The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint - Chapter 9

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Haruto

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Dark Fantasy Doctor Was Mistaken for a Saint ◈

Chapter 9: Limbus Pit Ecology Report (1)

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* * *

"Madam! Young master... Young master isn't breathing!"

"Gasp!"

Linie, Baroness Nihirit, woke with a sharp intake of breath.

Her heart was pounding wildly.

The first thing she did after waking from the nightmare was look for her child.

Fortunately, her beloved youngest son was sleeping soundly in his cradle.

The tiny infant, who looked as though he could stop breathing at any moment, had put on a decent amount of weight and now had adorably rounded features.

It had been six weeks since this little child entered the world. He had finally reached forty weeks.

Now that her youngest son had reached the same number of weeks as an ordinary baby, his breathing had become considerably steadier.

Soft, even breaths.

Linie listened to them for a long time.

Only then did her racing heart gradually settle.

'That nightmare again.'

Things were better now, but the memory of the night this child had been in danger still came to her as a nightmare.

Julian was never there in those nightmares, and every time, Linie had to let this precious life slip away.

Whenever that happened, she rejected the horrible nightmare and returned to reality.

She turned her head toward the other side of the room.

The blankets atop the small bed were folded neatly.

It was where Julian, the eldest son and healer of House Nihirit, should have been.

Linie was not surprised by his absence.

The boy would stay here all night, then quietly slip away at dawn.

"..."

For some reason, she suddenly missed Julian.

Linie rose from her bed.

* * *

It had been a month and a half since our new family member arrived.

Fried had finally reached forty weeks, meaning he was now the same age as ordinary babies. One year old!

Ah, this was a Western culture, so he would be zero years old.

Anyway.

A lot had happened on the way here.

Too much to describe in full, but I could say one thing for certain.

Our youngest had put me through hell.

Good work, me.

Pat, pat.

There were times when Fried's weight dropped and made my heart sink, but thankfully, it was only because he had pooped.

The kid sure pooped a lot.

'Fried's finally stabilized.'

Of course, reaching forty weeks six weeks after his birth did not mean he no longer required care.

But he was past the premature stage, so there was no need to watch him around the clock anymore.

It was enough to make sure Fried played well and ate well in the evenings.

'It's about time I went back to the red-light district.'

Sick children and mothers were not limited to our home.

There were still many people in the world who needed the protagonist's saving hand.

Before returning to the red-light district, I headed to the kitchen to prepare a lunchbox for the first time in a while.

'Doesn't look like anyone's around.'

On the way to the kitchen, I confirmed that no one was about. It was still early dawn.

When I had lived in the annex, I never needed to watch my step.

There had been no one to see me and no one who cared.

But after moving to the main house, I had to be careful even about going to the kitchen, because there was someone who disapproved of me doing so.

'Should I make today's lunchbox with yesterday's leftover ingredients...?'

I was thinking over the menu as I quietly reached the kitchen.

Just before my hand touched the doorknob, I suddenly heard a cough behind me.

"Julian."

I turned to find Mother Linie standing at the end of the hall.

The crease between her brows told me what she was about to say.

"I told you not to go into the kitchen."

"...I'm sorry."

I immediately lowered my head in apology.

Mother's lips trembled ever so slightly.

A few months ago, when she was moved by my cooking, I thought she had given me permission.

But apparently not.

Enjoying the food and having her son get grease on his hands were entirely different matters.

After that day, Mother began scolding me whenever I went to the kitchen.

Just like now.

Mother turned toward the window, almost as if avoiding my gaze, and let out a deep sigh.

"...I know how you feel. But you're the eldest son of House Nihirit now. People are watching, so you need to be mindful of appearances."

"I'm sorry, Mother. I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again."

"Even if you say that, you... Haah... Never mind."

Of course, this was the twentieth time we had had this exchange.

Mother knew full well that my answer had no soul in it.

Even so, she yielded to me every time.

"Only today."

"Thank you, Mother."

Of course, I was sorry to say it, but I suspected we would keep having this exchange for the rest of our lives.

Cooking was part of who I was.

Still...

'Thank you for scolding me.'

It made me happy.

It meant she treated me like her own son rather than merely her godson.

* * *

Today was the day I returned to the red-light district after a long time.

To check the monorail and tram schedules, I looked through the route notices in the newspaper for the first time in a while.

'That route is closed because of the heavy snow, and that one takes far too long...'

I studied the route chart laid over the map.

Gravity in this city flowed strictly according to status.

Not vertically, but in a pyramid-like structure that rose higher toward the center.

'The trams won't be operating for a while because of the snow, so I'll have to take only the monorail. The direct route is...'

My finger traveled down the route map.

Sanctum Hill.

The center of the city, the aristocrats' sanctuary that looked down upon everything.

This was my starting point.

A little farther down lay Civitas Square.

The commoners' square, which formed the city's waist.

I would transfer there.

And at the very bottom was Limbus Pit.

A cesspool for the unchosen, located at the foot of the mountain or on the outskirts.

That was my destination.

'Okay. The Number 14 monorail leaves at eight today.'

Naturally, the red-light district was in Limbus Pit.

Commuting there took a full two hours.

Just thinking about the crowds at Civitas Square, the transfer station, was enough to drain away my love for humanity.

'What the hell? Why did the world change, but my commute is exactly the same as in my previous life?'

There was one difference.

Instead of going from the outskirts to the center, I was going from the center to the outskirts.

I had just finished sorting out my thoughts and was preparing for work when I heard a voice.

"Julian. You said you were going back there starting today."

After I finished getting ready and headed for the entrance, Father was waiting for me.

"I've had a car brought around. Take it."

"A car...?"

Looking outside, I saw the vehicle Father usually rode to work.

"If I take that, how will you get to work, Father?"

"I bought a new car."

Ah.

He wanted an excuse to buy a new car using me as one.

No wonder the automobile advertisements in the newspaper had been spread out every time I visited his study recently.

"May I ask whether Mother gave you permission?"

"...I'm sorry. I played the son card a little."

I could roughly picture the situation.

He had probably put on a grand performance, telling Mother, "How can a father sleep when his son walks all the way to that cesspool?"

No matter how powerful the head of a household was in this era, he could not ignore the mistress of the house.

Especially when a major expense was involved. He would need both a justification and permission.

Well, it benefited both Father and me, so I decided to consider it mutually beneficial.

"I'm fine with it."

"Thank you. I bought it recently with the quinine shares you put in my name. Don't feel burdened. Ride it every day."

He spoke indifferently, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

Was he happy because he had bought a new car?

Or was he proud that he could buy one for his son?

I decided it was both.

"Thank you, Father."

"Can't you call me Dad at times like this?"

"Thank you, Father."

"...All right."

I gratefully accepted Father's kindness.

Outside the mansion waited a black, boxy sedan that looked like something from a late nineteenth-century black-and-white photograph.

There was a long running board beneath the doors for getting in and out, brass fittings set here and there, and decorative work carved into the door handles.

It was an unmistakably luxurious vintage limousine.

Ah, perhaps it was not vintage by this world's standards.

'But it's safe, right? Right?'

The problem was elsewhere.

The exposed-spoked wheels that reminded me of a bicycle.

The long copper exhaust pipes running along its sides.

The blue flame of the magic-stone furnace visible through the grille at the front.

Those parts made me uneasy.

From a doctor's perspective, they looked like stripped leg bones, blood vessels exposed outside the body, and a heart visible between the ribs.

Well, I probably only thought that because I did not know much about cars.

I chose to trust that the dwarves had made it safely.

I stepped on the running board beneath the door and climbed into the back seat.

'Oh. The smell of leather.'

The moment I got in, it felt familiar.

Like the comfort unique to a seat where someone had sat for a long time.

It did not take long to realize that the source was Father's scent drifting from the gaps in the leather.

'Come to think of it, who's driving?'

Father's driver was the head butler.

Naturally, the head butler would be assigned to the new car.

Then what about this one?

I looked toward the driver's seat.

A dense iron grille separated the back seat from the driver's compartment.

Beyond it was an unfamiliar back.

Perhaps sensing my gaze, the driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

The driver turned and greeted me through the partition.

"My name is Otto. From now on, I will be responsible for driving this vehicle and protecting you, young master."

"I look forward to working with you."

That was the end of our conversation.

It would have been nicer if they had assigned someone more talkative.

Someone with good reactions would have been even better.

"..."

I could read Otto's thoughts through the rearview mirror.

'Our stations are too different, so please don't try to get close to me.'

I knew that look far too well.

It was the look military drivers gave the company commander in the back seat.

I had seen it a few times from the passenger seat, so I knew.

Fine.

I would not make you talk.

The car descended toward Limbus Pit in awkward silence.

My impression of the first limousine I had ever ridden in, across both my past and current lives?

Expensive cars really were better in every way, from the ride to the speed.

* * *

The limousine's windows had been clean when we set off.

But as we descended through the city, they grew dirtier.

At the same time, Sanctum Hill's white marble gave way to Civitas Square's gray brick, and even those gray bricks gradually turned black.

Before long, the same scene began repeating outside the window.

Long lines stretched beneath the overpasses, in the dark shade.

Every person in line wore a tag around their neck like the labels used to indicate livestock quality.

<Transfer>, <Quarantine>, <Debt>...

They called it transfer, but the direction was always the same.

From above to below.

As if the city were excreting the waste it could not digest, the sick, the disabled, the bankrupt, and others silently made their way down toward Limbus Pit.

There was not a trace of emotion behind the iron masks worn by the soldiers sending them down.

Indifference toward one's neighbors was one of this city's essential virtues.

Tap. Tap.

We were waiting for the signal when someone knocked on the car window.

I saw dirty fingers.

It was a child.

The child held not a begging can, but a crumpled scrap of paper.

Their eyes pleaded for something.

When I reached for the window, the driver spoke while looking at me through the rearview mirror.

"Young master. Do not open the window."

Before he was my driver, he was my guard, so he would not allow it.

"The collection squad will not like it either. It would interfere with their work."

The collection squad.

The words rolled around in my mouth.

The next moment, an iron-masked soldier seized the child's wrist.

The child did not scream.

It was not because they did not know how.

It was because they knew screaming would do nothing.

The soldier fastened something around the child's neck.

A small iron tag.

Just like that, the child became part of the line.

And the soldiers who dragged the child away repeatedly bowed toward our car as if apologizing.

Watching that scene, I did not feel superior.

I felt uncomfortable.

I adjusted the gloves on my lap once more.

'...There are more patients.'

In this city, horrible reasons for the protagonist to be kind were always being handed to him.

* * *

As soon as I entered the red-light district, a scene like London's Chinatown in the 1800s unfolded before me.

I did not know whether Chinatown even existed in that era, but still.

The limousine stopped beneath a massive gateway.

Faded red pillars stripped of all paint and a dragon sculpture with a broken neck greeted me.

'Inhale... Exhale.'

I drew in a deep breath inside the car.

The street I was returning to after six weeks was still full of the stench of filth and the smoke of kerosene.

Of course, the air inside the walls was not particularly good anywhere.

But as though there were depths even among the depths, the air became entirely different as you descended.

And the stench of the slums, sharp enough to pierce the lungs, reassured me that I had returned to where I belonged.

'...God, that smell.'

I took out my crow mask and put it on for the first time in a while.

I had not originally intended to copy plague doctors.

But in pursuing all sorts of functions, I had gone in circles and ended up with a crow mask.

Was this convergent evolution?

'Phew... Much better.'

I deeply inhaled the scent of herbs filling the bird's beak.

For a moment, it felt as though I had escaped the city's rotten air.

Though all I had really done was run from the smell.

I got out of the car wearing the mask.

'Every time I come here, it feels like I've arrived in Chinatown.'

Unlike the other districts of the Empire, the buildings in the red-light district followed beastfolk architectural styles.

Roofs with eaves curved toward the sky, pillars stripped of faded red paint, and lanterns hanging in every alley.

It was a view unique to this red-light district, even within Limbus Pit.

"I'll park and come back down immediately, young master."

"Thank you, Otto."

Otto bowed, then drove back up toward Civitas Square.

There was nowhere to park in this slum, so we had to use this inconvenient arrangement.

Wearing the mask, I started walking toward the clinic.

On the way there, several lines of black chalk overlapped beneath a wall bearing the faded outline of the character for fortune.

It was a kind of anonymous message board where the residents communicated, a shared forum that could perhaps be called the red-light district's gallery.

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[Fucking guard bastards only show up after three corpses pile up. They ignore two.]

[Saw Sanctum bitches use healing on a dog. Those assholes must be fucking their dogs if they treasure them that much.]

[Why do they collect taxes when they won't even give us clean water?]

[Hope the wall collapses. Then I'll throw those bastards first.]

└ It'll be the other way around. You and your family will be thrown first.

[Called a healer, but they left when I said I had no money. Rita died that night. And they talk about God's love? Fuck that. God's a miser.]

└ I know Rita. Heard the baby went with Rita too.

└└ There was never a baby. Rita died because it wouldn't come out.

[Roha, I'm sorry your big brother couldn't protect you. I'll be joining you soon.]

└ If you're going anyway, leave your home address.

└└ Go fuck yourself.