WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

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◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 85: Mistaken for a Saint (3)

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The Heresy Inquisition, Fabrication Division, Room 3.

Informally known as the Liars’ Room.

Their main duty was promoting saints and saintesses.

It was not work they could proudly acknowledge in public.

They mingled among the people, using small lies and magic to distort history.

They readily admitted that they were liars.

But if asked whether they took pride in their work, they could nod without hesitation.

Sometimes, a sweet lie was more necessary than a harsh truth.

Someone died every day in this world.

Another territory in the north vanished today.

A knight order from the Eastern Kingdom failed to return.

Wails rang through the Western Kingdom.

The reason people could still bake bread tomorrow morning amid all that news was their belief that the gods had not abandoned them and continued to send down their descendants.

That was why they took pride in their lies.

Even if history remembered them as liars who had distorted it.

If they could spread the hope to bake bread tomorrow, they were prepared to gladly bear that condemnation.

But today.

Something happened that put a small crack in that pride.

“...What exactly are we supposed to promote?”

The head of Fabrication Division, Room 3, sank into thought.

The canonization of the Saintess of the Lantern and the Black Saint had recently been decided.

Before revealing them to the public, the Fabrication Division had begun working to embellish their miracles.

However.

“When I was placed beneath the black flag, I knew what my fate would be. The people lying beside me looked awful, so how could I not? Then a priestess came and cast divine magic on me. She prayed for me too.”

“Whenever my eyes started closing, she came back and cast divine magic again. And again. At first, I was grateful. But as time passed, I began to resent her. It hurt so much.”

“I don’t know how much time passed before priests suddenly swarmed around me. They loaded me onto a cart. I thought they were going to toss me into an incinerator while I was still awake. I even resented the priestess who had kept me alive.”

“Then I fell asleep in the cart. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a bed at a treatment center. Later, I asked the healer who saved me. They said I survived until my turn came because that priestess kept pouring divine power into me.”

“What else can I say but thank you? Really. Hm? You think I’m lying? Ha ha, man. If you don’t believe me, grab any knight on this drill ground and ask. Dozens of people here survived because of that priestess. Dozens.”

Before they could even begin their campaign, people were already pouring out testimonies as if possessed.

At first, the Fabrication Division regarded it as a kind of collective delusion.

When numerous accounts became tangled together in a chaotic situation, the accomplishments of several people could sometimes be packaged as the achievement of one.

The Saintess of Victory was a representative example.

A saintess said to have fought across five battlefields simultaneously two hundred years ago.

In reality, her exploits had been accomplished by five entirely different female knights.

As rumors accumulated embellishment over the years, they eventually solidified into the image of one saintess clad in golden armor.

So when they first heard the story from the north, the Fabrication Division had the same suspicion.

But after collecting countless accounts and cross-checking them, they concluded that although some exaggeration had slipped in, the stories were true.

“My younger sibling told me that the priestess came every night while I was hospitalized.”

“When I was wandering at death’s door, an angel pulled me from that mire. That face? Yes! It was that face!”

“I’m an adventurer, so I’ve spent plenty of time in treatment centers. Normally, once you lie down in one of those beds, you don’t know when you’ll wake up, right? But they say no one at the treatment center where that priestess worked stayed unconscious for more than three days.”

In this world, hospitalized patients had roughly a fifty percent chance of ending up in a coffin.

Cloudy air carrying the stench of dirty water.

Yellowed sheets that had held a corpse only days earlier.

Twenty-person wards shared with plague patients.

Death was always present in treatment-center wards.

But the wards remembered by those who had met Ayla, the priestess people spoke of, were completely different.

Flowers placed beside each patient’s head, filling the air with fragrance.

Fresh white sheets, washed and changed every day.

There, whenever patients were about to close their eyes again or opened them again, they always saw Ayla holding a lantern.

“It may sound irreverent, but I have to say it. She is undoubtedly a saintess.”

The Fabrication Division had no need to spread propaganda.

A folk belief had already formed that if the saintess carrying the lantern passed by and left flowers, that patient would see the morning sunlight the next day.

“Chief. Do we really need to alter the Saintess of the Lantern’s achievements?”

“...Let’s leave them alone.”

In the end, the Fabrication Division discarded the scenario it had prepared for the Saintess of the Lantern.

It felt irreverent to soil that mystery by meddling with it.

And the rumors about the Saintess of the Lantern were nothing compared with those concerning her teacher, the Black Saint.

“Doctor Schnabel? Ah, he was famous in Limbus Pit to begin with. There was a friend over there who had gone blind in one eye, you see? A few days after Doctor Schnabel gave them some medicine, they could see again. What was it called...? Heparin?”

“Years ago, that alley over there used to be where people who couldn’t walk went to beg. You don’t see any of them there now, right? Doctor Schnabel gave something to the people there. He also made sure they had beans. After that day, every one of them disappeared from that alley.”

“Doctor Schnabel? Of course I know him. See this wound on my back? I got stabbed there in an alley once. I couldn’t walk after that. But look at me now. I may stagger a little, but I can walk somehow.”

Before this incident.

When Director Schun’s hand reached someone, the blind regained their sight, and those unable to walk stood and walked again.

Those whose bleeding would not stop stopped bleeding. Those possessed by ghosts stopped convulsing.

Even before this latest miracle, the miracles he had performed in the slums were too numerous to count.

And at the northern gate, accounts of those miracles reached their peak.

“Director Schun? Yes. Even if I hid that I was sick, he found out and treated me anyway. He stuck something like a needle into my chest. There were plenty of people like me under the red flag. I heard a lot of people call those needles sacred nails.”

“See this? This isn’t my original jaw. It’s a rib. Amazing, right? I think it’s amazing too. Come to think of it, doesn’t the creation myth say a man was made from a woman’s rib?”

“...He is a god. He reattached my severed penis. Aside from a scar, there have been no problems since. Do I need to explain any further?”

The last testimony was oddly concerning.

In any case, the Black Saint had performed countless other miracles.

There were even accounts from priests who had watched his work from nearby.

“I’m not exaggerating! It’s true! He really opened someone’s head! I saw it while assisting with divine magic!”

There had been endless cross-checks.

They repeatedly wondered whether this was some sort of collective delusion.

But the more they verified it, the more they had no choice but to conclude that it was the truth, without exaggeration or misunderstanding.

“...Could drugs have spread through the imperial capital without my knowing?”

“You know the drug cartel was crushed years ago. They say you can’t get drugs in the imperial capital anymore.”

“Then you expect me to believe this is real?”

The chief pressed at his temples.

The Fabrication Division had taken pride in spreading hope through lies for their entire lives.

But.

“Oh, Lord God. I am almost afraid that we would dare lay our hands upon this.”

“The Cardinal also received the report. He instructed us not to force a campaign unnecessarily.”

For once, their lies were not needed.

They were instead afraid that leaving artificial traces would somehow tarnish the saints’ achievements.

In the end, the Fabrication Division decided to minimize additional involvement with these two saints.

A small amount of promotion, and some memory alteration to protect their identities.

Other than that, they would not touch the miracles the two had performed.

After setting that policy, the chief rose from his seat.

“...For the first time in a while, I feel like attending evening prayer. It seems the gods have not abandoned us.”

Working in a position where they encouraged faith through lies naturally made people cynical about everything.

Perhaps because they wondered whether the faith they believed in was itself manipulation imposed by their predecessors.

But this time was different.

Pure miracles without any lies.

The more they cross-checked them, the more it felt as though the excitement of faith they had forgotten was waking again.

Unable to bear that swelling feeling, the chief eventually headed for the prayer room.

* * *

The Spring of Those Who Did Not Return.

That was what this disastrous subjugation failure came to be called.

About a month after that incident.

“You may be discharged now.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor.”

I was finally starting to have room to breathe.

Saving people with limited resources was all well and good.

The problem was that the price had completely destroyed my work-life balance.

It couldn’t be helped.

This was the result of trying to replace the miracle of Regeneration, top-grade healing magic, with low-grade Heal.

‘Regeneration gets it done in five minutes.’

I had seen the diocesan head, a high-grade healer, use it.

A noble who had been on the verge of death was completely fixed up in five minutes.

Honestly, I was jealous.

To perform the same miracle, I had to run myself ragged with low-grade Heal for a month.

‘I’m supposed to be the protagonist...’

If I was going to be reincarnated, or possess someone, couldn’t I have been given one more cheat ability?

Of course, I liked that my memory was better than expected and that I had an aptitude for black magic.

Still, I wished I had been given some divine power too.

There would have been so much more I could do.

Well, regretting it wouldn’t change anything.

Doing my best with what I lacked was something I had done since my previous life.

Setting aside my complaints, I focused on treating patients again that day.

“You started eating again after your surgery last time, right? Are you having bowel movements normally?”

“I have a little diarrhea. Is that all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine at that level. If it’s too uncomfortable, I can give you a potion that helps with diarrhea.”

One day, while I was busily helping patients return to their normal lives, I received a message.

It was from Archbishop Lailic.

[Brother, if you have time now, may I come see you?]

“My appointments end at six. Would that work for you?”

The archbishop paused briefly beyond the crystal ball.

[Ah, is Miss Ayla there with you as well?]

Miss Ayla?

It was strange for the archbishop to use an honorific for a girl who was merely training to become a healer.

Still, I didn’t ask about it and simply answered.

“Yes, she is helping with appointments today. I believe she’ll be with me after six.”

[Excellent. Then I shall see you then. Forgive me for taking your time, Brother.]

“Not at all. I’ll see you later, Archbishop.”

Beep.

With that sound effect, the crystal ball’s magical power cut off.

After that, it was another hectic stretch of appointments.

I checked on the rehabilitation of patients I had treated.

I trained other healers.

I gave Ayla and her friend a little advance instruction in Healing Studies.

Before I knew it, it was time for the appointment.

When I finished my appointments and entered the waiting room, the archbishop was there, dressed in purple robes with a purple cappa draped over his shoulders.

“Archbishop?”

“Ah, you’ve finished seeing patients.”

The archbishop rose from his chair with a faint smile.

A cup of cold tea sat beside him.

How long had he been waiting?

“When did you arrive? If you had told our staff, I could’ve wrapped up appointments earlier.”

“No, no.”

The archbishop waved his hands.

“I arrived a little before our scheduled time. I was concerned that telling you I was waiting in the lobby would look as though I was rushing your appointments, so I asked them not to tell you.”

The archbishop slowly stood.

I called Ayla from the ward, where she was caring for patients, and led the archbishop to my office.

Inside the office.

Ayla and I sat side by side across from him.

“Thank you for making time, Brother. You must wish to go home and rest, but I feel terribly sorry to delay the end of your workday.”

“Not at all. I’m glad I have an opportunity to see you, Archbishop.”

“Your saying so puts my mind at ease. How have you been lately, Brother?”

“Thanks to your help transferring patients to other treatment centers, I finally have some breathing room.”

“I’m truly glad that I was able to help.”

The archbishop wrapped both hands around his teacup.

I asked about his situation as well.

“May I ask how you have been, Archbishop?”

“People are beginning to return to their families, so this is when their grief is deepest. My heart is not at ease either.”

Ironically, the archbishop said this was his busiest time.

His work as the public health director overseeing every treatment center in the capital had ended, and his time as a priest caring for the faithful had begun.

Although the number of casualties had been historically low for an incident of this scale, there had still been a hundred deaths.

That was by no means a small number, even by this era’s standards.

Memorial services and funerals were also a priest’s work, so the archbishop couldn’t help being overwhelmingly busy.

Only after exchanging updates for several minutes did we reach the main point.

“I have come to see you because the Church wishes to make one request.”

At the archbishop’s serious voice, Ayla’s shoulders stiffened.

In contrast, I wasn’t particularly tense.

I had a rough idea of what request would follow.

After taking a brief breath, the archbishop spoke.

“As the head of the capital diocese, and on behalf of the Church’s Holy See, I earnestly ask both you, Brother, and student Ayla to accept canonization. The Church humbly wishes to canonize you both.”

The archbishop removed his zucchetto and bowed his head.

Ayla caught her breath.

“...Hic.”

Then she froze on the spot with a small hiccup.

In contrast, I remained perfectly calm.

That was only natural. As a director of a trading company, I heard rumors.

In particular, the main customers of our company were healers before they were patients.

It was inevitable that word would reach me that they were trying to make me a saint.

Of course, it was probably because the Church had not worked especially hard to keep it secret.

Thanks to that, I had been able to prepare myself before the archbishop gave me the news.

‘As expected. Is this finally where the original story begins?’

I looked at the top of the archbishop’s bowed head and sank into thought.

Quinine, insulin, Viagra, and so on.

Honestly, I didn’t know whether these were medicines the protagonist had made in the original story, or whether they even appeared during this period.

I had only made them because they seemed possible to produce.

So I had always wondered when the main story of the original work would begin.

I thought it would probably start once I became an adult, or a saint.

But I never expected it to start like this.

‘So this is how they mistake me for a saint in the end.’

Of course, their misunderstanding was understandable.

I knew that what I had accomplished this time was extraordinary.

If medical standards in this era were equivalent to those of the nineteenth century, I had demonstrated surgeries and a medical system that were fully two hundred years ahead.

It was no wonder they reacted as though this were some typical other-world power fantasy.

But.

‘I definitely am not a saint.’

Thinking about it coolly, I could never be a saint.

First, I couldn’t use divine magic.

My biological parents had both been healers, yet I couldn’t use divine magic.

I had also been frequently ill as a child.

So I didn’t perfectly fulfill the five requirements for sainthood.

More importantly, I wasn’t a good enough person to be called a saint.

They said hypocrisy could be a virtue too.

Still, I was hardly a good person worthy of being called a saint.

Saints and saintesses were like the GOATs of human history, people humanity should look to as examples for generations.

In Korea, that would put them in the ranks of His Excellency Sejong or Emperor Chungmugong.

And they wanted to put me in that lineup?

‘Ugh. That’s a little much...’

I was just someone who had lived to make money and coast through life.

Comparing me to people like that was crossing a line.

Maybe that was why.

I had acted with intention until now, but now that it was right in front of me, it felt burdensome.

‘Just once.’

I should refuse just once.

That would make me feel a little less burdened.

Of course, I knew it wouldn’t work.

Still, I wanted to leave behind proof that I had said no.

“Archbishop.”

Archbishop Lailic raised his head.

“I am not worthy of sainthood. I am not a great person fit to stand among such people, and I do not wish for the Church’s traditions to be broken because of me.”

But as expected.

The archbishop would not let me go, pleading earnestly.

“Brother. I have witnessed countless miracles throughout my life. I have seen the miracles performed by the saints and saintesses of this era. But none of them shone as brightly as you do.”

His wrinkled hands tightly held both of mine.

“There are those who have regenerated limbs, and those who have stopped plagues. But no one has saved so many people. If you do not receive canonization, then who could possibly be worthy of it in the future?”

At those words, I smiled bitterly beneath my mask.

As expected.

I couldn’t refuse when he begged this earnestly.

Even if I refused again, they would persuade me somehow.

In the end, pretending that I couldn’t resist the earnest request, I accepted the offer.

“All right. I am unworthy, but if my lies can give people hope, if they can give them hope to bake bread tomorrow morning...”

I continued, quoting a passage from scripture that I remembered.

“I will dare to shoulder that burden.”

The archbishop’s eyes reddened when he heard that.

“How can you be so humble...”

It seemed I had caused another ridiculous misunderstanding.

But I didn’t correct it, lest I ruin the moment.

* * *

There was not much afterward.

They explained when the canonization ceremony would be held and listed the benefits granted to saints and saintesses.

“Saints and saintesses are assigned a holy knight of at least Rank 4 for close protection.”

They were mascots of the Church, after all.

It was only natural.

Their families would also receive the Church’s highest level of security.

Memory alteration could be performed when necessary to protect their safety.

Their residence would be moved to Sanctum Hill.

They would receive a carriage, an allowance, at least the treatment of a marquis wherever they went, and so on.

There was a lot of it, like special clauses in an insurance contract.

In short, I had made it.

“Hic.”

Ayla froze on the spot again with another hiccup as soon as she heard about the benefits.

In any case, after we finished discussing the canonization.

“Ah, and Brother. I am truly sorry to ask this.”

The archbishop placed his teacup on the table, mixing a faint sigh into his voice.

“There is a concern I wish to confide in you personally. Would that be all right?”

“If I can help, I would be happy to, Archbishop.”

“Ha ha. I am ashamed to seek your wisdom again so soon after delivering such momentous news, Director.”

The archbishop gave a short laugh.

Soon, his smile turned bitter.

“Recently, healers throughout the capital have been submitting resignation letters in droves.”

“...”

“The reason is...”

The archbishop watched my reaction.

I understood what he meant.

The healers who had recently joined our clinic said that a relay of resignations by healers all across the capital had become fashionable lately.

And the reason was obviously me.

That day.

The healers who had observed my surgeries returned to their own treatment centers and spread tales of my feats.

To learn my techniques, they began throwing down resignation letters and applying to our clinic.

We had already had plenty of applicants.

Now, though, the number had far exceeded anything our trading company could handle.

“I... I am not saying this is the saint’s fault, of course. And I bear some responsibility for this situation as well.”

The archbishop gave an embarrassed smile.

“The treatment center directors are in an uproar. Yet we cannot scold our brothers and sisters for their passion to learn... So I was wondering whether we might borrow the saint’s wisdom.”

I thought about it for a moment.

I considered ways to resolve the situation.

First, instead of making them come to me, I could visit other treatment centers regularly.

‘...That doesn’t seem especially useful.’

Those treatment centers and their affiliated denominations would probably monopolize the techniques.

That was how this world worked.

With that method, I would have to visit each of the four major denominations and repeat the same material.

It was naturally unrealistic and inefficient.

Ultimately, the problem lay somewhere more fundamental.

‘As expected, the problem seems to be the failure of medical education.’

Healing Studies in this world had no concept of clinical practice or residency training.

All students learned in the Imperial Academy’s Healing Studies Department was theory and the principles of magic.

Healers did not directly treat patients until after graduation.

To gain experience, they had to find work as low-grade healers at treatment centers. To find a proper mentor, they needed connections.

On top of that, each denomination had different treatment methods it kept confidential.

To me, a doctor educated in twenty-first-century Humboldt-style medicine, it looked like an extremely inefficient structure.

‘As expected, I need to tear this apart and rebuild it from the ground up.’

I had thought about it for a long time.

Once I made enough money, I wanted to build a university hospital in my own name.

But I still didn’t have enough money to put it into practice.

As expected, Viagra alone was nowhere near enough to build a proper hospital.

Even other large treatment centers were built only when several nobles joined forces.

But if I used the value of my name as a saint, I thought I might be able to build one with the Church behind me.

If things went well, I might even get the imperial family to sponsor it too.

Having finished my calculations, I carefully spoke to the archbishop.

“Archbishop.”

“Yes?”

“How about building a new treatment center, one not bound by denomination, where every Academy student can learn equally?”

And to be honest.

When I was a medical student, my dream had been to train at Johns Hopkins.

I never managed it because my conversational English wasn’t good enough.

Author’s Note

The ward descriptions in the middle were not embellished for dramatic effect.

That is genuinely what hospital wards were like before Nightingale.

If anything, I toned them down with fantasy adjustments.

To explain a little more history.

Clinical practice was only added to medical education in the nineteenth century, after the liberal-arts-style education of the University of Paris.

Training programs like internships and residencies began at Johns Hopkins, known for its Humboldt-style system.

And after many years passed.

Johns Hopkins Hospital remains a place regarded as sacred by medical students.

Along with Harvard Medical School and Mayo Clinic, it is never left out of discussions about the world’s best hospitals.

+ I also changed the cover. The person on it is Freya.

Footnotes:

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