The Medieval World Borrowed in Professor Ferzen's Novel
In the novels of Professor Ferzen, the borrowed Middle Ages were typically a jumbled mix of Renaissance-era civilization. Syringes, which first appeared in 18th-century France in the real world, already existed here, and the level of medical knowledge was so advanced that calling it purely medieval would be misleading.
Given that, Lizzy's ankle being in such a state meant... at the very least, it was beyond the reach of this world's medical capabilities to reverse.
Of course, it wasn't entirely impossible.
A black mage was a being capable of trading with the monstrosities of the Netherworld.
The first layer of the Netherworld—Sañjīva—which a Keter-rank black mage could access for trade.
The second layer—Raurava—accessible to a Euclid-rank black mage.
But if one transcended those and reached Apollyon rank, gaining access to trade with the monstrosities of the third layer—Pratāpana—then perhaps Lizzy's ankle could be healed.
Yes, but it wasn't certain.
A black mage couldn't choose which Netherworld monstrosity connected to their altar. At best, on the first layer, Sañjīva, one could guide the connection toward a monstrosity with the desired ability. But from the second layer onward? Impossible.
'There are records of it, though...'
In the past, an Apollyon-rank black mage had connected with a certain monstrosity on the third layer, Pratāpana, and in exchange for a price, it had restored physical damage.
The Brutein family possessed immense wealth. Borrowing the power of a monstrosity from the third layer of the Netherworld would demand an exorbitant price, but he was confident they could bear it.
'Assuming a connection forms, that is...'
His head throbbed.
Even if a connection formed and the leg was healed, the emotional rift wouldn't mend. After all, she had lived with it for a full eight years.
'This is irritating. Truly...'
On the rooftop of Building A, which he had ascended on foot, he opened his umbrella, took a cigarette from his mouth, and inhaled deeply.
'If only...'
She could be cleanly swept aside.
If the Alfred and Claudia families provided the justification, that is.
In truth, elimination was simpler than controlling variables.
"..."
As he pondered this for a moment, a blue umbrella peeked around the corner of the rooftop to his right.
Wondering who it was, he approached slowly... only to find Uriel crouched down, cautiously lighting a cigarette.
"Unexpected."
"Is there a law saying women can't smoke?"
"I merely meant it was unexpected."
"Hmph... It's your fault in the first place, so spare me the needless lecture."
She pursed her lips and insolently blew smoke right in his face.
"..."
He frowned for a moment but held back.
"Ah...! Kyaa!"
No, he couldn't hold back.
How could one tolerate such rude arrogance?
He snatched the brimmed hat she wore low over her eyes and tossed it to the ground.
It landed in a puddle, soaking up rainwater and sinking.
"..."
Yes, that's how it should be.
But it didn't sink—it floated buoyantly.
The pouring rain bent around it unnaturally, as if the surrounding atmosphere was interfering to keep the hat afloat.
And just as the hat naturally began to fly back toward Uriel's arms...
"Ah...!"
He disrupted it, sending it crashing back to the ground.
A black mage couldn't convert mana into elements like an elemental mage or interfere with earth or air directly, but they could analyze and dismantle a spell's construct.
In truth, it was less dismantling and more converting it to nothingness.
And the next week's lecture in two weeks would relate to this—specifically, the concept of recognizing a spell's construct.
"Your glare is quite insolent."
As she picked up the fallen hat, glaring at him with narrowed eyes, he took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled smoke toward her.
She coughed and turned her head, then stood from her spot.
For someone who had picked a fight with him, this exchange seemed satisfactory enough; she showed no further signs of defiance.
"Move."
"Uriel."
"Don't be so familiar..."
"Professor Uriel."
"What."
"Dress properly."
Holding the umbrella with his shoulder and neck, he discarded his spent cigarette on the ground and reached toward the fabric over her chest.
Precisely, the collar gaped open by one button—one side folded sideways, the other straight and crisp, irritating his sensibilities considerably.
"..."
Yet perhaps because her breasts were so ample, as he tried to fasten the button, the tight wrinkles in the fabric stood out vividly.
"Ah, it hurts!"
"Your very body is too vulgar to be neat..."
Abandoning the effort, he straightened both sides of the collar properly.
"What business is it of yours! Don't toy with me like this since then. It's creepy. And the Alfreds have their own decorum. We're no longer bound to Brutein. What Alfred pursues is freedom."
"That's not freedom; it's indulgence."
"Then your so-called dignity is just cruelty, isn't it?"
Cruelty.
He had some inkling of what she meant, so he said nothing.
"Hmph..."
With that, Uriel brushed past him.
"Ha..."
The rain continued to fall steadily.
And amid it, umbrella in hand, he stood for a long time, wordlessly watching the capital's landscape soak through.
* * * * *
4:50 PM.
Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia, who had chosen violin in the liberal arts course "Understanding Art and Culture," finally left the classroom as the lecture ended.
With no more classes for the day, she could grab a simple dinner with her brother waiting at the main building and return to the dormitory.
'No matter what...'
Since that day, Lizzy had lived like a shut-in.
And rightly so—for a mere 12-year-old girl, the violence Ferzen had unleashed was a severe mental shock.
Even as she begged and wailed apologies, he had crushed her left ankle.
No, not crushed—it hadn't broken.
The nerves were alive, and it could move.
But it couldn't bear her body's weight when she stepped on it.
Her left foot had become nothing more than an ornament.
If her eldest brother hadn't arrived late and punched Ferzen's jaw, knocking him out, it probably would have shattered completely.
Of course, now Lizzy sometimes thought her left foot might have been better off broken clean through.
Because at least then, her late father and eldest brother wouldn't have suffered such humiliation.
'...'
In autumn, they needed to harvest and sell their grain, but no merchants would buy it.
No physicians came to diagnose her foot.
Winter was approaching, so the territory's people needed to sell their harvested grain to survive it, and her foot was swelling and worsening by the day...
Paradoxically, her father and eldest brother had knelt before the Brutein family head and begged forgiveness.
The Brutein head accepted their apology on the condition of absolute silence about the incident, bought their grain at three times the market price, and lifted the other pressures.
Did Ferzen von Schweig Brutein—no, Ferzen von Schweig Ruerg—know about this?
Lizzy still didn't understand what she had done wrong.
Was stumbling from nerves mid-dance such a grave sin?
'Really, no matter what...'
A bet under identical conditions: controlling corpse manifestation rates.
Four years ago, he had declared that if anyone beat him, he would grant any wish in Brutein's name.
Whether it still held... probably, given his personality, he wouldn't disavow it.
So when she was fully confident, Lizzy planned to challenge him head-on, win the bet, drag him to her father's grave to beg forgiveness... or demand he break one of his own ankles like hers.
The latter was less likely, but once her eldest brother married the Alfred family's eldest daughter, it might not be impossible.
Kirrik.
Kirrik.
At the hallway corner, waiting until the other students descended, Lizzy controlled her corpse to push the wheelchair.
Eight years ago, she had developed a phobia of men outside her family, trembling at the sight—but she had overcome it.
She had talent in black magic too; with two or three years, she could ascend to Euclid rank.
In the first lecture, seeing him had made her emotional, leading to a flawed rebuttal... but she just wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Ah..."
The ramp from the second floor to the first.
Midway down, her mana depleted.
She had been wheeling around since morning, so it wasn't surprising.
No, she had enough mana—it was just wasted on inefficient paths due to unfamiliarity with the building's layout.
'Of all places...'
If it weren't downhill, she could roll the wheels manually, but downhill like this, she'd crash into the wall uncontrollably.
No choice but to use crutches, stand, call her brother at the main building to fetch the wheelchair...
Thud.
Thud.
With all students gone and only the quiet patter of rain lingering in the silence, a man appeared at the stairwell's end.
Turning the first-floor corner to ascend.
Impeccably suited, exuding flawless dignity without a hint of disarray.
Ferzen von Schweig Ruerg.
"Ha, huh..."
But to Lizzy, he looked different.
Like a murderer emerging silently from a dark, shadowy alley, staring at her—a primal terror.
Why? She had overcome her phobia of men.
Even if it was fear of Ferzen himself, she had been fine during lectures.
"Ah, uh..."
Thud.
Thud.
He ascended.
Closed the distance.
Each step made Lizzy feel like someone was strangling her; she couldn't breathe properly.
And only then did she realize.
Just like eight years ago.
Being alone with him, with no one around—that fact alone triggered her brutal trauma.
"Out of mana, I take it."
His crimson eyes gazed down at her, sending chills down her spine; her body stiffened rigidly.
"...You have time. I'll help."
He raised the fallen corpse into servitude and gripped Lizzy's wheelchair from behind, pushing it slowly downward.
But as Ferzen moved out of her sight to the rear...
The terror she felt doubled.
Like fleeing a killer in a gloomy alley, only for the pursuing footsteps to echo relentlessly, never knowing when a gruesome death would come...
"Ha, huh, uh... Hic...!"
She finally reached her limit, collapsing into herself.
Kirrik.
"..."
A pale yellow liquid trickled down the wheelchair.
Mingling with the building's humid dampness from the rain, a faint ammoniacal stench rose.
Ferzen halted his steps for a moment.
Anyone could tell the fluid trickling down the ramp was urine.
And since he noticed too late, his right shoe had already stepped in the trail, gleaming slickly.
"Kuh, huhk...!"
Trembling violently, legs clenched tightly together.
Lizzy Paul Liana Claudia shed tears.
And watching her, Ferzen—knowing it was filthy—couldn't help but reflexively step forward with his left foot, grinding the urine that had soiled the ramp underfoot.
"Ha..."
He had no mysophobia, but this was repulsive enough for anyone, regardless.
Irritation surged toward Lizzy for provoking his compulsions like this, but Ferzen forcibly suppressed it.
He at least recognized that this outcome had its justifications.
He simply couldn't fathom why she, who had been fine during lectures, was acting up now.
"..."
And in the lingering silence, Lizzy felt a shame and despair more intense than ever before.