Chapter 64
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: I'll Save the Patient
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"Let's be frank."
Alain nailed it down firmly.
"Rather than getting treated by a kid like that, I think it's far better to keep hiring healers from the church or the mages' association like we do now."
"Even so...!"
Evelyn quickly cut in.
"At least let Lucas examine you once—"
"No."
He sliced through her words like a blade.
"Since you're a guest brought by the princess herself, I won't rudely chase you away, but that won't happen."
Ever.
That unspoken word hung heavy in the air.
Not content with just insulting me, he was dismissing my medical skills as beneath even this world's spell-slinging healers.
I couldn't let that slide.
So I opened my mouth.
"Hey, mister."
The air froze in an instant.
"Lu-Lucas Argent?!"
"Master...!"
"Uh... you?"
The three reactions came a beat out of sync.
But it didn't matter.
This time, I wasn't going to overlook it as either a doctor or a human being.
I looked Alain straight in the eye.
And calmly, point by point, I laid it out.
"Shallow breaths."
His eyebrow twitched faintly.
"Waking up often at night, and even after a full night's sleep, you don't feel refreshed."
One step closer.
"You've got a sturdy build, but your stamina oddly can't keep up."
The habit of catching his breath.
The brief pauses mid-sentence.
I didn't miss them.
"Chest pain? Almost never. But it feels stuffy."
I tilted my head slightly.
"Like you can't breathe sometimes, but you just shrug it off as 'that's normal.'"
Finally.
"You're weak with alcohol too. Even a little gets you winded, and your body reacts first."
And quietly, I added.
"This isn't a recent illness. It's congenital."
That moment.
"H-How the hell would a punk like you...?!"
Alain's eyes shook for the first time, wide and rattled.
The cold detachment from moments ago vanished, replaced by the face of someone spotting an unexpected lifeline at the edge of despair.
Seeing that expression, I was certain.
This time, my words had hit home.
The first thing that caught my eye when I met Alain Raltos, the family head, wasn't his massive build.
It was his breathing.
A solid frame, broad shoulders, muscles honed over long years.
Someone that size should have deep, relaxed breaths.
But he was consciously inhaling.
Deeply.
And frequently.
It felt less like breathing and more like desperately securing air.
Even stranger: no one seemed to think it odd.
Not Evelyn, not even Alain himself.
It was so natural, like he'd always lived that way.
That's when I knew.
This wasn't a new habit.
His body had learned to breathe like that.
Then other details started jumping out.
Lip color.
A build like that should have vibrant flush.
The healthy red of an athlete.
But his lips were dull, not truly red.
In the light, they carried a faint blue tinge.
Breathing alone might've been dismissible, but lips too? That's different.
Not simple fatigue.
Not anemia, not weak lungs.
Plenty of blood, but it wasn't circulating right.
A circulation issue.
And with that build, that breathing, that color—the answer was clear.
His heart couldn't keep up with the rest of his body.
Not damaged, but built that way from the start.
That's when it clicked.
Why he'd lived so casually with that body and those breaths.
"Look."
I gently took Alain the family head's hand and pressed on his fingernail, then released.
"In others, the color returns right away. Blood rushes back in."
A brief silence.
Alain's nail regained color a beat late, hesitantly.
"...Indeed."
Evelyn murmured low.
"What's this?"
She asked.
"Something missing in the body causing this?"
I shook my head.
"Not missing. It's there, but not moving properly. Specifically—the paths the blood should flow through have been unstable from the start."
That was the moment.
Alain's wary gaze shifted for the first time, from suspicion to focus.
A problem no healer in this world—not with their wound-mending magic or pain-suppressing prayers—had ever pinpointed.
And here it was, spotted by a bastard from an enemy house, with just a few words and a simple check.
He must've realized then.
This wasn't luck or coincidence.
Alain fell silent for a moment, then quietly turned.
"This way."
He led me to the room reserved for generations of Raltos family heads, a space outsiders couldn't enter without permission.
There, he gave me time for a proper examination.
And a touch late, a flicker of guilt crossed his face for underestimating me.
I shrugged lightly.
And ran a few more simple checks.
Breathing.
Pulse.
Posture.
Breath-catching timing.
The results matched my hunch perfectly.
"Simple."
I stated flatly.
"Family Head Alain currently has a problematic heart."
"H-Heart?"
His face stiffened.
"But I've never felt chest pain in my life..."
"You wouldn't. It's not an illness—it's structural."
I paused, then explained simply.
"The heart isn't broken. It was formed a bit differently from birth. Just lower performance."
In 21st-century medicine, this is called congenital heart disease (CHD).
The heart's internal structure incomplete, blood paths misaligned.
When young, you push through with shortness of breath or alcohol weakness.
But—
"The problem comes later."
I met Alain the family head's eyes directly.
"As you age and your body weakens, this heart can't hold out. And the end... usually hits suddenly."
Silence.
The room went deathly quiet, as if holding its breath.
Piel silent, Aira too, Evelyn biting her lip with a hardened expression.
And Alain Raltos, the family head who'd likely never had an exam like this, stood speechless for a long while.
The shadow on his face bordered on despair.
A natural reaction.
This world's medicine, even with magic, is stuck in the Middle Ages.
Basic infection concepts incomplete, no penicillin equivalents.
In such an era, a heart problem—the human body's critical core—is as good as a death sentence.
"...Damn it."
Alain muttered low.
"Truth is... it felt off from birth."
He slowly pressed his chest.
"Always short of breath, hands and feet went cold first with any strain. Thought I was weak at first. Trained harder, built this body."
But he shook his head.
"Didn't improve. Went to the church—they called it divine judgment."
I countered calmly.
"It is judgment. Just not divine will—it's the structural issue you were born with."
He didn't argue further.
My points had been too precise.
"The heart..."
Evelyn sighed softly.
"So... it can't be fixed."
At that, I nodded inwardly.
By this world's standards, yes.
And then all the pieces fell into place.
Why the Raltos—one of the empire's four great houses—fell to conspiracy and total execution right at the story's start.
Alain Raltos's current age: late 40s to early 50s.
The most dangerous time for an adult with congenital heart disease.
No matter how much training, complications eventually strike.
Heart failure, arrhythmia, pulmonary hypertension.
Then the Raltos lose their pillar.
No prepared heir, power vacuum invites predators.
End result: house annihilation, as in the original.
But.
I exhaled quietly.
That future was already veering off course.
Because a surgeon was here.
One who'd specialized in hearts, no less.
"Why the funeral atmosphere already?"
I shrugged.
"It's just patching a hole around the heart."
The room's air stopped dead.
"W-What...?"
Alain swallowed.
"Lucas Argent... you mean!"
Evelyn stepped forward.
"You can really fix Family Head Alain?!"
"Of course. Gotta repay what I owe the princess fully."
Faces rigid like they'd gotten a terminal diagnosis moments ago now went blank, like hearing about a cold remedy.
"Of course, treatment means opening the chest. Gotta access the heart directly."
At those words, clear unease flashed across Alain the family head's face.
Especially in this era.
The heart—a domain even mages and priests hesitated to touch, let alone doctors.
Offering to cut it open meant handing your life to another's hands.
Proof: faint tension gripped Alain's hand.
He wanted to live.
But fear was inevitable.
Then.
"Lord Lucas..."
Aira spoke cautiously.
"He restored my eyes. And remade all my teeth. Back then, I thought I'd lost chewing, speaking, seeing the world forever."
She looked up at me.
"But Lord Lucas gave someone like me... a second chance."
"...Then."
Alain murmured.
"The rumors the princess mentioned aren't just talk."
"Of course not!"
Piel jumped in.
Her fluffy tail wagging furiously as she pressed close to my side.
"Thanks to Master, I have these soft ears to pet again! And nothing hurts when I eat now!"
Naturally, the two hooked arms with me on either side.
Trust transcending master and slave.
Alain watched for a long moment, then slowly raised his head.
"Lucas Argent..."
He swallowed.
"No, Lord Lucas."
His eyes still held anxiety, but unmistakably the gaze of one who wanted to live.
"Can... I trust you?"
I knew that face.
Countless times before surgery rooms.
And as a doctor, my answer was always one.
"Of course. I'll definitely save the patient."