Chapter 42: Was Mistaken for Daddy-Long-Legs (1) | I Was Mistaken for a Saint in a Dark Fantasy
The desperate night passed, and morning came.
I looked down at Freya, who was breathing evenly.
The temperature from the back of my hand on her forehead was normal.
The 41-degree fever that had tormented me and this child all night, the metallic breath sounds, the red rash that had covered her entire body.
It had all subsided as if it were a lie.
'...It worked.'
A success.
Was it thanks to my talent for black magic that my teacher praised so highly?
Or was it the luck of a Misunderstanding Genre protagonist?
Despite it being the first trial, the magic was successful.
Squeak—
Just then, I heard the sound of the door opening cautiously.
The door was slightly ajar.
I could see the face of the Priestess who had gone out to make Holy Water.
She looked haggard, perhaps from praying all night.
She was holding a small Silver Cup.
"Young Master, the Holy Water..."
The Priestess's eyes widened as she spoke.
"Has... has her fever broken?"
"Yes."
"How..."
"Shh."
Conscious of a faint smile, I raised my index finger to my lips.
"Every wizard has their own secrets, you know. Just as healers usually do."
"My goodness..."
The Priestess covered her mouth with the palm of her free hand.
The Demon Disease was cured.
She didn't know the process, but the result was laid out before her eyes.
This was nothing short of a miracle, something one might only see in myths.
"Then, was it you who did this, Young Master?"
I didn't answer.
Instead, I took the Holy Water Cup from the hand of the blankly-staring woman.
"You've worked hard, Sister."
I could see clear water, shimmering and suffused with a faint light.
I took the Holy Water and approached Freya.
'Freya's immunity is weak right now.'
Holy Water is a substance specialized in driving away wicked things like curses or ghosts.
Meaning, it has virtually no regenerative effect like Healing Magic.
However, since it is imbued with Divine Power, one can expect a very slight life force strengthening effect.
'She had a high fever until just a moment ago. This should be safe for the purpose of protecting her organs.'
Even I didn't fully understand the principle of the magic I had cast.
In such a situation, I couldn't cast a Minor Heal on Freya again.
So I used Holy Water as a substitute.
Unlike Minor Heal, I had never seen a record of Holy Water worsening the Demon Disease.
"Freya. I know you're sleepy, but just drink this and go back to sleep."
"Umm..."
I carefully helped her drink the Holy Water so she wouldn't choke.
Only after confirming that her parched lips were moist did I let out the long breath I had been holding.
"Haa..."
I took a breath and called to the Priestess, who was standing there like a spare part.
"Sister."
"Ye-Yes! Young Master!"
The Priestess answered, startled.
Was it because she had just witnessed a miracle?
Or was it because she thought she would have to pay the price for the mistake she made last night?
I could sense fear in her attitude toward me.
If I had any energy left, I might have been able to correct her misunderstanding.
But I hadn't slept a wink, so I didn't have the luxury of being that considerate.
"Freya suffered from a fever all night, so she must have sweated a lot. I've told the maids to prepare hot water, so they should be up soon."
I handed her the Silver Cup with the remaining Holy Water and continued.
"Please wipe her body with water diluted with the Holy Water. If possible, please help her change her clothes as well."
Usually, at an Infirmary, wiping a patient's body is a maid's job.
Just as a doctor doesn't wash patients in a hospital.
Therefore, this could have been an insult to the Priestess.
Just as being a doctor was in modern society, a Priest was a socially respected profession, above a commoner but below a noble.
But despite my request, the Priestess answered without hesitation.
"I understand!"
Last night.
She was still holding onto the mistake she made.
"I will take good care of the Young Lady."
"And if her condition changes again, call me immediately."
"I will keep that in mind, Young Master."
The Priestess nodded her head repeatedly.
Just then, I heard the sound of maids approaching with quick steps down the hall.
"Then, I'll leave it to you."
I gave a light nod and left the room.
In the hallway, I encountered maids carrying steaming hot water and clean white towels.
"Young Master...?"
The maids all stopped in their tracks and bowed their heads.
But unlike usual, their gazes were strange as they greeted me.
They kept glancing at my face, and when our eyes met, they'd flinch in surprise.
A few of them even had blushing cheeks.
I pointed to a few of the ones with red cheeks and said.
"Excuse me, you two, have you had a cough? Your cheeks are flushed."
"N-No, sir! I was... I was just in a cold place..."
"I see. However, Freya is in a weakened state, so please be sure to wear a mask."
"Yes, Young Master!"
Nevertheless, their gazes didn't leave me.
Wondering if something was wrong, I followed their line of sight.
It seemed they were looking at my sweat-drenched hair.
'Oops.'
I suppose I was so focused on nursing her that I didn't pay attention to my hair getting messy.
Inside the mansion, I had always played the part of a dignified and perfect young master.
And now I've shown such a disheveled appearance.
'I'm still so inexperienced.'
I straightened my messy hair.
I heard what sounded like a sigh from the maids, but I decided I must have misheard.
They were probably out of breath from filling that basin with water and carrying it up to the 2nd Floor.
"Please take good care of Freya."
"Yes, sir! You get some rest too, Young Master!"
After sending them on their way.
I headed for my room, located at the opposite end of the hall from Freya's.
As soon as I arrived, I locked the door and slumped down in front of my desk.
As the tension drained away, the aftereffects that had been masked by adrenaline rushed in all at once.
"Ugh..."
A terrible nausea surged the moment I sat in the chair.
A headache that felt like a sharp awl stabbing my brain and made my vision sparkle washed over me.
A classic case of Mana sickness.
A symptom that occurs when one rapidly consumes a large amount of Magical Power.
'Was the catalyst and chant insufficient?'
It's also one of the common hurdles wizards face when developing new magic.
Unlike existing spells optimized through countless years and history, new magic lacks that refinement, so this kind of sickness often occurs.
'I'll need to optimize the runic formula later...'
But the aftereffects weren't what was important right now.
I slouched in my chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Enduring the headache, I reviewed the events of last night.
Freya's high fever.
Cytokine Storm.
Steroid Pulse Therapy.
And.
'My black magic...'
It was still hard to believe.
That I had successfully cast black magic.
And an improvised, first-attempt runic formula at that.
I rubbed my palms together and then covered my eyes.
In the warm darkness, I retraced the conditions I had set.
'Wither.'
A debuff magic that black magicians cast as a preliminary step to lower an opponent's resistance before casting a curse.
I adapted that magic and used it.
The catalyst was a steroid.
The target of the runic formula was the most active immune cells.
And the symbol I used was the priestess's Y-shaped Cross, and the 'Devotion' and 'Atonement' associated with it.
In theory, it was a perfect combination.
So I executed it, and,
'To think it worked on the first try...'
it succeeded.
Suddenly, I recalled something my teacher often said.
— "If you had been born just a little earlier, the Master of the 13th Month's Magic Tower would have been you, not him."
The Master of the 13th Month's Magic Tower.
The worst Black Sorcerer in history.
My teacher always used to say that my talent surpassed his.
I assumed it was lip service and took it with a grain of salt.
Even considering that, succeeding on the first try was far too lucky.
'That was too reckless.'
Magic isn't that easy.
With magic, even if the theory is perfect, it often fails in actual combat.
As if all normal coding must inevitably produce a bug.
But I succeeded.
Even without properly knowing the symbolism or conditions of that space.
'I managed the scientific conditions with medical knowledge, but I still don't understand the symbolism.'
Therefore, it was clearly strange that the black magic succeeded on the very first try.
I only vaguely knew the conditions and had no idea about the symbolism, just winging it.
For that to succeed on the first attempt.
There was no other way to explain it than being lucky for being a Misunderstanding Genre protagonist.
'It was the same with Fried...'
My life is too lucky.
As if I'm beloved by the Goddess of Fortune.
'Luck is the best, after all.'
A splitting headache began to set in.
Even if I wanted to think more, my brain was trying to shut itself down.
A darkish slumber began to cover my vision.
'I should just sleep.'
Is there any need to think so deeply?
Freya is over the worst of it anyway, and improvements to the magic can be researched with my teacher later.
So there was only one thing for me to do now.
'Tonight's menu is...'
I didn't resist my heavy eyelids and fell into a deep sleep.
***
After the early morning passed, just before noon,
while Yulian was in his bed, belatedly catching up on sleep.
The Priestess, having finished nursing Freya, was guided by the Head Butler down the 3rd-floor hallway of the Main Building.
The place she arrived at under the Head Butler's guidance was the Family Head's office.
Knock, knock.
"Come in."
The office, filled with light scattered by smog instead of morning sun, was full of the cozy glow of magical lamps.
But despite the lighting, the air in the room was colder than the coming winter.
"...Sit, Priest."
The head of the Nihilrit Baronial Family, Handel Nihilrit.
The Priestess's shoulders flinched at the cold form of address he used.
Yulian had consistently called her 'Sister'.
That was the most common and polite form of address for commoners outside the order to use for a cleric.
But that was an address used by 'commoners'.
Nobles had no reason to unconditionally respect a cleric.
No matter how much they declared themselves religious figures free from the secular world, they couldn't be completely detached from the world's power dynamics.
Furthermore, considering that even the weakest noble was a Mage of Rank 2 or higher, there was little reason for them to respect a priest.
That's why no matter if one became a priest.
Even if one became a rarer Healer.
The Priestess never forgot her true station.
"I believe you know why you've been summoned here, Priest."
"Yes, I know very well, Family Head."
Especially in a situation like this, summoned before a noble furious for nearly losing his daughter.
The Priestess perched on the very edge of the sofa, her gaze fixed on the floor.
Handel's cold voice came from above her head.
"I heard you cast Minor Heal several times in a row on a Demon Disease patient without properly checking her condition."
His voice was low and calm.
But within it, suppressed killing intent was coiled like a snake.
"Perhaps there was a reason I'm unaware of? As someone who works at the Royal Court, I've seen many cases. There might be a field perspective I don't know, so I'll at least give you a chance to defend yourself."
"...I'm sorry, Lord. It was all due to my inexperience."
"Honest."
Handel's calm remark struck her heart like a dagger.
The Priestess slid from the chair as if to kneel immediately.
Her two hands, trembling like an aspen leaf, touched the carpet.
"I'm sorry. I truly thought it was a cold. As a priest, and as a mother with a daughter the same age as the Young Lady, I tried my best to heal her, but..."
"Your best."
Handel cut her off coldly.
His voice was tinged with a slight scoff.
"You should know this world isn't so kind that 'your best' can serve as an excuse, Priest."
"...I'm sorry, Lord."
"Nothing kills a person more easily than goodwill born from ignorance. Especially in a profession that deals directly with life."
The Priestess squeezed her eyes shut.
A commoner priest who threatened a noble bloodline.
It wouldn't be strange if her head were cut off and used as fertilizer in the garden.
Furthermore, considering Handel's position within the Imperial Castle, it was more than possible.
"..."
Silence fell between the two.
Breaking the silence, a light metallic sound came from the Family Head's desk.
Clink.
"I will pay the price, Priest."
"Ye-Yes?"
"For this house call and treatment. I shall pay you properly."
The Priestess's pupils wavered as if in disbelief.
Just moments ago, she thought she'd be beheaded.
But what she received was a pouch of gold coins.
Receiving her confused gaze, Handel rested his chin on his clasped hands.
"Honestly, given my position, I'm not one to believe in paltry goodwill."
"..."
"But, it's different when family is involved."
"?"
Family?
At the appearance of the incomprehensible word, the Priestess raised her head.
The Family Head's gaze toward the Priest was considerably softer.
"I do not believe in incompetent goodwill. I cannot even understand it. But, I believe in my son's trust."
"..."
"I heard you nursed Freya alongside Yulian. Therefore, I must assume that Yulian trusted you."
The Family Head turned his chair, his gaze shifting to the window.
"I will not harm you. Because 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.
Many calculations lay behind that decision.
As a Family Head, it was a meticulous calculation to thoroughly manage his eldest son's reputation in order to marry him into a proper noble family, even as an adopted son-in-law.
But as a father, there was another calculation as well.
"I cannot leave a stain on my son's history book. Therefore, Priest, I will not reprimand you for your mistake last night."
Handel turned back toward the Priestess.
"The reprimand for your error will be delivered by countless historians and gossipmongers in the future. As this is the story of the first cure for the Demon Disease, your tale will likely not be forgotten."
Perhaps, countless fingers would be pointed at the Priestess.
However, she didn't have the luxury of fearing that.
The important thing right now was the fact that she had survived.
"Th-Thank you! Thank you, Family Head...! I will never forget this grace for the rest of my life...!"
"Set aside your thanks, and just remember this."
To the Priestess rubbing her forehead on the carpet, Handel spoke with more force in his voice.
"When you work at the Royal Court, you inevitably form connections and gain power unfitting of your station, whether you know it or not."
Gulp.
The priestess made a dry gulp.
"Even if I am merely a baron, it is possible to cover up the rumor that my son cured the Demon Disease, at least until he becomes independent. Do you understand what I mean?"
The priestess nodded so hard it seemed her head would fall off.
Curing the Demon Disease is a great achievement.
However, a great achievement sometimes invites unbearable jealousy.
And what's more, it's the Demon Disease.
The long-standing arch-enemy of The Sun Cult.
If it were revealed that it was a wizard, not a healer, who cured it...
"Today, I merely provided Holy Water to a cold patient, Family Head."
"Good. That's how it should be. I've placed a fitting price in the pouch. You may go now."
The Family Head gestured to the door with his chin.
The Priestess grabbed the pouch of gold coins from the desk and scurried out of the office.
"Head Butler. See her out."
"Understood."
Wilhelm followed the Priestess.
After sending them out.
Handel, left alone in the office, sank deep into his chair.
'Hoo...'
Being a father isn't easy either.
Handel repeated the words self-deprecatingly, resting his arm on his forehead.
And on the roof of the mansion's main building.
Squeak.
A Fitch (a long-haired weasel) was coiled up, grooming its fur.