Chapter 91. The Agony of a Tiger Tearing Limbs Asunder
"That's right. If Tower Master Dollar is amenable, I'd like you to handle sales of my products on my behalf. Not just the mana meter, but all the medical equipment you've seen at my clinic—I'd like to entrust it all to you for distribution."
The Tower Master of the Tower of Truth, Mac Dollar, looked utterly flustered, as if he hadn't anticipated this request in the slightest.
"Well, that's..."
"Is it difficult?"
"Oh, no, not difficult, but... Wouldn't the Gold Tower Master make far greater profits selling directly? I can't easily grasp why you'd go through me."
From the weeks I'd observed him, Mac was someone accustomed to humbling himself. He wasn't scheming with hidden motives; he was genuinely humble, the type who was easy to leverage.
"No particular reason. The Beauty Tower is located in the remote borderlands at the edge of the West Continent, in the Frederik Dungeon Zone, isn't it? Whereas Helle Gar Territory, home to the Tower of Truth, is right in the capital's heart—more mages visit, and transportation must be far superior. I believe this path benefits patients the most."
"Such... remarkable magnanimity!"
Mac suddenly seized my hand. I despised physical contact from others and nearly yanked away on instinct, but I let his damp palm linger a moment longer.
"What noble intentions! I'm truly impressed. This is hardly even a request! Just selling the medical devices you send—how could I refuse?"
"Hahaha, thank you. Once the war ends and I return, we'll limit sales of medical devices and drugs from the Beauty Tower to just us—and the Tower of Truth. It won't be massive, but Tower Master Dollar, you won't lose out."
Having secured his agreement, I tried to slip my hand free, but Mac's eyes widened again as he grabbed it once more.
"N-no! That would essentially be a monopoly!"
"Exactly. Does a monopoly displease you?"
"No, not at all! It's just... too generous to me alone. If you entrusted sales to other towers too, your profits would be—"
"No."
I shook my head firmly and naturally pulled free from his insistent grip.
"What I want isn't a pittance like that!"
"Not money...?"
"The reason I'm asking only you is that medical tools—especially pharmaceuticals—mustn't be mishandled by unskilled doctors. And even skilled ones shouldn't abuse them."
"Tower Master..."
I wasn't lying. It wasn't about a mere 'pittance'—I wanted more money.
"I've watched you closely and am convinced: you truly value others' lives and hesitate not at all to learn the medical knowledge you lack."
"Tower Master!"
"Eek!"
Expecting another hand-grab, I'd pulled back, but this time he lunged into a full embrace. Such contact revolted me, but sacrifices for greater gains were inevitable. I endured.
"To think so highly of me—thank you! I won't betray your trust; I'll manage and sell every device and drug meticulously."
"I'm the grateful one. Shall we head to my quarters? I've prepared the consignment contract."
"Hahaha, splendid."
Mac's good mood mirrored my own elation. Thanks to him bringing other towers' masters to my clinic, more were taking interest in my techniques and equipment—but their numbers were limited. No matter how well-connected Mac was, if I sold alone from the Beauty Tower, those stubborn old mages would snub us like they did the Wind Tower mages, boycotting out of pride. Mages, like nobles, were arrogant prideful sorts.
That's why I was giving them an excuse to buy—through someone universally beloved like Mac Dollar. Nice name, too, now that I think about it.
Whether Mac saw through my intent didn't matter. What counted was those cranky old mages too proud to buy from me directly would snap them up through him.
"Then, just your thumbprint here, and the contract's complete."
"Hahaha, pressed firmly! Looking forward to working with you, Tower Master."
Bang—
"Director! There you are! Big trouble!"
"Walter? What's wrong?"
As I tucked away the inked contract, Walter burst through the door.
"Bluebird! Patients complaining of abdominal pain are flooding in!"
"Suddenly? Then straight to the crystal orb—"
I patted my pockets—no orb. In my rush to finalize the contract before he changed his mind, I'd left it in the clinic.
"Sorry, emergencies—I must go."
"No need! My crystal orb's blowing up too. I'd better hurry!"
We bolted from the quarters to our respective clinics.
"Code bl... no, where are the bluebird patients?!"
Bluebird was our Beauty Tower term for emergencies, replacing code blue.
"Uwaaaack! Ueeck!"
"Patient! Don't vomit here—into the basin!"
"Kugh! My stomach... hurts so much."
"Please... water... just some water..."
Finding the bluebirds was easy amid the chaos.
"Director! Patients with vomiting, diarrhea, and dehydration are overflowing!"
"Food poisoning?"
Stella shook her head at my question.
"All from the 27th Imperial Knight Battalion, but knights from other battalions who ate the same meal are fine—no abdominal pain even. Hard to call it food poisoning—"
"Wait—no abdominal pain?"
"Yes, no pain, so I doubted typical food poisoning."
A chill raced down my spine at Stella's explanation.
"IV fluids in their veins—now!"
"Ah... yes, Director!"
"Tetracycline for severe diarrhea cases!"
"Got it!"
"Move, move!"
I bellowed at Stella, then rushed to Walter.
"Walter, urgent. Grab at least one sack each of salt and sugar from supplies—bring to quarters."
"Yes, Director."
"Jo family, secure drinking water to quarters. Kellogg, make lidded 1-liter disposable bottles ASAP—quarters! Everyone, go!"
Praying it wasn't what I feared, I dashed outside to patients on beds and knights mid-defecation with identical symptoms.
"Grgh... ugh! Who are you?!"
"Excuse me. Stool sample test."
"What?! G-get away! I can't stop... uaaaah!"
Ignoring the knight's tear-streaked face, I inspected. Unlike normal, it was cloudy white rice-water stool.
Oh, damn... for real.
The worst pandemic to plunge 19th-century humanity—post-plague and smallpox—into despair again.
Cholera!
Cholera had claimed 15 million lives in its Indian origin alone—a waterborne scourge. It spread via contaminated water, food, especially shellfish. In Joseon times, named hoyeolja or hoyeolral for pain like a tiger shredding limbs.
At least they came early. Any delay, and it'd be disastrous.
Core symptoms: nausea, vomiting, rice-water diarrhea, dehydration. No initial abdominal pain, but worsening brings fever and cramps; severe dehydration kills in hours. Deadly.
Confirming cholera vibrio, I contacted Mac via crystal orb. The 27th Battalion was huge; other clinics faced the same.
"Diagnosis: cholera! Bacterial contagion via water or food! I have treatment—other Tower Masters, empty your subspace pouches and come! Highly contagious—urgent!"
Among history's plagues—smallpox, syphilis, TB, AIDS—I loathed cholera most. Its treatment was insultingly simple.
Bang—
"Director! You're here!"
Bursting in, Walter spotted me first.
"Everyone ready?"
"Water: five barrels."
"Lidded disposable bottles: all done."
"Sugar and salt: two sacks each."
The requested materials covered the central table. Time for oral rehydration solution.
"Jo family, purify water with magic, then fill Kellogg's bottles without overflow. Walter, add six teaspoons sugar, half teaspoon salt per bottle, cap, shake. Watch me first, then replicate."
Most cholera bacteria die in stomach acid, but heavy loads or low acid (antacids, hypochlorhydria) survive.
The survivors are the problem.
Surviving vibrios reach small intestine, secrete toxins blocking electrolyte absorption, drawing water via osmosis—massive diarrhea. Dehydration disrupts electrolytes: dry skin, wrinkled extremities, sunken eyes, no urine, cramps, hypotension, coma. Untreated mortality: 50-70%.
Damn! A disease where IV fluids drop fatality under 1%!
Salt and sugar cost more here than Earth, but not war-level—infuriating. Oral rehydration alone saves lives—no IV needed. Death from ignorance is unacceptable.
Bang—
"To-Tower Master! Huff, we're here!"
Mac and hordes of mages poured in. Their time to shine.
"Take those bottles—feed patients! Hurry!"