Mistaken for a Secret Benefactor (1)
Morning arrived after a grueling night. I looked down at Freya, who was now breathing evenly. The temperature radiating against the back of my hand resting on her forehead was normal. The forty-one-degree fever that had tortured both her and me all night, the wheezing breath that sounded like scraping metal, the red rash that had covered her entire body—all of it had subsided as if it had all been a lie.
...It worked. I had succeeded. Whether it was thanks to my talent for dark magic, which my master had praised so highly, or simply the luck of a misunderstood protagonist, the spell had been a success despite it being my very first trial.
Creeeak. Just then, the door opened with quiet caution. Through the slight crack in the door, I saw the face of the female priest who had gone out to brew holy water. Perhaps because she had spent the entire night praying, she looked utterly exhausted. In her arms, she held a small silver chalice.
"Young master, the holy water is..." The priestess's eyes went wide mid-sentence. "Has the fever... broken?"
"Yes."
"How in the..."
"Shh." Forcing a faint smile, I pressed my index finger to my lips. "Every mage keeps their own secrets. Just as healers usually do."
"My goodness..." The priestess covered her mouth with her free hand. The Devil's Disease had been cured. Though she didn't know the process, the result was laid bare right before her eyes. It was a miracle that belonged in the pages of myth.
"Then... did you do this, young master?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I gently took the silver chalice from her trembling hands as she stood there dazed. "Thank you for your hard work, Sister."
Inside, clear water shimmered with a faint, gentle glow. Holding the holy water, I approached Freya. Freya's immune system is severely compromised right now.
Originally, holy water was a substance specialized in warding off evil things like curses and malevolent spirits. This meant it had virtually no regenerative properties like actual healing magic. However, because it was infused with divine power, one could at least expect a very minor vitality-boosting effect.
Since she had a high fever until just moments ago, this should be the safest option to protect her organs. I didn't even fully understand the exact mechanism of the magic I had just cast. Under such circumstances, I couldn't risk casting another Minor Heal on Freya. That was why I substituted it with holy water. Unlike Minor Heal, I had never seen any records of holy water worsening the Devil's Disease.
"Freya. I know you're sleepy, but drink just a bit of this and go back to sleep."
"Mmh..." I carefully helped her drink the holy water, making sure she didn't choke. Only after confirming that her parched lips were moist did I let out the long breath I had been holding. "Whew..."
Catching my breath, I called out to the priestess, who was standing there stiffly like a forgotten sack of barley. "Sister."
"Y-yes! Young master!" the priestess stammered, startled. Was it because she had just witnessed a miracle? Or was she terrified that she would have to pay for the mistake she had made last night? I could sense a distinct fear in her attitude toward me.
If I had any physical strength left, I might have corrected her misunderstanding. But having stayed up all night without a wink of sleep, I didn't have the luxury to worry about that.
"Freya was suffering from a fever all night, so she must have sweated a lot. I've already instructed the maids to prepare hot water, so they should be up shortly." Handing her the silver chalice, which was still half-full of holy water, I continued, "Please wipe her down with water diluted with this holy water. And if possible, help her change her clothes."
Normally, wiping down a patient in an infirmary was a maid's job. Just as doctors in modern hospitals didn't wash their patients. Therefore, this request could have been perceived as an insult to a priestess. Much like the medical profession in modern society, priests were respected professionals who occupied a social stratum above commoners but below nobles.
Yet despite my request, the priestess answered without a moment's hesitation. "Understood!" She was clearly still harboring guilt over the mistake she had made last night. "I will take excellent care of the young lady."
"And if her condition changes in the slightest, call for me immediately."
"I will keep that in mind, young master." The priestess nodded repeatedly. Just then, the sound of maids hurrying down the hallway echoed outside. "Then I leave her in your hands." With a light nod, I stepped out of the room.
In the hallway, I ran into the maids carrying steaming hot water and clean white towels. "Young master...?" The maids stopped in unison and bowed. However, unlike usual, the way they looked at me as they greeted me was strange. They kept stealing glances at my face, only to flinch and look away whenever our eyes met. A few of them even had flushed cheeks.
Pointing at the ones with red cheeks, I asked, "Do you two happen to have a cough? Your cheeks are quite flushed."
"O-oh, no! We... we just came in from the cold..."
"I see. However, Freya's body is very weak right now, so please make sure to wear masks."
"Yes, young master!" Despite my words, their eyes remained glued to me. Wondering if something was wrong, I followed their gaze. They seemed to be staring at my sweat-dampened hair.
Ah. I had been so focused on nursing Freya that I hadn't paid any attention to my disheveled hair. I had always played the part of the elegant, flawless young master in this house, yet here I was, showing such a messy appearance. I still have a long way to go.
I smoothed down my messy hair. A faint, collective gasp arose from the maids, but I decided I must have misheard. They were probably just out of breath from carrying those heavy basins of water up to the second floor.
"I'm counting on you to take care of Freya."
"Yes! Please get some rest as well, young master!" After sending them on their way, I headed to my room, which was located at the exact opposite end of the hallway from Freya's.
The moment I entered my room, I locked the door and slumped into the chair at my desk. As the tension drained from my body, the physical toll that had been masked by adrenaline hit me all at once.
"Ugh..." The moment I sat down, a wave of intense nausea surged up my throat. A splitting headache, as if sharp awls were stabbing into my brain, made my vision flicker with bright spots. It was classic mana sickness—a symptom that occurred when one depleted a massive amount of mana in a short period.
Was the catalyst and incantation insufficient? This was a common hurdle mages faced when developing new spells. Unlike established spells that had been optimized over centuries of history, new magic lacked such refinement, making mana sickness a frequent occurrence.
I'll need to optimize the spell formula later... But the side effects weren't what mattered right now. Slumping back in my chair, I stared blankly at the ceiling. Enduring the throbbing pain in my head, I retraced the events of last night. Freya's high fever. The Cytokine Storm. The Steroid Pulse Therapy. And...
My dark magic... I still couldn't believe it. I had actually succeeded in casting dark magic. And on a whim, using a formula I was trying for the very first time.
I rubbed my palms together and covered my eyes. In the warm darkness, I reviewed the conditions I had set. Wither. A debuff spell dark mages cast to lower a target's resistance before placing a curse. I had modified that very spell. The catalyst was the steroid. The target of the formula was the most hyperactive immune cells. And the symbol I used was the priestess's Y-shaped cross, along with the concepts of 'devotion' and 'atonement' bound to it. In theory, it was a perfect combination. So I had executed it, and—
To think it would work on the first try... I had succeeded. Suddenly, my master's frequent words echoed in my mind. — "If you had been born just a little earlier, the Master of the 13th Month Magic Tower would have been you, not that fellow."
The Master of the 13th Month Magic Tower. The worst dark mage in history. My master had practically made it a habit to say my talent surpassed his. I had taken it with a grain of salt, assuming it was mere lip service, but even considering that, succeeding on my very first attempt was incredibly lucky.
It was far too reckless. Magic wasn't that simple. Even if the theory was flawless, magic often failed in practice. It was just like how any normal coding was bound to have bugs. Yet, I had succeeded. Even without fully understanding the symbolism or conditions of that space.
I managed the scientific conditions with my medical knowledge, but I still don't understand the symbolism. Therefore, succeeding with that dark magic on the first try was undeniably bizarre. I only vaguely understood the conditions, knew nothing of the symbolism, and had simply thrown myself into it. Yet, it had succeeded on the first attempt. There was no other way to explain it except that I had the absurd luck of a misunderstood protagonist.
First with Freed, and now this... My life was far too lucky. It was as if I were beloved by the goddess of fortune herself. In the end, luck is the best stat. A splitting headache began to wash over me again. Even if I wanted to keep thinking, my brain was trying to shut itself down.
A dark drowsiness began to cloud my vision. Let's just sleep. Was there any need to overthink it? Freya had passed the critical stage anyway, and I could always research how to improve the spell with my master later. So, there was only one thing left for me to do right now. I wonder what's for dinner tonight... Without resisting my heavy eyelids, I drifted into a deep sleep.
While Julian was catching up on his sleep in his bed just before noon, the female priest, having finished tending to Freya, walked down the third-floor hallway of the main building under the guidance of the head butler. The place she arrived at was the family head's office.
*Knock, knock.* "Come in." Instead of morning sunlight, light scattered by the smog filtered into the office, which was filled with the cozy glow of mana lamps. Yet despite the warm lighting, the air inside the room was colder than the approaching winter.
"...Sit, priestess." At the cold address from Hendel Nihilite, the Baron of the Nihilite family, the priestess flinched.
Julian had consistently called her "Sister." It was the most common and polite title used by commoners outside the order to address clergy. But that was a title for commoners. Nobles had no reason to unconditionally respect the clergy. No matter how much they declared themselves religious figures free from the secular world, they could never be completely detached from the power dynamics of society. Furthermore, considering that even the weakest noble was a Mage of the 2nd Tier or higher, there was absolutely no reason for them to defer to a priest. Thus, no matter how much she had achieved by becoming a priestess—even a highly coveted healing priestess—she never forgot her true place.
"I assume you know why you have been summoned here, priestess."
"Yes, I am well aware, Lord Nihilite." Especially in a situation like this, summoned before a noble who had nearly lost his daughter to fury. Perching precariously on the very edge of the sofa, the priestess kept her gaze glued to the floor. From above her head, Hendel's cold voice drifted down.
"I heard you cast Minor Heal multiple times in succession on a patient suffering from the Devil's Disease without properly assessing her condition." His voice was low and calm. Yet within it, a suppressed murderous intent coiled like a serpent.
"Did you perhaps have a reason I am unaware of? Working in the imperial palace, I have encountered various cases myself. Since there might be a perspective from the field that I do not know, I will at least give you a chance to defend yourself."
"...I am terribly sorry, my lord. It was entirely due to my own incompetence."
"At least you are honest." Hendel's calm remark pierced her heart like a dagger. The priestess slid off the sofa to kneel on the floor, her hands trembling like aspen leaves as they pressed against the carpet.
"I am so sorry. I truly thought it was just a cold. As a priestess, and as a mother with a daughter of the young lady's age, I only wanted to do my absolute best to cure her..."
"Your best, you say." Hendel coldly cut her off, a faint scoff laced in his voice. "You must know that this world is not gentle enough to accept that as an excuse, priestess."
"...I am sorry, my lord."
"Nothing kills a person faster than good intentions born of ignorance. Especially in a profession that directly handles lives." The priestess closed her eyes tightly. A commoner priestess who had threatened the life of a noble's child. It wouldn't be strange at all if her head were severed right now to fertilize the garden. Furthermore, considering Hendel's position within the Imperial Palace, it was well within his power.
"..." Silence descended between the two. Breaking that silence, a light metallic clink echoed from the family head's desk. *Clink.* "I will pay you, priestess."
"P-pardon?"
"For your travel and treatment fees. I shall pay you in full." The priestess's pupils dilated in sheer disbelief. Just a moment ago, she had expected to lose her head. Yet, what she received instead was a pouch of gold coins. Meeting her bewildered gaze, Hendel rested his chin on his clasped hands.
"To be frank, given my position, I am not one to believe in cheap goodwill."
"..."
"However, it is a different story when family is involved."
"?" Family? At the mention of a word whose relevance she couldn't fathom, the priestess raised her head. The family head's gaze as he looked at her had softened considerably.
"I do not believe in incompetent goodwill. Nor can I forgive it. However, I do believe in my son's judgment."
"..."
"I heard you nursed Freya alongside Julian. Therefore, it must mean Julian placed his trust in you." The family head turned his chair, looking out the window. "I will not harm you. Because I must prove that my son's choice was correct, and that my son is a good man."
He tapped his fingertips against the window frame. There was a great deal of calculation behind this decision. As the family head, it was a meticulous calculation to thoroughly manage his eldest son's reputation so he could marry into a proper noble family as a matrilocal husband. But as a father, there was another calculation at play.
"I cannot allow a stain on my son's legacy. Therefore, priestess, I will not hold you accountable for last night's mistake." Hendel turned back to face her. "The judgment of your error will be left to the historians and gossips of the future. Since this is the story of the first-ever cure of the Devil's Disease, your name will likely never be forgotten."
Perhaps countless fingers would point at her in blame. But she didn't have the luxury to fear that. What mattered right now was the simple fact that she had survived.
"T-thank you! Thank you, Lord Nihilite...! I will never forget this grace for as long as I live...!"
"Save your gratitude, and just keep this in mind." Toward the priestess, who was rubbing her forehead against the carpet, Hendel spoke with added weight in his voice. "When one works in the Imperial Palace, one inevitably gains connections and power that do not match their noble rank."
*Gulp.* The priestess swallowed hard.
"Even if I am a mere Baron, I am more than capable of suppressing any rumors about my son curing the Devil's Disease until he becomes independent. Do you understand what I am saying?"
The priestess nodded so vigorously it seemed her head might fall off. Curing the Devil's Disease was a monumental achievement. But such achievements often invited jealousy that was difficult to bear. Moreover, it was the Devil's Disease—the long-standing nemesis of the Sun Sect. If it were revealed that a mage, not a healer, had cured it...
"I merely provided holy water to a cold patient today, Lord Nihilite."
"Indeed. That is how it should be. The appropriate compensation is in that pouch. You may leave now." The family head gestured toward the door with his chin. The priestess snatched the pouch of gold coins from the desk and scurried out of the office.
"Butler. See her out." "Understood." Wilhelm followed the priestess. Having sent everyone away, Hendel, left alone in his office, sank deep into his chair.
Sigh... Being a father is no easy task. Hendel muttered to himself self-deprecatingly, resting his arm over his forehead. Meanwhile, on the roof of the main building... *Squeak.* Fitch, the silk polecat, curled up and began grooming its fur.