Chapter 9: The Candle Wax and Resolve (4)

Through the dimming eyes of the patient, my blonde hair and blue eyes must have looked just like those of a saint. When I took the patient’s hand, the flickering flame of life within him finally began to fade. I gently closed his eyes and released his now motionless hand.

This case was no different. Although the symptoms of lower body paralysis were similar to those of the emperor, the other signs did not match. There was still no progress. Frustrated, I sighed deeply and felt someone behind me.

“…Are you going to report that I abused the saint’s name to the central temple?”

I asked the middle-aged doctor, who stood with his arms crossed, looking down at me from a distance. His unkempt beard indicated he hadn’t shaved in days.

“The names patients cry out in their final moments are not those of doctors. They usually call out for God or their family.”

He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“You may not be the real saint, but if your presence brings them peace, who am I to object? These people need comfort more than anything else.”

I nodded, appreciating his understanding.

“We have to do what we can to ease their pain,” I replied softly, my resolve strengthening despite the mounting challenges.

Yes, the one the emperor desperately called out for in his final moments was none other than God.

“In their final moments, if they see me and call me their son, father, or husband, I gladly answer as if I were. It’s a matter of respect for them.”

“…I haven’t seen any other doctors for the past few days. Are you the only physician at the Gerard Hospice?”

The middle-aged doctor ran his hand through his tangled, thick curls and spoke.

“Yes, I am.”

During my time as a saint, I encountered two young doctors at the Gerard Hospice. They often complained about the poor facilities and mentioned they were hastily assigned there after the previous doctor died of overwork.

“Is there a problem?”

“…No.”

So, your fate is nearly sealed as well. If this man is to pass away soon, perhaps I could ask him directly for some advice.

“…If you don’t mind, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“Is there an illness that starts with mild tingling sensations and eventually leads to paralysis and necrosis?”

At my question, he stroked his bushy beard thoughtfully before responding.

“It’s a broad question, but is the patient an elderly person?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“…Please follow me.”

Following the doctor into a dimly lit room, I saw an old man lying motionless. His complexion was eerily pale, reminiscent of the emperor’s final moments.

“He was conscious as recently as the morning before yesterday, but now he is unresponsive.”

The tips of his feet protruding from under a thin blanket were blackened with necrosis, just like the emperor’s had been.

“…What caused this?” I asked.

“Fatty deposits have built up in his blood vessels, causing blockages. In addition to that, multiple complications have arisen. At this stage, there’s nothing a small hospice like this can do.”

“Is there no way to treat it?”

“In the early stages, improvements can be seen with dietary changes. If he had avoided fatty foods, it wouldn’t have progressed to this extent.”

As I listened to the doctor’s words, the voice of a seasoned royal physician echoed in my mind.

[Having a pale face is a sign that the blood flowing through your body is not good. You must draw out as much blood as possible and eat fatty meats to produce new blood.]

The emperor had seemed to feel better after following the royal physician’s advice to eat fatty foods, but shortly thereafter, he succumbed to his illness.

“Is this a rare disease?”

“It’s not particularly rare,” the doctor replied. “It’s essentially a form of aging that affects many elderly people to varying degrees. The danger lies in the accompanying complications.”

If this condition was common enough to affect many elderly people, then the royal physician, the empire’s top doctor, could not have overlooked it.

“Did the patient ever complain of pain in the epigastric region or frequent bloating?” the doctor asked.

His question hit me like a heavy blow to the back of my head.

“Yes, that’s right. We thought it was because he ate a lot of fatty foods…”

“Fatty foods would have only worsened the condition.”

“If a physician were to prescribe fatty foods to such a patient in order to restore their strength…”

Before I could finish, the doctor interrupted me.

“That would be a grave mistake,” he said firmly. “Such a prescription would likely accelerate the patient’s decline rather than help them.”

My mind raced with the implications. The emperor had followed the royal physician’s advice, only to deteriorate rapidly. If the physician’s advice was indeed a grave mistake, then the emperor’s suffering—and possibly his death—had been hastened by misguided treatment.

I had to uncover the truth, not just for the emperor, but for all those who might be suffering from similar ailments.

“In order to answer that question, I need to ask you something first. Was the prescription given after seeing the patient’s condition for the first time, or was it prescribed by a physician who had been caring for the same patient for a long time?”

The royal physician had served the emperor for over 20 years and was thus the one most familiar with his health condition.

“It was a physician who had been caring for the same patient for at least 20 years,” I replied.

“Then we can narrow it down to two possibilities. Either the physician was a quack who studied medicine poorly, or…”

As the middle-aged doctor trailed off, my heart pounded as if it would burst.

“They wanted the patient to die.”

When he finally completed his thought, I felt a wave of dizziness. Someone wanted the emperor dead? For what reason? The answer wasn’t far away.

‘The change of royal authority…!’

The emperor’s illness wasn’t incurable. They merely wanted to remove the old, rigid emperor from the throne to manipulate the political landscape using the puppet crown prince.

“If it were a physician seeing the patient for the first time, they might have mistaken a pale face and sensory abnormalities for signs of overwork or malnutrition. But a long-term caregiver would have recognized the symptoms immediately.”

They knew how to alleviate the emperor’s condition. Despite that, they gradually tightened the noose around his neck to achieve their goal.

The implications were chilling. The emperor’s demise was orchestrated to ensure a transition of power, paving the way for those who sought to control the throne through a malleable successor.

I had to act swiftly. If the conspiracy reached the emperor’s son, it could destabilize the entire empire. The truth needed to be exposed, and justice had to be served for the late emperor’s sake and the future of the empire.

“Are you alright, Sister?”

I recalled the image of the royal physician shedding tears at the emperor’s funeral. Could those tears have been entirely false?

“…Yes, I’m alright.”

The shock of uncovering the sordid truth left me in a daze, barely able to attend to the patients for the remainder of the day. As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the hospice, I prepared to return to the monastery.

“Doctor, due to the monastery’s schedule, today’s medical service will be my last for now. I’ll come back when I have more time.”

As I bid farewell to the middle-aged doctor, he raised the corners of his mouth awkwardly. His pale cheeks peeked out from his bushy beard.

“That’s unfortunate. Just when we finally got a proper volunteer…”

“Are you planning to stay at the Gerard Hospice indefinitely?”

“…I intend to give my all until the day I die.”

His words sounded like lines from a play, delivered with dramatic flair. His curly hair blew softly in the breeze.

I turned to leave but found my feet unwilling to move. Finally, I spoke the words I shouldn’t have.

“Serving the patients is important, but you should also take care of yourself. Eat nutritious food and get some rest. During our time here, I noticed your complexion becoming increasingly pale.”

He looked at me with a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“Thank you for your concern, Sister. I’ll try to take better care of myself.”

I left him with a brief word of advice and turned away. According to my memory, the doctor who had guarded the Gerard Hospice eventually succumbed to overwork while caring for the patients. I fervently hoped that my parting words would help him in some way.