The Prince of Dung Beetles (4)

It had been thirty-four days since I began my vaccine research. I had turned thirteen, by the age count that didn't use the international standard. Eri was learning magic from Commander Shen as usual, and I was spending my days piling up countless medical cases at the clinic. Ugh. I stretched my arms alone inside the clinic. It had already been three years since I started practicing medicine in Limbus Pit. At some point, my patient demographic had expanded. Beyond the prostitutes of D-Sector, patients from other sectors had started finding their way here. Thanks to that, I’d been busy lately.

"Ah, I could really go for a three-minute consultation right now."

Thoughts of my past life surfaced naturally. In 21st-century South Korea, there was that beautiful culture of the "three-minute consultation." It was possible here, too. I could organize the previous day's test results, quickly churn through follow-up patients, and have the new patients fill out questionnaires in the waiting room—voilà. A factory-style three-minute consultation system would be complete.

"...No, that wouldn't be right, would it?"

But no matter how I thought about it, that didn't seem right. In the first place, this clinic wasn't started to make money. It was to regain the skills of my past life and to build up my reputation. Furthermore, I owed a debt to the residents of Limbus Pit. I was constantly bombarding these residents with all sorts of experimental treatments that I wasn't even used to yet, or that hadn't been properly proven in this world. For me to limit consultations to three minutes just for my own comfort would be too shameless.

"Doctor! Thank you, thank you so, so much! I thought I’d have to live as a one-armed cripple for the rest of my life...!"

My thoughts were broken by the deep, booming sobs of a man that shook the clinic. Across from me, a gaunt young man was shedding tears. He was the patient whose wrist had been severed by a sawmill cutter. Come to think of it, today was the day for the final dressing and the removal of the bandages. His right wrist, which I held firmly, was trembling.

"Just like you said, Doctor, I can move my fingers now...!"

A circular scar ran around his right wrist where I had stitched it back together. Every time I looked at that hideous scar, I felt a sense of pride. As expected, a surgeon should be better at handling thread than a scalpel.

"Doctor. I can go back to work now, right?"

"It hasn't completely healed yet. For the time being, absolutely do not lift anything heavy, and please do rehabilitation exercises—clenching and unclenching your hand in warm water—every day to ensure good blood flow to your fingers."

In reconstructive surgery, the most important thing after hygiene is blood flow. Ultimately, the prognosis depends on how well the microvasculature survives. Of course, in this patient's case, it would have been harder for the prognosis to be bad. I’d sprayed so many potions on him that it would be absurd if it hadn't attached. If it hadn't, that wouldn't be my problem—it would be the Alchemy Guild's.

"Yes! Yes! I will keep that in mind!"

"And if your fingertips turn black, you must come back immediately."

"Yes! I will never forget your grace for as long as I live, Healer!"

I’m a doctor, not a healer, for heaven's sake.

After the man left, having bowed so deeply he nearly hit his head on the floor, I looked at the bill left next to the chart. Normally, billing was Eri's job. But right now, Eri was away from the clinic for magic training. In the end, I had to organize the ledger myself.

'Let's see.'

The money the patient had just paid was 30 silver coins. And the cost of the potions used to reattach that wrist was 3 gold coins. Hmm. It was a deficit again today. But this level of deficit was something that would be covered if I just breathed for ten minutes, so I didn't worry about it.

'My sense of money seems to be breaking down more and more.'

Well, I didn't think I'd ever be short of money for the rest of my life, so wouldn't that be fine?

I shook off the thought and picked up the next chart. The next patient was a first-timer.

"Next patient, please."

Creak. The door opened, and an old man entered slowly. He was a white-haired elder with a slightly hunched back. Wearing a worn-out coat and a tattered hat, he was an ordinary grandfather, the kind you could see anywhere in Limbus Pit.

"Please, have a seat, sir. Is it cold in the clinic?"

"Oh, it's quite warm from the waiting room on. You must have a lot of money, Healer?"

"It's unavoidable if it's for the sake of the mothers."

"Haha. That's true. Ah, I apologize if my words just now sounded rude."

"Not at all, sir. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Haha, I've had no strength in my hands lately."

The old man held out his hands.

"I work rolling cigars, but my hands won't listen, so I can't work."

"Ah, you must be from E-Sector."

E-Sector was the area that mainly processed tobacco and herbs. If you added drugs to that, you had the complete livelihood of E-Sector. The old man in front of me seemed to be a cigar artisan from that area.

"E-Sector? Ah, yes. I came from E-Sector."

"Then how long has this been going on?"

"About a month, perhaps?"

"Do you smoke cigars yourself?"

"I smoke a little. I have to check the taste of what I make myself, don't I?"

"Then have you ever been unable to smoke cigars recently?"

"I haven't had such a time?"

Then that meant the hand tremors weren't due to withdrawal. The next most likely candidate was Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. It was a common ailment for artisans who spent all day pulling and rolling tobacco leaves.

"Then may I take a look at your hands?"

I asked for the old man's permission and examined his fingertips. The skin was dry, but there weren't many calluses. I examined his fingers one by one. It was to check if they were stained with nicotine. If an excessive amount of nicotine was absorbed through the skin, it could cause hands to tremble like this. However, there were no traces of nicotine on his fingers. Instead, there were several faint horizontal lines on his fingernails.

'Why are these here?'

Mees' lines. A finding that appeared when chronically exposed to heavy metals. It was a symptom rarely seen in a typical tobacco artisan.

"...Could you lift your wrists, please?"

The old man tilted his head but lifted his wrists. However, he couldn't hold them for long, and his wrists drooped. It was a classic case of Wrist Drop. A symptom where the nerves were paralyzed, making it impossible to lift the wrist upward. There was only one heavy metal that caused such symptoms. Lead. It was a material a cigar artisan would never encounter. And it was even less likely to be a material a poor old man from Limbus Pit could handle.

I stared at the old man's hands for a long time. After much deliberation, I asked the old man.

"Is 'cigar' perhaps a slang term for wizards that I'm unaware of, sir?"

Silence flowed through the clinic. I looked up and met the old man's eyes. Those eyes, which had looked blurry and tired, were now looking at me with their sharpness regained. Soon, the old man broke the silence.

"Hahaha."

His hunched back straightened. "How did you know?"

"Because the only professions that handle lead to this extent are alchemists or wizards."

"My, my. I should have introduced myself as an alchemist, not a cigar artisan."

As expected. The old man in front of me was a wizard. Lead was by no means a cheap material. Because of its symbolism in trapping souls, it was widely used as a catalyst for various types of magic. It was used extensively not only by dark mages but also by other mages. In particular, lead was an essential catalyst when summoning familiars or making contracts with fairies or spirits. As such, it was a material that an old man rolling tobacco in E-Sector could not easily encounter. That was why I could deduce that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this old man was hiding his true profession.

The old man stroked his beard and said, "Did I say I handled lead?"

"There were traces ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left on your hands."

"Hands?"

The old man tilted his head and looked at his own hands. "I didn't know traces of lead were left on the hands. How did you figure that out?"

"In the bottom of the barrel, wizards who have fallen after handling lead naturally accumulate. Thanks to them, I learned it naturally."

The Limbus Pit excuse was very convenient. If I said I learned it while seeing patients, everyone just accepted it on their own. The old man in front of me was the same. Perhaps thanks to the power of the misunderstanding trope, he accepted it immediately without any tedious or pedantic explanation.

"Indeed. At the bottom, one can see things that are not visible from above."

The old man nodded. "We've only met twice. Your way of thinking gives me a lot of inspiration, junior."

"Is that so?"

"Hm? Aren't you surprised?"

"Because the only wizards who would come to find me are a dark mage or you, sir."

Additionally, I also knew that this person was the old mage I had met before. Mages were inherently busy people. It was impossible for them, who researched by splitting their time into seconds, to suddenly come looking for me without any reason. Therefore, the only wizards who would come looking for me were Belgian or that old mage. Naturally, Belgian wasn't a character who would come looking for me in such a cumbersome way, so by process of elimination, only that elder remained. And even if I threw the deduction aside, it was the timing for the elder to appear according to the genre's grammar.

"So, what brings you here?"

I took out some refreshments and placed them in front of the old man. They were things I had been preparing for a month, not knowing when he might show up. At the combination of tea and snacks, which were hard to find in Limbus Pit, the old mage's eyes widened slightly.

"Did you prepare this in advance, too?"

"Yes. They say opportunity only comes to those who are prepared."

The line emphasizing my competence was a bonus. The mage stared intently at my mask. His gaze was unusual. I didn't know because I had never seen those eyes before, but if I had to describe the feeling, it was the gaze of someone who had found their prey.

"Preparedness, you say..."

The old man, muttering to himself, saw his face blur. The blurred face scattered like mist, and the face of the old mage I had met before was revealed. "If a junior is prepared, it is only right for a senior to give them an opportunity."

His left eye, not covered by an eyepatch, looked at me. "Before that, I will ask one more thing. For what reason are you researching dark magic right now?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Julian Schnabel. They say lying is a virtue when dealing with wizards, but don't make the mistake of applying the virtues of ordinary wizards to me."

Tsk. It seemed there was no point in playing dumb. Come to think of it, it was ridiculous to play dumb with someone who already knew who I was, even though I hadn't revealed my name. I didn't even ask how he knew what kind of research I was doing. I just vaguely guessed he might have used clairvoyance or some other magic. Instead, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I partially corrected the old man's misunderstanding.

"I am not researching dark magic."

"Hm? Didn't you use dark magic?"

"Ultimately, what I am trying to do is alchemy."

Alchemy in this world was not magic. At first, when I heard there was alchemy, I thought I could directly change the arrangement of elements with mana like in a famous manga. That was why I thought developing quinine would be easy. But when I actually brought alchemists in, what they showed me was just the manual labor of putting this and that into a cauldron and stirring it. The only difference was whether you lit the fire with magic or a magic tool. Essentially, alchemists were no different from chemists. Just with a little bit of the unique chemical laws and new materials of this world added in.

'No wonder there was no magic tower for alchemy.'

Anyway. Alchemy was a term that encompassed all kinds of techniques that changed the properties of matter. This was the reason I told this old mage that my research was alchemy.

"To me, dark magic is a means. What I want to create is neither a magic tool nor a magical phenomenon."

"Then that was alchemy?"

"Yes."

Distinguishing between magic research and alchemy was simple. You could distinguish it by whether the created object or phenomenon required mana. If it didn't need mana after being created, it was alchemy. If it needed mana after being created, it was a magic tool or magic. That was why I said I would pursue alchemy, not magic. Because alchemy didn't require a single shred of a mage's talent.

"Haha... I thought you were a junior... so you were an alchemist."

The old mage's eyes sharpened. Seeing this, I recalled the fact that mages despised alchemists. A chill ran down my spine. It was because it felt like déjà vu. 'Don't tell me, again, like with Belgian?' Was he going to get angry again, saying I deceived him? That would be a disaster. Belgian was a mediocre person who was only at the 2nd Circle, and he was so riddled with inferiority that I could overcome him somehow. But the old man in front of me exuded a presence that seemed to far exceed the 2nd Circle even at a glance. If I became hostile, there was a possibility I wouldn't even be able to save my bones.

'Even if this is a misunderstanding trope, isn't this too much of a stretch?'

I broke into a cold sweat inwardly and opened my mouth to correct the old man's misunderstanding. "Sir... I didn't intend to deceive you..."

The old man cut me off and asked in a cold voice, "Then what are you going to use that curse for? Don't tell me you're planning to spread the curse?"

"No. It's the opposite."

"Opposite?"

"While fighting a dark mage recently, I accidentally learned that if you overcome a curse, you are less likely to be affected by the same curse afterwards."

"Hmm. That is true."

This was a fact that was known to some extent among wizards. Once you overcome a curse, you gain a certain degree of resistance to the same curse. Because of this property, curse-users do not use curses unless they are certain they can kill their opponent. If they do use them, they cast them with the intention of killing for sure. The old mage seemed to have recalled that fact as well, and he nodded.

"But what about that?"

"I learned a fact while seeing patients here: patients who survived a curse often pass through epidemics without any trouble when they break out."

"Hm? Is that true?"

I nodded. Who could prove it when I said that was what I felt?

"Yes. So I thought that if I distributed a weakened curse to people in advance, I might be able to save people from the epidemics that come periodically."

"..."

The old mage's mouth closed. He toyed with the teacup on the desk and fell into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deep thought. His single eye licked over me again and again.

How much time had passed? By the time the steam rising from the teacup had faded, the old man finally opened his mouth.

"You have properly stimulated my curiosity over the past month."

"...Yes?"

"After I handed you the grimoire, I personally did some background checks."

The old man rested his chin on his hand and continued speaking leisurely.

"At first, I thought it was just a young noble scion playing healer in the slums. But the more I dug, the more surprising facts I found."

The old man began to list my footprints one by one. "You created medicine to save soldiers from the bark of a tree that grows in the demon realm, and you sold it at half price."

"..."

"You extracted miraculous medicine from the entrails of beasts and saved those dying of diabetes."

"..."

"It was all a miracle of alchemy."

The old man smiled bitterly and stroked his eyepatch.

"I apologize, junior. When a person is in a high position, there are many things to verify. Having lived a long time, it seems I have become suspicious."

The old mage scratched his chin. "First of all, I express my respect for your boldness in offering tea without even asking my name. Thinking that it would be appropriate to reveal my real name to you, as a way of apologizing."

The old man stood up from his chair. "My name is Louis Adelhart."

At that moment, the contents of the history books in my head, which I had read to understand the world, flashed by. Louis Adelhart. The Father of Magic. The Grand Master of the Empire's 13 Magic Towers, the only existing 8th-Circle Mage. And the one who had walked through the history of the Empire. While I was busy picking out lines in the face of an unexpected figure, Louis smiled brightly at me and held out his hand.

"Julian Schnabel. Would you like to become my disciple?"

While looking at the Father of Magic holding out his hand to me, there was only one thought dominating my mind: 'What is this? It's scary...'

Where on earth did the snowball start rolling from? I felt like I could vaguely understand the feelings of protagonists in misunderstanding tropes who wanted to run away.