Guild (1) - A New Treatment Method Is Needed
I needed a new treatment method. The care I was currently giving Princess Canaby wasn’t even enough to maintain the status quo. Yet no alternative existed. The knowledge the Sun God had granted me couldn’t cope with a curse that kept growing stronger.
It’s been a long time since I felt this utterly useless.
I prayed with everything I had, but it changed nothing. There was something embarrassing about begging for more help when I hadn’t accomplished a single thing. You ought to produce results before you ask for a reward. When I was still a minor it might have been easy to pester my parents that way, but age brings a certain shame with it.
Besides, I’ve already received an enormous amount of knowledge I haven’t even touched yet.
After being given so much, it felt wrong to demand still more. As I wrestled with what to do, a new thought rose unbidden.
…Must I spend my whole life clinging to Him, begging to be taught? Couldn’t I research and discover it myself?
People would probably call me an eccentric for trying. Still, I wasn’t the only one who had ever had the idea. Someone had already succeeded at it—researching alone and creating an entirely new treatment.
Cardinal Caria!
One of history’s greatest cardinals, a name that never failed to appear in the biographies of the illustrious. As far as I remembered, his achievements included the independent development of a medical technique. With no immediate solution at hand, I had no choice but to attempt what the cardinal had once done.
But how on earth do I even begin?
Cardinal Caria had been dead for many years. I would have to start from absolute zero, and the path forward was far from clear. There was even a chance the monster would die before I uncovered any cure at all.
That would actually be a relief.
Anything seemed better than sitting idle and powerless, simply waiting for the fated day to arrive. At least I would be trying.
“I believe we will need a new treatment method.”
“A new treatment method?” Princess Canaby tilted her head, puzzled. “Did the God promise to bestow one upon you?”
“No. I intend to search for one myself.”
“You personally?”
“It will be difficult, of course, but I suspect it’s still better than doing nothing.”
Her reaction was less than enthusiastic. I had hoped she might not rejoice but would at least respond positively; instead her expression darkened, and I felt a small sting of disappointment. Even so, I kept my voice steady and hid my feelings.
“With the current approach, I will not be able to remove all of Your Highness’s pain in the future. The curse’s symptoms are worsening, are they not?”
Treatment brought slight improvement only for the condition to slide backward again. The curse upon her was that vicious.
“Do priests not heal the sick with the methods granted by God?”
“That is how most priests treat their patients, yes.”
“Have you ever developed a treatment before?”
“No, I have not.”
It was hardly a boastful answer, but I could not lie, so I told the truth.
“You’ve never done it before, yet you would create a new treatment method for my sake…”
“Your condition is too serious to simply wait for divine assistance.”
“Why?”
“Pardon?”
“All I expect from you is to buy time. No one would criticize you for doing only that much. I cannot understand why you would spend your valuable hours trying to cure me. It seems a meaningless waste.”
In truth the temple remained frantically busy. The only reason I could visit her ward so often was that I had been carving the time out of my own rest. She appeared to know this and could not comprehend why I would sacrifice even more on her behalf. She had probably planned to reward me generously if I simply continued providing this level of care.
Any other priest would have done exactly as she suggested—maintained the status quo and waited for the inevitable—without taking the initiative on a task no one had demanded. But I was not like the other priests.
This was simply who I was.
“Why would time spent for a patient be meaningless? A healer has a duty to do everything possible to cure the sick.”
“You would pursue an entirely new treatment purely out of duty?”
“Of course.”
It sounded strange even to me, so I offered a convenient excuse. “Since you are such a precious person, I cannot help but give the matter extra attention.”
“……”
Especially when her donations were so staggeringly large. Thanks to Princess Canaby, our temple’s contribution ranking had soared into the top tier almost overnight. It had also drawn the unwanted interest of many bishops who now coveted the Labyrinth Temple, but every achievement was still being credited to me. I could hardly fail to feel grateful.
“I do believe valuable individuals deserve special care. Yet even if it were not Your Highness but someone else in the same plight, I would attempt the same approach. I swear it by the Sun God.”
When a priest swore by the Sun God, it meant every word was true. Even corrupt nobles avoided such oaths lightly. There had once been a corrupt priest who broke his vows dozens of times; he died of heatstroke inside a freezing vault packed with ice.
“…Very well.”
“Pardon?”
“If a healer declares he will treat his patient, how could the patient possibly stop him? Do whatever you wish.”
“Ah! Thank you for granting permission.”
I would need to trouble her frequently in the course of researching treatments, so her understanding was a relief. Had our rapport not already formed, it would have been impossible. Ever since she learned I had nearly died after refusing the assailant’s offer, Princess Canaby’s demeanor toward me had shifted noticeably. It was not perfect, but a measure of trust seemed to have taken root, allowing her to treat me with far greater ease.
It isn’t dramatically obvious, but it has changed.
The bond between patient and healer—if not yet as strong as the one she shared with her knights—had definitely been established. Its effect was on full display now; she had granted permission even after hearing words that would have drawn ridicule from others.
Of course, the fact that her expectations of me remained low was a small wound to my pride.
“It is I who should be grateful. You are volunteering to do something you need not do for my sake.”
“I cannot quite ask you to hold high hopes.”
“It is fine even if nothing comes of it, so do not burden yourself. Simply proceed.”
I had already vowed to work hard, yet Princess Canaby went further, easing any pressure I might feel. Her encouragement only strengthened my resolve.
“I will do my utmost.”
Her visible lack of great expectation somehow fueled my determination even more. In truth, I had told her before beginning for a reason.
The task feels overwhelmingly daunting.
I needed an unshakable commitment if I was to see it through. Left to myself, I might try a few times and then give up. But by declaring my intention to the princess, I ensured the promise was no longer private. I would have to follow through, at least in appearance. Telling her had been my way of whipping myself forward.
Her muted expectations were therefore a touch disappointing. Had she shown even mild anticipation, the added weight of responsibility would have driven me harder.
Still, this is enough for now.
Standing at the very beginning, that level of reaction was sufficient to keep my motivation burning. After solemnly declaring to the princess that I would develop a treatment suited to her and completing her care with meticulous attention, I returned to my office and sighed once more at Lord Lapel’s empty chair.
Where do I even start?
The beginning itself was a mystery. I had never once considered developing a new treatment; the prospect felt utterly overwhelming.
Is this what they call diving in headfirst?
What confidence had possessed me to blurt out such a promise to the princess? Regret already surged through me.
Then a clever idea occurred to me.
When you’re lost, the best course is to follow the footsteps of those who came before.
The problem was that Cardinal Caria had long since passed away. After much thought, I went to find Priest Ando.
“Is there any way to obtain books concerning Cardinal Caria?”
“Books on Cardinal Caria…”
Plenty of volumes related to him could be found in the city. But I could not leave the Labyrinth Temple at present, so I had come to the one person who might already possess them.
“I have the cardinal’s autobiography. Would that suffice?”
“Yes, that would be excellent. In truth I would prefer to fetch them myself, but…”
“If Priest Arthur were absent now, the temple would descend into chaos.”
Priest Ando understood perfectly why I could not travel. “Indeed. So I’ve been wondering how best to obtain them.”
“Then why not commission the guild?”
“The guild? Do mercenaries accept such requests?”
“Mercenaries come in many ranks. Lower-grade ones often take on minor errands, or so I’ve heard. However, since purchasing books requires a considerable sum, you would need to hire a trustworthy one.”
Priests enjoyed very high salaries. The wealthy Holy Empire would never treat its clergy poorly. Thanks to that, I had no difficulty affording books. But the amount required would be a fortune to a low-ranking mercenary—enough temptation to simply run off with the money. Hence the advice to seek someone reliable.
“I understand. I’ll have to visit the guild when I have the time.”
“But why are you suddenly looking for books about Cardinal Caria?”
“I studied him briefly during lessons as a child, but as you know, we never went into depth. It suddenly feels like a regret, so I thought I would read them at my leisure during breaks.”
Priest Ando could not hide his satisfied smile. My answer seemed to have pleased him greatly.