that.

I rubbed my palms together, then covered my eyes.

Within the warm darkness, I reviewed the conditions I had used.

‘Wither.’

A debuff spell black mages used before casting a curse to lower their target’s resistance.

I had adapted that spell.

The catalyst was steroids.

The spell formula targeted the most active immune cells.

And the symbol I used was the priestess’s Y-shaped cross, along with the dedication and atonement bound to it.

In theory, it was a perfect combination.

So I cast it.

‘To think it worked on the first try...’

It had succeeded.

Suddenly, I remembered something my teacher often said.

“If you had been born just a little earlier, you would have been the Master of the Tower of the Thirteenth Month instead of that guy.”

The Master of the Tower of the Thirteenth Month.

The worst black mage in history.

My teacher always said my talent surpassed that person’s.

I had assumed it was just flattery and only half believed it.

Even accounting for that, though, succeeding on my first attempt was far too lucky.

‘That was too reckless.’

Magic was not that easy.

Even when the theory was perfect, magic often failed in practice.

Just as every normal piece of code was bound to have bugs.

Yet I had succeeded.

And I had not even properly understood the symbolic resonance or conditions of that space.

‘I handled the scientific conditions with medical knowledge, but I still don’t understand the symbols.’

That was why it was clearly strange that the black magic had succeeded on the first attempt.

I only vaguely understood the conditions, knew nothing about the symbols, and had simply gone for it.

Yet it had worked on the first try.

The only explanation was that I had the luck of a misunderstanding-story protagonist.

‘It was the same with Fried...’

My life was far too lucky.

As if I were loved by the goddess of fortune.

‘Luck really is the best.’

A splitting headache began to wash over me.

Even if I wanted to continue thinking, my brain was trying to shut itself down.

Dark sleepiness began to cover my vision.

‘Let’s just sleep.’

Did I need to think about it so deeply?

Freya had made it through the crisis, and I could research improvements to the spell with my teacher later.

So there was only one thing left for me to do.

‘Tonight’s dinner menu...’

Without resisting my heavy eyelids, I fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

After the early morning had passed and noon was close,

while Julian was finally catching up on sleep in his bed,

the priestess, having finished caring for Freya, walked through the third-floor corridor of the main residence under the head butler’s guidance.

The place they arrived at was the head of the house’s office.

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Instead of morning sunlight, light scattered by smog seeped into the office, which was filled with the warm glow of magic lamps.

Yet despite the lighting, the air in the room was colder than the approaching winter.

“...Sit down, Priestess.”

Hendel Nihirit, head of the baronial House Nihirit.

At his cold form of address, the priestess’s shoulders jerked.

Julian had consistently called her Sister.

It was the most common and polite title that commoners outside the Church used for clergy.

But that was a title used by commoners.

Nobles had no reason to respect clergy unconditionally.

No matter how much religious people declared themselves free from worldly concerns, they could never be completely detached from the world’s power structures.

And considering that even the weakest noble was a mage of Rank 2 or higher, there was no reason for them to respect priests at all.

Thus, no matter that she was a priest, even a rarer healing priest, the priestess never forgot her true position.

“I believe you know why you were summoned here, Priestess.”

“Yes, I do, my lord.”

Especially now, when she had been summoned before a noble furious that he had nearly lost his daughter.

The priestess perched on the edge of the sofa, staring at the floor.

Hendel’s cold voice came from above her.

“I hear you cast low-grade Heal on a demon disease patient several times in succession without properly checking her condition.”

His voice was low and calm.

Yet suppressed killing intent coiled within it like a snake.

“Was there some reason I do not know? Given my work at the Imperial Palace, I have encountered many different cases. There may be a perspective from the field that I do not understand, so I will at least give you a chance to defend yourself.”

“...I am sorry, my lord. It all happened because I was inexperienced.”

“You are honest.”

Hendel’s calm remark pierced her heart like a dagger.

The priestess slid down from her chair, ready to kneel immediately.

Her trembling hands pressed against the carpet.

“I am sorry. I truly believed it was a cold. As both a priest and a mother with a daughter around the young lady’s age, I did my best to heal her, but...”

“You did your best?”

Hendel coldly cut her off.

There was a faint scoff in his voice.

“You know this world is not kind enough for that to be an excuse, Priestess.”

“...I am sorry, my lord.”

“Nothing kills people as easily as goodwill born of ignorance. Especially in professions that deal directly with lives.”

The priestess squeezed her eyes shut.

A commoner priest who had endangered a noble’s bloodline.

It would not have been strange for her to be beheaded at once and scattered across the garden as fertilizer.

Considering Hendel’s position within the Imperial Palace, it was more than possible.

“...”

Silence settled between them.

Then a light metallic sound broke it from the head of the house’s desk.

Clink.

“You will be paid, Priestess.”

“P-Pardon?”

“For this trip and your treatment. I will pay you properly.”

The priestess’s pupils shook wildly in disbelief.

Just moments ago, she had expected to lose her head.

Instead, she had received a pouch of gold coins.

As she looked at him in confusion, Hendel rested his chin on his clasped hands.

“To be honest, given my position, I am not inclined to believe in paltry goodwill.”

“...”

“But it is different when family is involved.”

“?”

Family?

At the unexpected word, whose meaning she could not grasp, the priestess looked up.

The head of the house’s gaze toward her had softened considerably.

“I do not believe in incompetent goodwill. Nor can I understand it. But I trust my son’s judgment.”

“...”

“I heard that you cared for Freya alongside Julian. Therefore, I must assume Julian trusted you.”

The head of the house turned his chair and looked out the window.

“I will not harm you. I must prove that my son’s choice was right, and that my son is a good person.”

He tapped the windowsill with his fingertips.

There was much calculation behind that decision.

As the head of the house, he was carefully managing his eldest son’s reputation so he could send him into a proper noble family, even as a live-in son-in-law.

But as a father, there was another calculation as well.

“I cannot leave a stain upon my son’s history. So, Priestess, I will not hold you accountable for last night’s mistake.”

Hendel turned back toward her.

“Countless historians and gossips will hold you accountable for that mistake someday. This is the story of the first cure for demon disease, so your story will likely never be forgotten.”

Perhaps countless fingers would point at the priestess.

But she had no room to fear that.

What mattered right now was that she had survived.

“Th-Thank you! Thank you, my lord! I will never forget this kindness for the rest of my life...!”

“Save your thanks, and remember only this.”

Hendel spoke more forcefully to the priestess, whose forehead was pressed against the carpet.

“Working at the Imperial Palace, one inevitably gains connections and influence that do not suit one’s title.”

Gulp.

The priestess swallowed dryly.

“Even if I am only a baron, I can hide rumors that my son cured demon disease until the boy becomes independent. Do you understand what I am saying?”

The priestess nodded as though her head might fall off.

Curing demon disease was a great achievement.