I Was Mistaken for a Saint in a Dark Fantasy

[Yulian. Are you free right now?]

I was in the middle of organizing my tools at the clinic.

When a voice suddenly echoed in my head.

’It’s my Teacher.’

It was my Teacher’s Telepathy.

Just like when we first met, my Teacher would sometimes speak directly into my head like this.

I was very flustered at first.

I even worried that I might have finally gone mad, unable to endure this gloomy World Setting.

Fortunately, my mind was still sound.”Yes. I have a bit of free time. What is it, Teacher?”

[I called because it’s that time again.]

”That time again...”

I thought for a moment.

I soon realized what my Teacher was talking about.

”It’s already that time, isn’t it?”

[Yes. The Autumn Academic Conference is just around the corner.]

As expected.

Here or in my past world, major academic conferences were always held in autumn.

Summer was too hot,

winter was too cold,

and spring felt too early.

So they were usually held in autumn.

Besides, that was when seasonal ingredients were abundant, allowing for the most lavish hosting of guests.

And during this period, my Teacher was unable to come down to the Limbus Pit.

[There are just too many letters of recommendation this year...]

”You must be going through a lot, Teacher.”

In this world, magic is directly linked to powerful military weapons.

That’s why the Empire’s Autumn Academic Conference doesn’t just end as an exchange of knowledge.

It’s a place where young (average age: 40) students of magic, dreaming of success, appeal to be chosen as Imperial Court Mages,

and it’s also a place where each Magic Tower pours all its effort into proving the results of the research funds they received last year.

And the one who oversees this entire process is my Teacher.

How academically valuable the research from countless Magic Towers is, and at the same time, how militarily useful it is.

The Chief Advisor and Final Judge who evaluates it all.

That was why my Teacher became so busy during this period.

[Just reviewing the budgets and academic papers submitted by the Masters of a Magic Tower from all over the Empire is enough to make my eyes pop out. Plus, there are quite a few promising talents the Imperial Court is watching this year, so there are more than a few places where this old man has to personally sit in judgment and show his face.]

I could feel a deep sense of fatigue from the Telepathy.

[One presents a slightly twisted version of a theory from 50 years ago as if it were their own, another brings back an experiment that already failed 300 years ago, calling it an ’innovative reinterpretation’. I can flip through ten papers and not a single one is eye-opening...]

Before I knew it, my Teacher had started his complaint.

Once he starts, he’s endless.

At times like these, he doesn’t need a response.

So I let his complaint go in one ear and out the other as I took the next patient.

[In the end, I just told the kid the location of the old archive and sent him back. Told him to go find it and read it himself. You should have seen the look of utter dejection on his face.]

After finishing his complaint, my Teacher’s voice sounded much lighter.

I gave the patient a prescription and focused back on the Telepathy.

[Rather than being at this boring academic conference, I’d rather be doing research with you. So, Yulian, do you have any ideas for our next research topic?]

It seems he’s completely hooked on the last Vaccine Research.

Unfortunately, nothing came to mind right now.

”I’m sorry, Teacher.”

[I wasn’t trying to make you feel sorry. Instead, Yulian, how about you come with me to the academic conference this year?]

”I refuse.”

[Hmph. Tsk. It’s an invitation from your teacher, you could at least pretend to think about it for a second...]

”Just as you dislike the academic conference, Teacher, I dislike it for the same reason.”

There is nothing for me to learn at the academic conference.

The magic of this world has developed in a way that kills things.

In other words, it’s an academic conference in name only; in reality, it’s no different from a military exposition.

Naturally, there’s nothing for me to learn there, as my mission is to save people.

Besides, there is another reason.

”There is no Magic Tower of Black Magic, is there?”

Among the 13 types of magic classified by the Great Sage, only black magic has no Magic Tower.

Of course, academically speaking, black magic is a legitimate branch of magic.

But there was a good reason why only black magic had no Magic Tower.

”You erased that Magic Tower yourself, Teacher. What is there for me to see?”

In the past, the Magic Tower of Black Magic was erased by the Great Sage himself.

He had told them to gather mages to protect humanity, but they were busy plotting a mass slaughter of humanity instead.

It was a problem that arose because black magic was more specialized for use against people than demonic beasts.

Since that incident, there has been no Magic Tower of Black Magic in the Empire.

Not just the Magic Tower of Black Magic, but any gathering of black mages is forbidden by law.

For that reason, black magic, unlike other types of magic, came to have a single-disciple succession structure.

Anyway.

Because of this history, I had no desire to go to the Autumn Academic Conference.

”Or is there something I absolutely must see?”

[Well. You never know, there might be new encounters or spectacles.]

”Are there more patients than in the Limbus Pit?”

[Ugh... No, there aren’t.]

”Then I’m not going.”

[I understand...]

The Telepathy felt strangely deflated.

It seemed he really wanted to take me with him this year.

[Then even if you can’t come to the conference, can you still send the scholarship fund in my name this year?]

”How much?”

[...It’s shameless of me, but even around fifty million Mar would be a large sum.]

The total budget that the Magic Towers share is composed of three main parts.

One is the support fund from the Imperial Court.

Another is the scholarship from senior mages.

And the last one is donations from external sources.

Each one was crucial money that the Magic Towers needed to scrape by for a year.

”Will fifty million Mar be enough?”

[How could I, as a teacher, take more from my youngest disciple?]

”I’m likely the wealthiest among all my senior brothers and sisters.”

[Ahem.]

The Great Sage’s direct disciples, my senior brothers and sisters, are mostly Magic Tower Masters or Elders.

However, being a Master of a Magic Tower is more like an honorary position.

In the first place, a Magic Tower is something like a Wizard Gallery.

Their head, the Master of a Magic Tower, is more like a Head Moderator.

So my senior brothers and sisters don’t have much money.

Besides, those people are the ones who receive donations for research, not the ones who give them.

”Tell me the real amount. So I can send the proper sum.”

[Seventy...]

”Is that really all you need?”

[...I’ll ask for 100 million Mar.]

”I’ll send it.”

100 million Mar.

Roughly the annual income of a Baronial Family.

But with the profits from the vaccine slowly trickling in.

I had more than enough money to spare for my Teacher.

[...I really got a good disciple in my later years.]

”It’s a little embarrassing when you get emotional over something like this.”

[Ahem.]

This was probably a not-insignificant part of the reason my Teacher liked me.

He was always saying how much he loved that he didn’t have to worry about money when doing research with me.

[Alright. I’ll see you in the winter then.]

”Take care, Teacher.”

[Yes.]

A moment of silence passed.

Just as the Telepathy was about to cut off.

[Yulian.]

”Yes.”

[On second thought, I don’t think this academic conference will be an entirely meaningless period.]

”...Pardon?”

[Never mind. It’s just an old man’s rambling complaint, so don’t pay it any mind. I’ll contact you first in the winter.]

”Yes. Goodbye, Teacher.”

With those words, the Telepathy ended.

*

After the Telepathy with my Teacher ended.

As usual, I finished my work for the day and closed the clinic’s door.

And when I went out the back door, I came face-to-face with a young man wearing his hat pulled down low.

”Otto. Have you been waiting?”

Otto.

Our frail bodyguard and chauffeur.

He remained my bodyguard even after collapsing last time.

The reason was simple.

Paradoxically, it was thanks to his collapse that I connected with my Teacher.

At that time, Otto alone had less immunity developed and fell under Belgian’s curse.

Thanks to that, I had to take him to a treatment center, and there I met my Teacher.

So I decided to keep Otto as my bodyguard.

I don’t know if it’s related to the conventions of the Misunderstanding Genre, but I came to think of Otto as my lucky charm.

On the way home from work.

As I was walking side-by-side with Otto, I suddenly remembered something.

”Right. It’s almost time for your bodyguard contract renewal, isn’t it?”

”Yes, that’s right.”

”I’ll give you a raise this year, too.”

”...What did I do to deserve it?”

And so, since that day, I have been increasing Otto’s monthly salary by 10 percent every year.

Just the feeling of putting money in a New Year’s offering box when the new year comes.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.

’It’s hard to find a bodyguard with as much loyalty as Otto.’

The most important thing for a bodyguard is not strength, but loyalty.

No matter how strong a bodyguard is, if all he thinks about is slitting my throat, he’s not a bodyguard but an assassin.

In that sense, Otto was too valuable a talent to be discarded over such a mistake.

He’s tight-lipped, and his loyalty is high.

On top of that, I had bestowed a grace upon him, making him an even more trustworthy person according to the genre tropes.

”Or perhaps, are you not confident you can live up to my expectations?”

”...That’s not it.”

”Good.”

I nodded calmly.

”Then, Otto. Let’s pick up the beef from Wangcho and then go get Erika.”

I had the reluctant chauffeur lead the way, leaving the clinic behind me.

*

After picking up Erika, who was training with Captain Shen in Civitas Square.

I returned to the mansion on Sanctum Hill and had the servants unload the beef from the car.

While the servants were bustling about, the Head Butler approached me.

”Oh. What kind of beef is this?”

”It’s a gift from down below. Wangcho said it was hard to get.”

”Such a precious thing. I’ll have to send that friend some wine later.”

While we spoke, the giant cuts of beef were stored in our mansion’s freezer.

”I’ll be getting the rest tomorrow and the day after. The meat was too big to fit in the car.”

”Understood. I will let the cook know.”

After that short conversation with the Head Butler.

I passed the bustling servants,

and naturally headed for the dining room.

”Y-Young Master?!”

”Shh. I’m here to cook today, too.”

I raised a finger to my lips at the cook, who was still flustered even after several years.

Cooking had become a hobby of mine.

It was something I started to build the persona of Yulian.

But I found it fun as I kept doing it.

So I would often sneak in and out of the kitchen without Mother knowing.

Of course, I usually got caught and scolded later.

I expertly put on an apron and rolled up my shirt sleeves.

And I explained today’s menu to the cook.

”Today’s menu is Steak Tartare.”

”What?”

Pushing aside the horrified cook, I took over the cutting board.

When I was 12 years old, I needed a footrest.

Now I was tall enough to stand before the cutting board without one.

”We just got some fresh beef. So I want to cook it myself.”

Beef was a meat that was hard to come by even at Wangcho’s slaughterhouse.

So whenever we got beef like this, I would sometimes wield the kitchen knife myself.

”The lean meats can wait a bit, so let’s process the offal first.”

The cook furrowed his brow at the word ’offal’.

In the first place, the era when offal was elevated under the name ’special cuts’ was not that long ago, even by the standards of my past world.

For example, even foie gras, a symbol of high-class cuisine, was said to have only been elevated in the late 19th century.

This is because special cuts spoil quickly and are a hassle to process, yet even after all that trouble, they don’t taste very good.

As such, in a world like this, the perception that it’s food only eaten by the lowly is strong.

But, that’s only when cooking techniques are underdeveloped and special cuts are cooked poorly.

’If it’s delicious, it’s gourmet food, and if it’s beautiful, it’s art.’

Even if made from offal, if it’s delicious and the plating is done well, it’s bound to become a high-class dish.

So I would use the offal in my cooking without throwing it away.

”Today, I will be using the cow’s heart and bone marrow.”

In truth, while the meat was being unloaded from the car, I had secretly set aside the heart and bones.

I gave a wink to the cook, who couldn’t dare stop me due to the difference in social status, and wiped the kitchen knife with a cloth.

On the cutting board lay a dark, reddish-brown heart.

And next to it, a cow’s leg bone that had been cut in half lengthwise.

’Should I deal with the blood vessels first.’

Blood vessels were tough and tasteless.

This was a part that could never be made delicious, no matter how it was processed.

A cow’s heart, in particular, has many tough or greasy parts, so it needed to be handled with care.

’Remove all the coronary arteries and veins...’

I pushed the blade along the trace of the aorta.

The tip of the knife separated the two coronary arteries from the heart.

The fact that I understood anatomy as a surgeon acted as a considerable advantage in cooking.

Because I knew how to treat it, I also knew how to beautifully remove the blood vessels.

’Remove the fat and connective tissues too.’

I cut the remaining lump of muscle, the heart, in half.

Then I cut it in half once more, and thinly sliced the quartered heart.

Mincing it with the back of the knife in a rhythm.

’Next, I’ll roast the bones.’

I pushed the vertically split cow’s leg bone into the hot oven.

Before long, the bone marrow inside the oven began to boil.

When heated, bone marrow gives off a butter-like aroma, so it could be used this way.

I scraped out the marrow, which had been roasted to a golden brown and softened like pudding, and placed it on top of the finely minced heart meat.

Next, I prepared the seasoning.

Caper, finely chopped shallot, ground whole grain mustard, a drop of black vinegar, and olive oil.

After mixing them well with the heart, I seasoned it with rock salt and black pepper.

And with that, the Steak Tartare was complete.

’If I just call it a version of Yukhoe... would that sound a bit cheap?’

Back when I was training in America.

It was a French dish that a professor there bought for me.

At the time, no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t shake the impression that it was French Yukhoe.

No.

Yukhoe is a high-class dish, too.

What’s wrong with Korean cuisine?

’...I should just focus on the plating.’

As originally planned, I decided to use the bones as plates.

Into the hollowed-out bones, after scraping out the marrow, I carefully filled them with the Heart Tartare.

And next to it, I neatly arranged young herb leaves with a slightly bitter taste.

That made a total of 6 finished plates.

I picked one of them and stir-fried it in a pan.

’Fried might still have trouble digesting raw meat.’

Our youngest sibling is turning four this year.

He eats meat well, but raw meat would still be difficult for him.

I gave it one last stir-fry for Fried, and plated it again.

And with that, today’s dinner was ready.

”It’s done.”

”Young Master? What on earth is this dish...”

”It is Tartare de cœur à la moelle.”

”What?”

I gave the flustered cook a bright smile and wiped my hands with a cloth.

I hung up the apron and headed for the dining room exit.

”I will be upstairs. If Mother looks for me, please tell her I was never here. I trust you will explain the dish well.”

”Y-Young Master!?”

”If there’s anything you’d like to add, please feel free to do so at your discretion.”

Leaving the urgently calling cook behind, I hurried towards the dining hall.

It was to create an alibi before Mother caught me.

’I’ll say I had something to organize in the laboratory...’

However, my little scheme ended in failure.

”Yulian.”

A chilling voice came from behind me.

I slowly turned around.

And there stood the Mistress of the House of Nihilrit.

”Yulian. Will you tell me what happened?”

”I’m sorry.”

”Sigh...”

The eldest son of the Nihilrit Family, Yulian Schnabel Nihilrit.

The number of times caught by Mother in front of the kitchen.

Today marks the monumental 1000th time.