The Marquis Family's Scoundrel (2)
The moment I lunged at the massive dog, chaos erupted around us.
"The scoundrel's strangling the dog to death!"
"He's beating the poor thing!"
"Drunk in broad daylight? Someone stop him!"
What a prejudiced bunch. This was treatment, pure and simple. Sure, I didn't have a license, so it was quack medicine at best, but what choice did I have? Time was critical.
Feeling around Max's neck confirmed it. There was something the size of a fist lodged there. He'd probably swallowed a big fruit or stone, and it got stuck in his windpipe.
This world had its problems. Pain was "healed" with healing spells—that was the norm. Those spells mended external wounds or illnesses without distinction. As a result, figuring out the root cause got pushed aside.
Healing spell supremacy wasn't always this ingrained, or so I'd heard. It arose because uneducated commoners had to rely on healing, strengthening the church's grip. It started in the church-ruled Law Kingdom centuries ago, and now it was deeply rooted in people's minds.
The issue? Healing spells weren't omnipotent. They fixed any injury, but inefficiently—especially in cases like this. Block the airway, and healing the oxygen-starved lungs or brain just prolonged the agony until death.
Well, can't blame them given the era.
No concepts of hygiene or infection. Anatomy was undeveloped; no one understood body structures.
This needs treatment, not healing.
Emergency care. Simple fix. I wrapped my arms around Max's waist, hoisted him up with his hind legs in the air.
"Young master! Stop this instant!"
The healers freaked, thinking I'd lost my mind. Even Father broke into a sweat, flustered. But one person—Asella—watched with a different glint. Half confusion, half anticipation. Curious what I'd pull off.
I leaned forward, gripping Max tight. Overlapped hands, left in a fist for leverage. Knees bent slightly for power transfer. Placed the fist on his solar plexus and yanked hard.
"Hngh!"
Max's choking grew louder. Five compressions—no change. First try failed?
"Oh no!"
"The young master's killing the dog!"
I eased off immediately. Then full force—thrust!
—Hack!
This time, a different cough, and out popped a huge lump from his mouth. Max gasped desperately for air. It was a hard fruit, round and sweet-smelling. Probably shoved it in too eagerly and choked.
Max stood on all fours, coughed a few more times at the ground, then wagged his tail innocently, like nothing happened. Classic dog—never shows pain.
Drained, I collapsed on the grass. Max was too heavy; I was soaked in sweat. My body's too frail. Gotta exercise.
Max nuzzled my face, so I petted his head.
"What... what was that...?"
"What did the young master just do...?"
I explained to the stunned healers. "It's called the Heimlich maneuver. Emergency technique for airway obstruction from foreign objects. Easy to use—learn it."
They tilted their heads, uncomprehending. Maybe gather the kids later for a lecture on CPR too? You never know who might save me someday.
"Incredible. To think of such an unexpected method."
Father closed his holy book, awed. A lifetime of healing spells—this was novel for him.
"If this dog had died, it'd be a grave insult to Her Highness the Princess—or future Empress. A disgrace to our house. You saved us, son."
He clapped my shoulder, helping me up.
I stood, replying, "As the eldest son of Gotberg, it was my duty to roll up my sleeves."
"Haha, when did my boy grow so reliable? Self-studied healing spells?"
"No, not healing spells."
Father blinked in surprise. "Then what technique was it?"
"Medicine."
"Medicine... A true discipline, not mere technique."
He laughed warmly, impressed.
No. 004: Sweet Poison 71% → 0%
[Changed]
[Ending Deleted]
Whoa.
A bad ending vanished. My lips curled up involuntarily.
Right, Asella suffocates from magic draining the air—that ending.
Shudder-worthy memory. Max surviving meant Asella wouldn't obsess over suffocation. Felt like one of my traumas lifted too. Mind cleared, like fresh oxygen.
This might be doable.
Erasing bad endings... could be fun.
Max, rubbing against my leg, hopped to his owner—Asella.
Her earlier fluster gone, back to cold menace. The fourteen-year-old girl's aura tensed everyone.
She crooked a finger at me. "You'll do—for personal physician."
What?
"Pardon?!"
"Your Highness?!"
Shock rippled. Her maids—who also served as advisors—protested first. "Your Highness, please reconsider..."
"We understand the young master has barely studied healing."
"Think this over..."
Asella's glare silenced them. Our healers erupted too.
"Family head! The physician exam is ongoing!"
"How can we let this chance to enter the imperial court slip...!"
"If he messes up as Her Highness's physician, it'll be disastrous!"
Father seemed caught off-guard, choosing words carefully. Fair—back then, I was a drunken dropout at the healer academy, engaged to Asella for political reasons between house and court.
That's your problem.
But I don't wanna go.
Imperial physician? Stuck with Asella daily? More bad ending chances, sure. Higher status too. But seeing her every morning for mana checks? Heart attack waiting. I'd have stayed regressed ten years ago otherwise.
Save the house, succeed here—that's smart.
Personal physician? On-call 24/7 next door? Lifetime gig with tough handovers? Basically a faction—executed with the royals if they fall?
Am I insane?
The Imperial Medical Office was like a university hospital. Emperor had three physicians; lesser royals trailed assistants. Healer central—ego-driven politics.
Private practice beats professor life: better pay, own building, no politics, low stress. Bad endings hit in ten years—erase as opportunities arise. See Asella monthly tops. Break engagement in a year, never see her again? Perfect.
Time to defuse. I spoke calmly. "I'm honored by the offer, Your Highness. But the healers have a point. Our house is running a rigorous exam to select the best fit—please wait for the results..."
Cold sweat trickled; I faltered. Status flashed ominous red.
No. 056: Villainess's Hatred 21% → 64%
Shit.
Hates it? Sword threat next. Asella's face darkened; all held breath.
She glared. "Won't do it?"
"...As you heard, I've barely studied healing."
"So?"
"Can't cast healing spells."
"Won't?"
Progress bar climbed: 64% to 72%. Ignore, and she'd decapitate on sight. Buy time.
"Here's the deal."
I stepped back; she tilted her chin.
"My biggest worry is my inexperience. Can't risk Your Highness's health."
Interest piqued. I puffed my chest. "I'll join the ongoing exam. Prove myself fairly, and I'll gladly serve."
"Swear diligence?"
"I swear."
Demonic smile. "Diligent? You'll win, then."
"...Pardon?"
"Fail, and pay for lying."
She beckoned her head maid. "Oversee the exam—no slacking, no favoritism."
"Understood, Your Highness."
Great, more hassle.
Our house's exam—I planned to flunk subtly. No escape now.
Asella von Württemberg. Underestimated the empire's top villainess. Even as a girl, she loomed over me.
"Objections?"
Silence. Obviously.
'Guillotine slot free—who wants their head in?'
"Dismissed. You—my room."
"Why me?"
I reflexively balked; she frowned, baffled.
"Told you earlier. Weren't you heading there?"
Right. "Of course, Your Highness."
I trailed limply. Maids flanked like guards. Max, fully recovered, panted happily beside her, tail wagging. Oblivious mutt. Dog life rocks.
Asella entered via terrace, beckoned. "Come in."
Her casualness stunned me. Borrowed room or not, fiancée or not—letting a guy in?
No choice. I stepped over the terrace threshold into her room.