The Saint's Burden and the New Hospital

The Inquisition’s Propaganda Division, 3rd Office. Commonly known as the "Room of Liars." Their primary duty was to propagate the legends of saints and saintesses. It wasn't exactly a job one could boast about in public. They hid among the masses, using a mix of slight deceptions and magic to distort history. They were calm enough to admit they were liars, but if asked if they felt pride in their work, they would nod without hesitation.

Sometimes, a sweet lie is more necessary than a harsh truth. Someone in this world dies every single day. Today, another territory in the North vanished. In the Eastern Kingdom, a knight order failed to return. In the Western Kingdom, the sound of wailing echoes. The reason people can still bake bread the next morning amidst all that news is because of the belief that the gods have not forsaken them, that they continue to send down their children’s children. That is why they took pride in their lies. Even if history were to record them as liars who distorted the truth, they were prepared to accept the blame if it meant they could spread the hope needed to bake bread tomorrow.

But today, a crack appeared in that pride.

"...What on earth are we supposed to promote?"

The Chief of the 3rd Office was in deep contemplation. The canonization of the Saint of the Lantern and the Black Saint had been decided. Consequently, before revealing them to the public, the Propaganda Division began the task of inflating the miracles they had performed.

However—

"When I was placed under the black flag, I knew my fate was sealed. The people lying next to me were in such a wretched state, it was obvious. But then, a priestess came over, cast holy magic on me, and prayed."

"Whenever my eyes felt like they were closing for good, she’d come back, cast holy magic again, and again... At first, I was grateful. But as time passed, I began to resent her. It hurt so much, you see."

"Then, I don't know how much time had passed. Suddenly, priests swarmed me. They put me on a cart. I thought, 'This is it, I'm going to be dumped in the incinerator while still conscious.' I even resented the priestess who kept me alive."

"But then I fell asleep in the cart, and when I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed. When I asked the healer who saved me later, they said that thanks to that priestess pouring holy power into me non-stop, I was able to hold on until my turn came."

"As for me... I have nothing to say but thank you. Truly. Hm? You think I'm lying? Haha, my friend. If you don't believe me, grab any knight on this parade ground and ask them. There are dozens of people here who are alive only because of that priestess."

Before they could even begin their full-scale propaganda, people were already pouring out eyewitness accounts as if they were possessed. At first, the Propaganda Division viewed this as a form of mass hallucination. In chaotic situations, various accounts get tangled, and the achievements of many are often packaged as the feat of a single person. The Saint of Victory was a prime example. A saint who supposedly traversed five battlefields simultaneously two hundred years ago—her exploits were actually the work of five different female knights. Over time, rumors added layers until she solidified into a single saint in golden armor.

So, when they first heard the story from the North, the Propaganda Division held the same suspicion. But after collecting and cross-verifying countless accounts, they reached the conclusion that while there might be slight exaggerations, the core was the truth.

"My brother told me that when I was hospitalized, that priestess visited every single night."

"When I was hovering between life and death, there was an angel who saved me from that abyss. This face? Yes! It was this face!"

"I'm an adventurer, so I've been to many hospitals. Usually, once you lie down in those beds, you never know when you'll open your eyes again, right? But they say in the hospital where that priestess was, no one has failed to open their eyes for more than three days."

In this world, a hospitalized patient has a 50% chance of ending up in a coffin. The thick air smelling of stagnant water. The yellow-stained bed sheets that held corpses just days prior. A 20-person ward sharing space with plague victims. Death was always a companion in the hospital wards. But the ward in the memories of those who met the priestess—Ayla—was completely different. The scent of flowers placed at every patient's bedside. White sheets washed and changed daily. And there, whenever patients were about to close their eyes or opened them again, they always saw Ayla holding a lantern.

"It might sound blasphemous, but I have to say it. That person is definitely a saint."

The Propaganda Division didn't even need to spread propaganda. A folk belief had already formed: if the Saint of the Lantern places flowers and passes by, the patient will see the next morning's sunlight.

"Chief. Is there really a need to touch up the achievements of the Saint of the Lantern?"

"...Let's just leave it."

In the end, the Propaganda Division scrapped the scenario they had prepared for the Saint of the Lantern. It felt blasphemous to touch and sully her mystery. And the rumors about the Saint of the Lantern were mere child's play compared to her teacher, the Black Saint.

"Director Schnabel? Ah, he was famous in Limbus Pit from the start. You see, there was a friend of mine who was blind in one eye. But a few days after he gave him some medicine, he could see again. What was that medicine called... Heparin?"

"Long ago. You see that alley over there? That used to be the alley where the crippled begged. But you don't see them now, do you? Director Schnabel used to give those cripples something. He even gave them beans. Ever since that day, the cripples there have vanished."

"Director Schnabel? I know him well. See this scar on my back? I was stabbed in an alleyway a long time ago. I couldn't walk after that day. But look at me now. I might stumble a bit, but I can walk, can't I?"

Before this incident, whenever Director Shun's hands touched someone, the blind regained their sight, and the crippled stood up and walked. Those who wouldn't stop bleeding stopped, and those possessed by spirits stopped convulsing. Even before this miracle, the miracles he had performed in the slums were countless. And at the Northern Gate, the eyewitness accounts of those miracles reached a climax.

"Director Shun? Yes. Even when I hid my illness, he found me and treated me regardless. He stuck some kind of needle into my chest; there were many fellows like me under the red flag. I heard many of my friends call that needle a 'Holy Nail'."

"See this? This wasn't originally my chin. It's a rib. Amazing, right? I think so too. Come to think of it, didn't the creation myth say man was fashioned from a woman's rib?"

"...He is a god. He reattached my severed penis. After it healed, there was no problem at all, other than the scar. Does it need any more explanation?"

Although the last account was strangely unsettling, the miracles the Black Saint performed were numerous. Some of the accounts even came from priests who watched his work from the side.

"I'm not exaggerating! I'm telling you, it's the truth! He really opened up the skull! I saw it while I was assisting with holy magic right next to him!"

There were countless cross-verifications. They had tried to dismiss it as mass hallucination, but the more they verified, the more they were forced to conclude that it was the truth, without exaggeration or misunderstanding.

"...By any chance, has narcotics been circulating in the Imperial Capital without my knowledge?"

"You know, Chief. The drug cartel was crushed a while ago, so they say you can't get drugs in the capital anymore."

"Then are you telling me to believe this is real?"

The Chief pressed his temples hard. The Propaganda Division had taken pride in spreading hope through lies their entire lives. But,

"Oh, Lord. I'm terrified that we might even dare to touch this."

"The Cardinal also received the report and specifically instructed us not to force any propaganda."

For once, their lies were not needed. It was at a level where they feared that leaving artificial traces would only blemish their true achievements. In the end, the Propaganda Division decided to minimize further intervention regarding the two saints. A little propaganda, and a little memory alteration for identity protection. They decided not to touch the miracles they had performed beyond that. Having set the policy, the Chief stood up.

"...I feel like attending evening mass for the first time in a while. It seems the gods have not forsaken us."

When you spend your life boosting faith with lies, you tend to become cynical about everything. Perhaps it's because of the thought that the faith you believe in might be a fabrication imposed by your predecessors. But this time was different. A pure miracle without a single lie. The more they cross-verified it, the more it felt like the excitement of a long-forgotten faith was reawakening. Unable to bear the overwhelming feeling, the Chief headed to the chapel.

The Spring of Those Who Did Not Return. That is what they call the great failure of the subjugation mission. About a month had passed since that incident.

"You may be discharged now."

"Thank you so much, Doctor."

I was finally starting to find a moment to catch my breath. Saving people with limited resources was fine, but the problem was that my work-life balance had been thoroughly destroyed in the process. It couldn't be helped. It was the result of trying to substitute the miracle of the top-tier healing spell, Regeneration, with low-tier Heal.

'Regeneration takes five minutes, easy.'

I had seen the Diocese Chief, a high-tier healer, use it. A noble on the brink of death was fixed in five minutes flat. Honestly, I was jealous. To perform the same miracle, I had to roll around for a month using low-tier Heal.

'I'm clearly the protagonist... but...'

If I was going to be reincarnated (or possessed), wouldn't it have been nice to get a cheat skill? Of course, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠liked that my memory was better than expected and that I had an aptitude for black magic. But I still wished they had added some holy power. I could have done so much more if I had that. Well, complaining wouldn't change anything. Doing my best with what I had was something I had been doing since my past life. I set aside my complaints and focused on my patients that day.

"You started eating after the surgery last time, right? Are your bowel movements regular?"

"I have a bit of diarrhea, is that okay?"

"Yes. That's fine. But if it's too uncomfortable, I'll give you a potion for it."

One day, while I was busy sending patients back to their daily lives, a message arrived for me. It was from Diocese Chief Lailic.

"My clinic hours end at 6:00. Would that time be alright?"

The Diocese Chief hesitated for a moment through the crystal ball.

[Ah, is Ayla-nim also there with you?]

Ayla-nim? It was strange for the Diocese Chief to use an honorific for a mere girl aspiring to be a healer. But I didn't ask about it and answered.

"Yes, the student is helping with the clinic today as well. I believe she will be with me after 6:00."

[That is good. Then I shall see you at that time. I apologize for taking your time, Brother.]

"Not at all. I'll see you later, Diocese Chief."

Beep. The magic of the crystal ball cut off. After that, it was back to the busy clinic time. Checking the rehabilitation of the patients I had treated, educating other healers, and having Ayla and her friend preview some healing knowledge. Before I knew it, the promised time had arrived.

When I finished my clinic and went to the waiting room, the Diocese Chief, wearing purple vestments with a purple Cappa over his shoulders, was there.

"Diocese Chief?"

"Ah, you've finished your clinic."

The Diocese Chief stood up from his chair and smiled faintly. Beside him sat a cup of tea that had gone cold. How long had he been waiting?

"When did you arrive? If you had told us, I would have wrapped up the clinic a bit faster."

"No, no."

The Diocese Chief waved his hands. "I arrived a little earlier than promised. I asked them not to tell you because I didn't want to seem like I was rushing your work."

The Diocese Chief stood up slowly. I called Ayla, who was nursing patients in the ward, and guided the Diocese Chief to my office. Inside the office, Ayla and I sat side-by-side across from the Diocese Chief.

"Thank you for making time, Brother. I know you must want to go home and rest, so I apologize for making you stay late."

"Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at all. I'm glad I had the time to see you, Diocese Chief."

"I'm relieved to hear you say that. How have you been lately, Brother?"

"Thanks to your help in transferring patients to other clinics, I have some breathing room now."

"I'm truly glad I could be of help."

The Diocese Chief wrapped his hands around the teacup. I asked about his situation as well.

"May I ask how you are doing, Diocese Chief?"

"Since it's the time for people to return to their families, it's the period of deepest mourning. My heart is heavy as well."

Ironically, the Diocese Chief said this was his busiest time. Because his work as the Health Director, overseeing all the clinics in the capital, had ended, and the time for him as a priest to look after the welfare of the believers had begun. Although the number of victims was remarkably low compared to the scale of the incident, it was still 100 people. It was by no means a small number, even by the standards of this era. Since funerals were also the duty of a priest, the Diocese Chief was inevitably swamped.

After exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes, we finally got to the point.

"The reason I sought you out, Brother, is because the Church has a request for you."

At the Diocese Chief's serious tone, Ayla's shoulders tensed. In contrast, I wasn't particularly nervous. I had already guessed what the request would be.

The Diocese Chief took a breath and spoke.

"As the Diocese Chief, on behalf of the Church, I earnestly request this of you and Student Ayla. The Church wishes to canonize the two of you as saints, so I ask that you please accept."

The Diocese Chief took off his zucchetto and bowed his head. Ayla gasped.

"...Hic."

And with a small hiccup, she froze in place. In contrast, I was incredibly calm. It couldn't be helped; when you're in the position of a director of a major merchant guild, you hear rumors. Especially since our guild's main clients ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were healers before they were patients. The atmosphere of them trying to make me a saint was bound to reach me. Of course, the Church probably didn't enforce strict secrecy, which is why it leaked. Thanks to that, I was able to prepare my heart before the Diocese Chief even delivered the news.

'As expected. Is this the start of the main story based on the original work?'

I pondered while looking at the top of the Diocese Chief's head. Quinine, insulin, Viagra, etc... Honestly, I didn't even know if these were drugs the protagonist made in the original work, or if they appeared in this timeline. I just made them because I thought I could. Therefore, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was always curious about when the main story of the original work would begin. I thought it would start when I became an adult, but I didn't expect it to start like this.

'In the end, they're mistaking me for a saint like this.'

Of course, their mistake was reasonable. I was aware that the achievements I had made this time were significant. If we assume the medical level of this era is equivalent to the 19th century, I had demonstrated surgical and medical systems that were 200 years ahead of their time. It was no wonder they were surprised, like in a typical isekai power fantasy.

However,

'I am definitely not a saint.'

Thinking about it coldly, I could never be a saint. For one, I couldn't use holy magic. Even though my biological parents were healers, I couldn't use holy magic. I was often sick as a child, too. So, I didn't fit the five conditions of a saint at all. Furthermore, decisively, I wasn't a kind enough person to be called a saint. They say hypocrisy is also a form of kindness, but I don't know if I'm a good enough person to be called a saint. Saints and saintesses are the GOATs of human history, people whom humanity should look up to as role models forever. In Korean terms, they are on the level of King Sejong or Admiral Yi Sun-sin. You're putting me in that lineup?

'Oh. That's a bit...'

I was just a person who lived to make money and take it easy. Comparing me to such people was crossing the line. Maybe that's why. I had acted with intent, but now that it was right in front of me, it was burdensome.

'Just once.'

I had to refuse just once. That way, I would feel less burdened. Of course, I knew it wouldn't work, but I wanted to leave a trace that I had said no.

"Diocese Chief."

Archbishop Lailic raised his head.

"I am not a vessel for a saint. I am not a person worthy of such a rank, and I do not wish for the Church's traditions to be broken because of me."

But as expected, the Archbishop wouldn't let me go, pleading earnestly.

"Brother. I have witnessed countless miracles in my life. I have seen the miracles performed by the saints and saintesses of this era. But among them, there was no one who shone as brightly as you."

His wrinkled hands held mine tightly. "There are those who have regenerated limbs and those who have warded off plagues. But no one has saved as many people as you have. If you do not accept canonization, who else will be worthy of it in the future?"

At those words, I gave a bitter smile behind my mask. As expected. I couldn't refuse when he pleaded like this. Even if I refused again, he would find a way to persuade me. In the end, I pretended to be unable to overcome his earnest request and accepted the offer.

"I understand. I am a lacking person, but if my lies can give people hope, if they can give them the hope to bake bread tomorrow—"

I quoted a Bible verse I remembered and continued.

"I will dare to carry that yoke."

Hearing those words, the Diocese Chief's eyes turned red.

"How can you be so humble..."

It seemed he had made another absurd misunderstanding. I didn't correct him, not wanting to ruin the sentiment.

*

The rest wasn't much. They listed when the canonization ceremony would be held and the benefits given to the saints. "A minimum of 4th-circle Holy Knights will be assigned to you for close protection." It was a natural treatment, as we were the mascots of the Church. Besides that, the safety of my family would be under the Church's highest level of security. If necessary, identity alteration was possible for safety. My residence would be moved to Sanctum Hill. And they would provide a carriage, pocket money, and basically, I would be treated as at least a Marquis wherever I went, and so on...

There were many things, like insurance riders, but to summarize, it meant I had made it big.

"Hic."

Ayla froze in place again, hiccuping as soon as she heard the benefits. Anyway, after finishing the talk about canonization,

"Ah, and Brother. I apologize for saying this, but..."

The Diocese Chief put his teacup down on the table and sighed faintly before continuing.

"I have a personal concern I would like to confide in you, would that be alright?"

"If I can be of help, I would be happy to assist, Diocese Chief."

"Haha. After giving you such big news, I am ashamed to ask for your wisdom right away."

The Diocese Chief laughed briefly, but his smile soon turned into a bitter one.

"Lately, healers are resigning from clinics in the capital one after another."

"..."

"The reason is..."

The Diocese Chief watched my reaction. I knew what he meant. The healers who recently joined our clinic told me. They said that a relay of resignations by healers across the capital was trending lately. And the reason was, of course, because of me. That day. The healers who observed the surgery I performed must have spread my heroic tales when they returned to their clinics, and they started throwing away their resignation letters and applying to our clinic to learn that technique from me. Thanks to that, we already had many applicants, but now it had far exceeded what our guild could handle.

"I... I don't mean to say it's the Saint's fault. And I am not without responsibility for this situation."

The Diocese Chief gave an awkward smile. "Because of this, the clinic directors are full of complaints. But I cannot scold the brothers who are burning with passion for learning... So, I asked, wondering if I could borrow the Saint's wisdom."

I pondered for a moment. I thought of a way to resolve the situation. First, instead of having them come to me, I could periodically visit other clinics. '...That doesn't seem very effective.' They would probably just monopolize the technology for that clinic and its related sect. That's how this world works. This would mean I would have to visit the four major sects one by one and repeat the same content. Naturally, it was unrealistic and inefficient. In the end, the problem was more fundamental.

'As expected, it seems the failure of medical education is the cause.'

In this world, the healing department has no concept of clinical practice or training. What they learn in the Academy's healing department is only theory and the principles of magic. Healers only meet patients directly after graduation. To gain experience, they have to get a job as a low-tier healer at a clinic, and they need connections to get a proper mentor. On top of that, each sect keeps its treatment methods secret. To me, a medical scholar who received 21st-century Humboldtian education, it seemed like a very inefficient structure.

'I have to tear this part down first.'

I had been thinking about it for a long time. Building a university hospital in my name once I made a lot of money. However, I hadn't been able to put it into practice because I still lacked the money to build a proper hospital. Even Viagra wasn't enough to build a university-level hospital. Other large clinics were barely built by several nobles pooling their money together. But I judged that if I sold the Saint's name, I might be able to build it with the Church's backing. If things went well, I thought I could even get the Imperial Family to sponsor it.

Having finished my calculations, I spoke carefully to the Diocese Chief.

"Diocese Chief."

"Yes?"

"How about building a new clinic where all Academy students, regardless of their sect, can learn equally?"

And to be honest. It had been my dream to train at Johns Hopkins when I was a medical student. I couldn't do it because my English wasn't good enough, though.