Even after dawn broke, I had hardly slept.
—What if Big Sister Therese’s fingers begin to turn black?
According to Marquis Ahrens, the recovery practitioners from the Church had already tried and failed. Based on my theory of how recovery magic functions, if a certain state persists for too long, it becomes fixed and permanent, much like an old scar. I suspect that in the case of a disease, the magic attempts to restore the body to its most recent state—the one already fixed by the illness. If that is the case, the symptoms will not heal. That would explain why recovery magic is ineffective.
But I had another card to play: Transplant Magic.
It works by "pushing aside" the scarred, contracted tissue of a burn and replacing it with healthy skin. That was something recovery magic could never have cured.
Could I do the same here? Could I push aside not just the blackened fingertips, but all the afflicted tissue?
Success wasn't guaranteed. A burn is an external injury, whereas this was likely something progressing from within. Even if I pushed it aside, the condition might just worsen again. If the symptoms progressed too quickly, the transplants might not be able to keep up.
Still, it was better than doing nothing.
I stood up and spoke to the servant waiting by the door.
"I have a request. Please tell Marquis Ahrens to notify me immediately if Lady Therese shows signs of the infection in her extremities—if her fingertips or toes begin to turn black."
The servant looked bewildered, but he nodded. The prospect of potentially saving the Saint was enough to make Marquis Ahrens’s decision swift. "I will convey that at once," the servant answered briefly before stepping back into the hallway.
I sat back down in my chair.
Unconsciously, my fingers traced the skin of my left arm.
Mira watched my hand for a moment, then lowered her eyes without a word.
◇◇◇
As a few days passed, the view from the guest room window changed.
Carriages were nearly non-existent. The bustle of the market and the flow of pedestrians had long since vanished. In their place, death knells rang out from somewhere in the distance, never stopping.
In the afternoon, a different servant brought water and food. When I asked about the state of the city, the man lowered his voice to reply.
"Merchant traffic has almost entirely ceased, my lord. They say cavalry from neighboring territories are blocking all people and goods on the highways."
"Rumors are flying through the streets. People say someone scattered corpses in the Slums. That an enemy nation poisoned the wells. That this is divine punishment. They say if even the Saint has fallen, no one can be saved... that we have been abandoned by the Kingdom."
"It seems those collapsing are mostly the poor. Even in the Lower Town, those from wealthier households seem to recover or have only mild cases. Everyone believes the disease swallows those with weakened bodies first."
I listened in silence.
"We can barely get fodder for the horses anymore. The carriages have stopped moving. Even the transport of rations has begun to stall..."
The servant seemed to grow depressed as he spoke. Looking pale, he gave a deep bow and retreated from the room.
The atmosphere was enough to break anyone's spirit.
◇◇◇
About ten days had passed since then.
Every morning, I asked the servant the same question: "How is Lady Therese?" The answer was almost always the same.
"She remains in a state of clouded consciousness, her condition stagnant. The color of her fingertips has not changed."
I noticed a strange anomaly.
The number of patients in the city was reportedly continuing to rise. The servant had informed me in hushed tones that new cases appeared every day and the death toll was mounting.
And yet, very few people had newly fallen ill within the Marquis’s manor. It seemed Marquis Ahrens was puzzled by this as well.
That raised a single, vital question.
What about the slaves assigned to Big Sister Therese?
I asked the servant. "Are the nursing slaves safe?"
"Yes. As of now, none of them have shown symptoms."
—None of them?
Those slaves were wiping Big Sister Therese’s sweat and changing her bedding. They were in the closest, most constant contact with her.
And yet, not one of them had collapsed.
It was as if the Marquis’s manor was being spared from the plague consuming the city.
I turned back to my companions.
"Mira. Lina. Tomorrow, I'm going to see Big Sister Therese."
Mira protested immediately, her voice sharp with alarm. "You can't! If you do such a thing—"
"I know, Mira. You're worried I'll get infected, right? But I think I've figured out how to treat it."
"But still!"
"I want to save Big Sister Therese. And... this might provide the key to curing everyone else."
"I... I am against this... Please, Lord Rein..."
Mira was crying. I had made her cry again. But... I had to do this.
"I'm sorry. But it's necessary."
Mira suppressed her sobs, tears still flowing down her face. After a long moment, she forced her breathing to steady.
"...Then, at the very least, if you should happen to fall ill, Lord Rein, I will be the one to nurse you. I will never let you face the end alone."
Lina, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally spoke up.
"...Me too. I am prepared for the consequences."
"But... that's..."
"No. I absolutely will not back down on this," Mira insisted. "...Neither will I," Lina added.
I looked into their eyes. It was clear that no amount of persuasion would work. I resolved myself to carry the weight of their lives.
"I understand. I'll take responsibility for both of you."
When I said that, both of them nodded deeply.
My life was no longer mine alone.
I would make this treatment a success. We would make it out from inside these walls. I swore it to myself.