War on Drugs (1)

On Mikhail's bed and beside his pillow lay a chaotic mess of reports, legal drafts, and enforcement plans written by Josepina and Laura respectively. Josepina's draft was a dense thicket of stiff legal terminology crammed into tiny handwriting—so dense, in fact, that he honestly couldn't muster the willpower to read it properly. By comparison, Laura's enforcement plan was far more approachable. Expanding inspection stations at train stations and ports to thoroughly check incoming goods, while introducing a reward system for citizen reports to encourage whistleblowing, seemed like a solid approach.

This should be enough on its own...

The real problem wasn't any loopholes in the laws or the operational plans.

This insane world is seriously...

Mikhail let out a dry chuckle. For all its fantasy trappings, this world was shockingly "advanced." It had achieved a level of medical privatization that would make even 21st-century North Korea look tame by comparison. Sure, if you got sick you could always receive healing through a priest's divine magic—but that luxury was reserved for major cities and the nobility. In the vast expanse of the Far East Maritime Province, an ordinary farmer scraping by on meager taxes could hardly summon a priest every time he caught a cold. The priests did what they could, making their rounds to help, but they were desperately short on numbers, time, and divine power.

So the locals simply grew poppies in their fields. When they fell ill, they harvested opium and used it. That was this world's version of over-the-counter medicine. Stomach pain? Opium. Headache? Opium. Can't sleep? Opium.

How the hell am I supposed to enforce a crackdown on this?

Mikhail's head throbbed. Any farmer worth his salt—or anyone with even a tiny garden plot—would have a few poppy plants tucked away somewhere. Hunting them all down and ripping them out by the roots was simply impossible.

The one silver lining was that it hadn't reached the level of outright disaster seen in Afghanistan, where they mass-produced opium for export. Thankfully, the climate and soil here made it impossible to cultivate drug-grade cannabis or cocaine in the Far East Maritime Province. Not unless a Grand Mage on the level of Dmitri decided to force the issue, anyway.

That meant the main task was blocking external imports. The real headache, however, was this damned opium.

Tsk... No way around it.

There was only one conclusion. A simple ban wouldn't cut it—they had to offer a genuine alternative.

We'll just have to introduce proper medical care.

Mikhail shot up from his seat. The first order of business was requesting the Church to dispatch additional priests. But even now, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠priests were in critically short supply, making it impossible to cover his absurdly large territory.

Of course, even that clearly won't be enough...

A single word floated into Mikhail's mind.

Alchemists.

In this world, alchemists occupied a complex and ambiguous position. They were chemists, pharmacists, and doctors—sometimes even mages—true polymaths of miscellaneous knowledge. They produced medicines that healed people through methods entirely different from the priests' divine magic.

The problem was that this naturally put them at odds with the clergy. Like Dr. Hiluluk, their folk remedies sometimes ended up killing patients, and since alchemists fundamentally revered truth above god, the friction was inevitable. Of course, in the current era, even alchemists sought priestly healing when their conditions grew severe, and the priests treated them without complaint. Still, the historical rift between them ran deep.

When you think about it, this is basically using alchemists to step on the priests' turf... Will that fly?

A cunning smile crept across Mikhail's lips.

Well, if they throw a tantrum... that'd actually be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠perfect.

First, he would send a polite proposal to the Church: For the sake of my beloved subjects, I intend to implement medical welfare measures. Therefore, I humbly request additional priests be dispatched. However, it is obvious that manpower alone will fall short, so may I also employ alchemists to treat the people in the same manner as itinerant priests?

If the Church opposed? Then he'd simply crank up the propaganda machine, hire a flood of alchemists, and be done with it. What could they possibly do? He was using his own money to take care of his own people. Would they really try to excommunicate an imperial prince? On what grounds? If they were going to, they would have done it long before his reincarnation. This bastard Mikhail had beaten up noblewomen, pissed on them, assaulted priests, and committed every imaginable outrage—yet he was never excommunicated. So what could they do about it now?

Perfect.

Mikhail rose from the bed and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. Separate from the official document he would send to the Church, it would be wise to open another channel. After all, the world had always run on blood ties, regional ties, school ties, and personal connections.

Maybe I should have Brother Clement deliver a direct letter to Liliana.

That saintess with her foul temper and violent streak. Still, her genuine care for ordinary citizens was the real deal.

Mikhail pulled out a sheet of paper from the drawer and uncapped his fountain pen. Without hesitation, he began writing the opening line.

But... is it really worth going this far just to crack down on drugs and screw over that bitch Anastasia?

Halfway through the letter, the sudden doubt made him pause. But the moment he recalled the wise words of the ancients, his hand started moving again. Competition is a sin. Just as the saying went, completely eliminating every last competitor was the dearest wish of every businessman.

"Mr. Rockefeller, watch me!!!"

Mikhail tossed out the joke and continued writing the letter.

Light streaming through the stained glass painted the long, heavy table in shifting colors. Normally this room would have been thick with tension, but today was different. A positive excitement, almost a lively buzz, filled the air.

Liliana sat at the head of the table, slowly scanning the faces of the archbishops, bishops, and high priests gathered before her. A few faces that would have been present in the past were missing now—purged one by one by her "iron fists" (which hurt like hell) after she became the Saintess. Thanks to that, the meeting proceeded remarkably smoothly. No one was throwing political tantrums or nitpicking for personal gain.

An elderly archbishop cautiously spoke up.

"This is truly... astonishing. I never imagined His Highness Grand Duke Mikhail would make such a proposal."

A young bishop beside him nodded in agreement.

"It seems his heart has changed greatly since his exile. From what I hear, he's been running highly successful businesses in the Far East Maritime Province. Business is business, but at least it appears he has finally come to his senses."

Came to his senses, huh.

Liliana smiled bitterly to herself as she recalled the letter from Mikhail that had arrived through Crown Prince Clement. Its tone was impeccably polite and logically sound. It stated that he wished to eradicate the rampant opium abuse plaguing his territory of the Far East Maritime Province and, as an alternative, establish a proper medical welfare system. For this, he desperately needed the Church's assistance.

Judging solely by its contents, it was the letter of an exemplary ruler. But the person who sent it was Mikhail. The same scoundrel who used to steal the wine meant for Mass and beat up any priest who tried to stop him. After his exile from the capital, he had become a merchant who sold liquor and ran massive gambling dens to rake in money.

There was zero political benefit for the Church in helping him. He had already been completely pushed out of the capital's political scene. His mother had been a slave, and he had no faction backing him. Politically speaking, he was already as good as castrated. Associating with him might even earn them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠accusations of colluding with a madman. Hadn't she herself been attacked by political opponents simply for giving her blessing at the soft opening of the Far East Maritime Province Tourism Special Zone?

Yet a cleric must not judge the world solely by worldly gains and losses.

...When I met him in person, he wasn't entirely evil.

Liliana recalled her brief encounter with him in the Far East Maritime Province. It hadn't exactly been pleasant. The way he had casually called her "sister-in-law" with that teasing attitude still left a bad taste in her mouth. Even so, she hadn't sensed any malice from him. He simply came across as a self-indulgent rascal who viewed everything through the lens of his own amusement. That was the extent of it.

Whether he had truly come to his senses or had been acting like a lunatic from the start to engineer his own exile, she couldn't say. But that wasn't what mattered.

"His Highness the Grand Duke's past behavior and current reputation are irrelevant," Liliana said in a low but firm voice, cutting through the room's chatter. "What matters is the value contained in his proposal. To save the people from the suffering of narcotics and provide them with proper treatment. Where else could we find a task more faithful to the duty of the clergy?"

Everyone nodded at her words. One bishop spoke with clear enthusiasm.

"We must immediately select additional priests to dispatch to the Far East Maritime ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Province! Especially those skilled in healing divine magic..."

"But Your Grace, the manpower in the capital and other major cities is already stretched thin. If we overcommit personnel here, it could create problems elsewhere."

As counterarguments emerged, a brief wave of heated debate filled the conference room. It wasn't opposition to the project itself, but a healthy argument over how to execute it better.

Liliana watched their discussion for a moment before quietly raising her hand to silence them.

"Dispatching priests alone will not be enough. As mentioned in Grand Duke Mikhail's letter, he is clearly aware of this limitation as well."

She paused, as if the next word was unpleasant to utter.

"We will need the cooperation of alchemists."

......

At the word alchemists, the atmosphere in the room instantly turned icy. Priests who performed God's miracles and blessings, and alchemists who boiled suspicious herbs, insects, and minerals to create mysterious concoctions—they were like water and oil.

A high-ranking priest spoke with visible concern.

"Your Holiness. But historically, have they not always maintained an awkward relationship with us? Borrowing their power seems somewhat..."

"The people healed by their medicines are also children of the Lord," Liliana cut him off. "Regardless of their relationship with us, if the result is fewer people suffering, then it aligns with God's will. We must set aside the past for now."

Her resolute attitude left no room for further objections. Instead, the atmosphere grew heated once more.

"Excellent! Then let us designate the Far East Maritime Province as a pilot region and operate it as such! Once we accumulate sufficient data there, we can expand this medical welfare system across the entire Empire!"

"A splendid idea! We should begin drafting regional coordination plans in advance!"

While some raised their voices claiming their own methods would be more efficient, not a single person opposed the core essence of the project. To Liliana, the scene was deeply satisfying.

"As for the Alchemist Guild, I will speak with them personally."