I Was Mistaken for a Saint in a Dark Fantasy

# Reassembly of Faith (3)

*

The Imperial Capital.

The frontline, which had retreated slightly due to the tragedy of the mutant demonic beast a year prior, had stabilized—and the Empire settled back into its familiar, gloomy peace.

Beneath the smog that let in little sunlight.

The poor fell quietly ill in the dark, while commoners wrung out their blood and sweat just to keep from falling further. And the nobles enjoyed their rightful privileges within that peace.

It was a dark peace—but a stable one that had persisted for hundreds of years.

Yet unlike those commoners or nobles, the field of healing arts was in an uproar—all because of a single person.

It had begun that summer.

The Black Saint—Director Schun.A healer without divine power, hiding his face and race beneath a crow mask, had published a single book that sent the healing world into an absolute frenzy.

================

— Authors: Elia & Arian Schnabel, Simeon Ronald

— Translated by: Dr. Schnabel

================

Parasites. And the Schnabel Couple.

When those names resurfaced in academia, the first to react were the old healers of the Capital.

”The Schnabel Couple, you say?”

”Why would the Black Saint take an interest in people like them...?”

”Why bring back a theory that was definitively proven wrong fifteen years ago?”

Approximately thirty years ago.

The Schnabel Couple had swept through the field of healing arts like a typhoon.

Perhaps parasites could be the cause of the Demon Disease.

Having discovered that divine power actually accelerated parasite growth, they announced it as the cause of the Demon Disease.

And indeed, looking at the patients the couple had presented, the theory seemed plausible enough.

They fed patients poison water dropwort and other poisonous herbs along with heavy metals, briefly induced unconsciousness, then revived them with Greater Heal—and the Demon Disease patients were cured.

Healers immediately began applying the couple’s treatment to Demon Disease patients.

And for as long as the couple remained alive, healers started to harbor hope—that a way to overcome the Demon Disease had finally been found.

But immediately after the couple went missing on the Southern Front—

parasitology began its rapid decline.

— ”The parasite treatment has side effects that are far too severe. It seems the patients are dying from the medicine itself.”

— ”Something must be wrong with the medicine.”

It started when patients treated according to the couple’s method began dropping one after another, never to rise again.

Healers eager to inherit the couple’s renown each tried the treatment in turn.

But what they got in return were countless patients left in a vegetative state.

And so the healers who had failed began to suspect the couple.

— ”Weren’t the poisonous herbs just a smokescreen to hide the real medicine?”

— ”Other infirmaries do the same thing. During joint training, they add unnecessary dummies to their catalysts to throw people off.”

— ”That does make sense. So if we remove the poisonous herbs, remove the heavy metals... wait—what? It doesn’t work at all?”

Each of the twelve infirmaries possessed its own secret arcane formulas and catalysts.

So when performing treatments in front of other healers, they would deliberately add useless stones or metals to confuse onlookers.

The healers suspected the couple had done the same.

But every time they removed something that seemed unnecessary, the treatment stopped working.

Then one incident brought everything to a head.

— ”The cause of the Demon Disease is not parasites!”

— ”We attempted the parasite treatment on hundreds of Demon Disease patients, and most of them failed!”

Healers had seized upon any Demon Disease patient they could find and applied the parasite treatment.

The result was a torrent of reported failure cases.

And in that process, healers who failed to treat noble patients were dragged to the execution ground and made into dew.

Unable to stand by any longer, the Mencia Sect—from whom the Schnabel Couple had learned the healing arts—issued a formal announcement.

— ”Not all Demon Diseases are caused by parasites, and moreover, the couple’s treatment method itself is fundamentally flawed. Accordingly, our Sect hereby declares that the parasite theory is inherently incorrect, and that parasites are not the cause of disease.”

And so academia reversed course.

Rather than parasites causing disease, the new consensus was that parasites simply appeared in people already weakened by Demon Disease—just as maggots are drawn to rot. Parasites were demoted from a subject of treatment to a mere medical finding, something occasionally discovered in the course of diagnosing Demon Disease.

And the couple’s fame—for having achieved the first cure of Demon Disease in human history—was reversed along with it.

The record of a Demon Disease cure was erased from human history once more.

That had been fifteen years ago.

And so no one had expected those names to surface in academia again.

That summer—

Director Schun had inscribed those two names on the cover of the general treatise and brought it to the Academic Society.

”Are we supposed to simply accept this as it is?”

”Shouldn’t we at least read it first?”

”You’re saying the couple’s treatment wasn’t wrong? Then what about all those patients?”

Academia received it with half-belief, half-doubt—but trusting in the Black Saint’s reputation, they began to read.

And as the pages turned, the old healers found themselves, one by one, being convinced by the theory.

”Rather than using it all in a single day, you treat slowly over several weeks? A method like that...!”

”The difference between a poison and a medicine is determined by the dosage... Good heavens. How on earth did he arrive at an insight like that?”

”Was it our misunderstanding all along? That not all Demon Diseases are caused by parasites—only some of them?”

”The couple made mistakes too, it seems. These aren’t parasites. Even so, there was no need to say they were entirely wrong... Truly, I am ashamed.”

Director Schun had not simply argued that the couple had been right.

They had clearly been wrong in certain respects.

And yet—their method had not been entirely wrong.

Above all, he had meticulously documented what the couple had overlooked: a method for distinguishing parasitic Demon Disease from the kind that was not.

[The Schnabel Couple misidentified all cases of Demon Disease presenting with abdominal pain as parasitic. But parasites are only one part of the Demon Disease—not the whole of it.

Accordingly, this translator documents the physical examination methods necessary to accurately differentiate parasitic infection.]

Parasites cause different symptoms depending on their location.

Parasites in the brain cause headaches; parasites in the stomach cause stomachaches.

Based on that fact, the Schnabel Couple and academia had collectively misidentified the wide variety of Demon Disease symptoms as being caused entirely by parasites.

Director Schun had corrected that misunderstanding.

[Symptoms of anemia are commonly seen in hookworm, whipworm, blood fluke, and malaria.]

[A rash of moving red lines beneath the skin suggests cutaneous larva migrans.]

[If the legs are swollen, suspect lymphatic filariasis.]

[Examining the inner surface of the eye carefully may reveal eye worms.]

[However, if these parasites cannot be directly confirmed, or if the location of a parasite does not correspond to the symptoms, it is likely not a parasite at all.]

He argued that the Demon Disease was a tangled composite of many distinct diseases.

And parasites were only one part of it.

The couple had not been wrong.

They had simply been incomplete.

Academia had no choice but to acknowledge it.

The Schnabel Couple had not been entirely wrong.

For the first time in decades, the names of the Schnabel Couple were brought back to life in academia.

Their Demon Disease treatment was reclassified from a warning case to an official treatment case.

Voices began to emerge calling for their parasitology to be recognized as a legitimate academic discipline.

And as academia was absorbing all of this—

Director Schun quietly sent yet another paper into the field.

======================================

『Regarding Things Smaller Than Parasites—A Hypothesis.』

— There may exist organisms smaller than parasites.

— Until now, we have accepted humoral theory—the imbalance of bodily fluids—as the established doctrine, and have partially accepted miasma theory—that is, bad air—as well.

— And yet there is a possibility that both humoral theory and miasma theory, which form the foundation of the current academic world, are entirely mistaken.

======================================

In the autumn, as the leaves began to fall.

The field of healing arts was thrown into an uproar once more.

***

After Director Schun’s theory was announced.

Academia split into three factions.

Those who had been unconditionally well-disposed toward Director Schun accepted the theory without hesitation.

”You say there’s no evidence yet? Ha. My friend, just believe it. Whatever that man says is bound to be right.”

”Another new medicine is going to come out of this... Should I buy Merkur stocks now, while I still can...?”

”What medicine is he planning to develop this time, that he’s laying this kind of groundwork?”

It was still only at the hypothesis stage.

And yet there were already those who believed it to be correct.

But not every healer reacted with such goodwill.

”I cannot accept this without evidence.”

”People’s lives are at stake here. How could anyone accept something with no evidence?”

”Half of the patients survive when divine magic is applied in accordance with humoral theory. What possible reason is there to take such a reckless gamble?”

”It’s too radical a theory.”

Even granting that it was Director Schun—he had yet to present any evidence.

And so there were healers who urged caution.

Most healers fell into this camp.

And then there was the last group.

”Director Schun is about due for a slip.”

”He’s far too radical, that one.”

”I can’t understand why people are still being taken in by that conman.”

These were simply healers who didn’t like him.

A very small minority—but a group whose voice was louder than anyone else’s.

As healers divided into those three factions—

Director Schun produced a proposal that cut through the atmosphere in a single stroke.

— ”I would like to arrange an occasion to formally present the evidence for my hypothesis before the senior members of every sect in academia.”

— ”Both refutation and verification are welcome.”

— ”The date will be in October, and the venue will be the Capital Infirmary’s Main Building Auditorium.”

In plain terms, it amounted to this:

[Come at me. The door is open.]

Whether he had intended it as a provocation or not—it was remarkably effective.

Healers from across the field boarded airships and converged on the Capital, all eager to verify his theory.

And there were those who did not welcome this atmosphere.

”Tomorrow is the day of the presentation.”

The evening before Schnabel’s Symposium.

East Corridor of the Capital Infirmary—a small lounge set aside for the Mencia Sect.

Beneath the dim glow of a magic-powered lamp, three priests sat drinking tea.

The name of the man seated at the head of the table was Dormund Mencia.

Archbishop of the Mencia Sect, and third-in-command of the Sect—a high-rank healer.

”The ghost of the Schnabel Couple raises its head once more.”

Archbishop Dormund drew a deep sigh.

”As if blurring the eyes of young healers with that flawed parasite theory weren’t enough—now it has come to outright denying humoral theory as well.”

”I am ashamed, Archbishop.”

”This is not your fault, Brothers.”

The Archbishop waved a hand lightly.

”It is the fault of us old men, who were too soft-hearted to declare that couple as heretics.”

Ansen, the middle-aged priest to his right, gave a faint sigh.

”Looking back, I can still picture the day that couple first entered our infirmary, Archbishop. Both of them learned the low-level healing arts through our Sect... and then one day they simply walked out, and began taking an interest in parasites.”

”They were peers of mine as well. I should have done something to stop them back then.”

Father Rataniel, the middle-aged priest to his left who had been reproaching himself, gave his glasses a small adjustment.

”Ungrateful people they were. They should never have forgotten where their scholarship began. Forgetting that it had grown from the soil of Mencia—they presented it as though it were entirely their own achievement.”

Of course, the couple had received no assistance whatsoever from the Mencia Sect while conducting their parasite research.

But the foundational knowledge underlying their research had undeniably come from the Mencia Sect.

Once someone had belonged to a sect, they were not to forget the grace they had been shown.

To claim all the credit entirely for themselves—the couple’s deeds struck the three of them as nothing short of outrageous.

”And on top of that, taking someone from the Ronald Sect as their disciple is something I cannot forgive.”

Had they only accepted successors from within the Mencia Sect, they might have understood.

But the couple had placed no restrictions on who they took as disciples.

Numerous people from various sects applied to become disciples, and the one who remained by their side until the very end was Simeon Ronald.

”I never dreamed that those two would choose someone from the Ronald Sect.”

”Brother Rataniel. That was not your fault. It was the couple and Simeon Ronald who were blinded by greed.”

Sip.

Bishop Ansen made the sign of the cross with two fingers—as though swallowing the tea along with his anger.

”Even when that couple betrayed our Brothers, you always kept the door open for them to return, Archbishop. But what did they give us in return?”

”...”

”Even in death, rather than returning their research to our Sect, those two told their disciple to release it to the public.”

To the Mencia Sect, it was an infuriating matter.

Was not all of that parasite research rooted in the Mencia Sect?

If so—even if they had wandered outside while alive, upon death, it would have been their duty to return that knowledge to the Mencia Sect.

Just as nobles preserved their prestigious families by passing arcane magic down to their children from generation to generation—

in place of a bloodline, it was a healer’s obligation, upon death, to return all of their research records to the sect that had taught them.

This had been a long-standing tradition of the healing world, upheld for hundreds of years.

Yet the couple had broken that obligation, and entrusted the whereabouts of their research to the hands of a disciple from the Ronald School.

”They certainly had poor judgment in people, that couple. That Simeon—those research records are clearly ours, and yet he acts as though they are his own to do with as he pleases, keeping them to himself instead of sharing them with other healers.”

”And his skill was mediocre at best.”

Father Rataniel and Bishop Ansen exchanged remarks in turn.

Archbishop Dormund interjected between them.

”There is no need to reproach yourselves, Brothers. Is that not precisely why the gods saw through that couple’s character before any of us did?”

Dormund slowly brought two fingers together and made a brief sign of the cross.

”...The eyes of the flock are sometimes darkened. But how could the eyes of the gods be darkened?”

”...”

”Did they not themselves sever the bonds of brotherhood among priests, test their scholarship on the patients of their brethren, hand that scholarship wholesale to a priest of a hostile sect, and refuse to return a single line of it to the Sect even on their deathbeds—is it not so that the gods, perceiving the nature of those two before any other, rendered their judgment accordingly?”

Dormund closed his eyes briefly.

”...And so it is my belief—an old man’s belief—that it was no coincidence when the scholarship that came from their hands was ultimately deemed a failed scholarship.”

And so the Mencia Sect had been at the forefront of exposing the couple’s errors.

Since it was their own failure to properly oversee matters that had allowed false knowledge to spread, they felt a greater sense of responsibility than anyone to correct it.

They had publicized the side effects of parasite medicine; they had revealed that the couple had spread a flawed treatment method in order to monopolize it; and they had announced that parasites were not the cause of the Demon Disease.

As third-in-command of the Sect, Dormund had felt the weight of responsibility and worked steadily to erase the couple’s erroneous legacy.

”It took a very long time.”

”And yet despite all your efforts, Archbishop, that Black Saint has awakened that scholarship once more.”

”That is precisely what worries me.”

The Archbishop sighed.

”It would seem that even that Saint is human, after all. Eyes can be clouded—but to be blinded by those people of all people. I cannot help but think the couple’s transgressions run very deep indeed.”

”And what do you intend to do about this matter of germs?”

”Tomorrow, I will have to help the Saint open his eyes again.”

Sip.

The Archbishop set his teacup down slowly.

”A theory born from a flawed root is bound to be flawed itself. These so-called germs are most likely mana particles that have been misidentified.”

”I believe the same, without question. Shall we inform the other sects of our position?”

”Please do, Brother Ansen. The Brothers of the Adamberta Sect and the Lafavre Sect in particular—given how frequently we exchange with them—please make sure to warn them not to develop the wrong impression.”

”Understood, Archbishop. As it happens, Archbishop Erpen has also said he will be attending tomorrow’s debate.”

”That is good news indeed.”

Erpen Adamberta.

The authority on bloodletting within the Adamberta Sect.

His bloodletting method had reached a level of mastery where he could draw out only the specific poison flowing through the blood. Even nobles struck by a Basilisk had a survival rate of fifty percent under his hands. (The other fifty percent died of excessive bleeding—but it was a figure one could deem acceptable.)

And at the foundation of this bloodletting lay humoral theory.

”An elder of his caliber will surely pinpoint every contradiction in this germ theory with ease.”

Father Rataniel smiled brightly.

And small wonder—Erpen was, in a sense, a living history of humoral theory itself.

With Elf blood flowing through his veins, he had spent three hundred years saving countless lives by that very theory.

He would see at a glance just how mistaken the germ theory was.

”The other elders will come to understand just how absurd this idea of germs is as well.”

The three of them simultaneously brought two fingers together and made a brief sign of the cross.

The dim light of the magic-powered lamp illuminated the tips of their fingers in the same direction for a moment—then faded.

The night deepened in prayer, for priests who sincerely believed in their own piety.

And so the next day came.

Awaiting the Black Saint’s presentation, a great many priests filed into the auditorium with documents in hand—questions they had prepared in advance.

The authority on bloodletting.

The authority on limb amputation.

The authority on mercury treatment.

And others besides.

As he watched the many elder healers file into the auditorium, Dormund quietly prayed for the Saint’s soul.

’Even a Saint of his caliber could not possibly convince all these elders.’

But what could one do.

A person will fail from time to time.

Dormund’s only wish was that, through this failure, the Saint would open his eyes anew and persevere.

’Once this presentation is over, I should consider asking him to hand over the rights to parasitology to our Sect.’

With that thought in mind, Dormund waited for the Saint to appear.

And when the curtain of the auditorium rose and the stage was revealed—

Dormund felt an immediate instinct that something was wrong.

[Elders.]

Atop the many desks.

Dozens of microscopes had been set out.

Considering that a single masterwork microscope cost millions of Mar, what stood arranged inside the auditorium right now amounted to the price of several houses.

Director Schun gestured toward the microscopes and began his presentation.

[Rather than an explanation, it will be faster to see for yourselves. These are the germs I have been cultivating and staining over the past several months. Anyone with questions during the presentation is welcome to come forward and verify them directly.]

For some reason—through the lenses of the crow mask—it felt as though the Saint was looking at the elders with barely concealed excitement.