Chapter 23

The weather at the very start of spring was somewhat unpredictable.

The sun shone warmly for several days before it suddenly turned cold again. Chilly sea winds blew into the castle, bringing a burst of cold air with them.

A few days ago, Toby had been greedy for the cool weather and taken off the thick clothes wrapped around him, walking around the castle in nothing but a thin coat.

Then, because he kicked off his blanket at night, he accidentally caught a cold.

Sneezing, runny nose...

Only one day had passed, and by the next day, it had begun developing into a mild cough.

On the Western Continent, where medicine had regressed and treatments were primitive and brutal, even a cold or fever counted as a very serious illness.

Cyrus Desinia recalled how he had once fallen unconscious from a fever.

Not only had the castle servants been helpless, but even the physicians from the city or those invited from elsewhere had not dared diagnose or treat him lightly.

The reason was—they had no way to cure such illnesses.

Once treatment began, the era's particular methods of bloodletting, leeching, enemas, and the like would very likely make a person's condition even worse while causing immense suffering.

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By then, dying outright would have been the easiest death for patients.

And if the physicians' patients were noble lords such as counts or marquises,

the responsibility and risk they bore would be even greater.

Whatever became of the noble's health would also become of the physician.

If they treated someone to death, they would pay with their own lives.

Therefore, on the Western Continent, one could not become a physician without a certain amount of courage and nerve.

Although physicians were respected, there were still very few people willing to become one. Those with even a little reputation were rarer still.

It could be said that there were not even ten physicians in the entire Gadayat Kingdom.

This showed the state of the medical profession.

And most importantly, no one thought that physicians' treatments—steaming, cauterizing, amputating limbs—were barbaric and misguided, lacked any healing effect, and instead accelerated patients' deaths.

People only believed that such medical methods were utterly correct and beyond reproach.

That was simply the understanding of the era.

If you died, it was because your luck was bad. You could not blame the physician.

But nobles had privileges.

If a noble died because his illness had not been cured, some physicians would be thrown into prison and executed. If they were luckier, they might only be freed by dying of old age in prison.

Commoners and slaves generally could not afford medical treatment.

Some physicians could not even be bothered to treat slaves.

Thus, all commoners and slaves could do was pray and repent to the Creator God, bleed themselves, practice asceticism to strengthen their will, and so on.

Put simply, they just had to endure it.

Perhaps they would recover after a few days.

When Toby noticed that he was sneezing and had a runny nose, he had also planned to simply endure it.

But perhaps because the environment by the sea was cold and damp, his cold not only failed to improve, but began worsening instead.

The moment Toby coughed for the first time, Gibran had already become anxious.

Gibran was worried and uneasy.

He blamed himself for not stopping Toby when he took off his thick clothes, only for him to fall ill after one night.

"What do we do, what do we do... Let's ask the Count to find a physician to examine you, Toby. Are you uncomfortable? Do you have a fever?"

Toby shook his head. "Brother, I'm not uncomfortable. My nose is just a little blocked... We shouldn't trouble the Count."

He was actually very uncomfortable. His throat itched, and he constantly wanted to cough.

His entire body also felt weak and powerless.

But Toby did not dare say so. He was afraid...

Naturally, Gibran did not believe him.

Just looking at Toby's abnormally flushed face, he knew his illness could not possibly be as mild as Toby made it sound.

Gibran immediately pushed away Toby's arm as he tried to stop him, forcibly touched his forehead, and carefully felt the temperature beneath his hand...

Before long,

the expression on Gibran's face changed again and again.

"Brother..."

Toby looked up uneasily.

Gibran bit his lip. After hesitating for a long time, he finally made up his mind. "Come on, let's find the Count, Toby. Brother won't let anything happen to you."

He pulled Toby toward Cyrus's study.

"Toby is sick?!"

Cyrus was somewhat surprised. "No wonder I didn't see him at all yesterday."

In the castle, sick servants were not allowed to appear before nobles, lest they spread their illness to them.

If servants were unwell or looked unusual yet still showed themselves, it would be considered disrespectful toward the nobles and would be punished.

After all, nobles did not care whether servants lived or died.

Especially with a "serious illness" such as coughing or fever, people would sometimes even be isolated in their rooms and forbidden from coming out until they recovered.

But usually, such a "treatment" only made the sick wait to die in their rooms.

That was why Gibran had been so flustered when he discovered that Toby was coughing and feverish.

He feared that his still-young younger brother would not pull through.

Toby had not entered the room now, either. He was waiting outside.

Gibran lowered his head and said, "Yes, my lord. Toby is feeling unwell. He drank some ginger water yesterday, but it still had no effect..."

For certain symptoms of illness, people would boil ginger in water and drink it as medicine.

Gibran said, "My lord, I beg you, could you send someone to find a physician to treat my brother? He is my only family... Please, my lord."

As he spoke, he knelt on the ground.

Cyrus hurriedly waved for Judas to help him up.

"You don't need to kneel before me. Finding a physician is no trouble, but are you sure Toby's illness will improve after a physician is brought here?"

If a physician came to the castle, Toby's condition might—no, would definitely become worse.

Would that not be harming him?

Gibran did not know how to answer Cyrus's question.

He wanted to think of an example of someone being successfully cured, but after thinking it over, he realized there was none...

But if he could not place his hopes in a physician... who else could he place them in?

Cyrus said, "Bring Toby in and let me take a look at him."

Gibran abruptly raised his head. "My lord, you cannot. Toby is still ill. He might..."

Judas frowned slightly, also somewhat disapproving.

Cyrus waved his hand. "Don't worry. It's nothing."

After he insisted repeatedly, the two could only agree to let Toby enter the room.

Once the door opened,

Toby lingered awkwardly where he stood, too afraid to come closer. He whispered, "My lord, I can't go over there..."

As he spoke, he sniffed, then coughed twice because his throat itched.

Afterward, he lowered his head even more uneasily.

Cyrus felt helpless, both for them and for the medical standards of this era.

A cold and cough were practically treated like terminal illnesses, making people so fearful and wary.

"Come here, Toby."

Cyrus held out his hand to him. "It's fine. Don't be afraid."

Toby finally walked over.

Cyrus touched his forehead, then had him stick out his tongue for a look. Afterward, he asked, "Do you have a headache or dizziness? Is your throat merely itchy, or is it swollen? Is there anywhere else that feels uncomfortable?"

"Tell me honestly. You are not allowed to hide anything."

His stern little gaze was fixed on him.jpg.

Toby said, "My head feels a little dizzy. My throat only itches; it isn't swollen. My nose is blocked, and I have no strength..."

Cyrus nodded to himself.

It was not too serious yet.

He said to Gibran, "A physician may not necessarily be able to cure Toby."

"But I've recently made some progress in my research on herbs. I can make a medicine that treats runny noses and coughs."

"Trust me. I can cure Toby."

Cyrus had previously deliberately spread word that he was obsessed with alchemy and wanted to study all kinds of plants.

Anyone who discovered rare plants could bring them to the castle in exchange for money, and this arrangement was still in effect.

Because of this, Cyrus had indeed collected many precious herbs. Long ago, he had ordered the easily grown ones planted within the castle, while he personally cultivated those that required more careful tending.

Now, his research into herbal medicines and ointments had truly produced satisfying results.

But on the Western Continent, people's understanding of existing medical methods and treatments was undoubtedly deeply ingrained, and changing it would not be easy.

Some people would even rather believe that praying and repenting to the Creator God was more useful.

For example, obtaining a bottle of holy water would be more likely to make someone recover than finding a physician.

Although Cyrus had developed some results,

first, he lacked the personnel for mass production.

Second, even if he wanted to promote herbal medicines and ointments, he needed a suitable opportunity.

Otherwise, people would likely not dare believe at first that merely drinking a few doses of medicine could cure an illness.

Before Gibran could speak,

Toby said first through a stuffed nose, "I trust the Count!"

Gibran also nodded then. "Yes, my lord. I trust you as well."

Cyrus took out two doses of medicine from the alchemy laboratory.

He instructed Gibran to feed one dose to Toby some time after lunch, then have him drink the other before bed at night. He was to keep the blanket tucked around him and not leave the doors or windows wide open.

Gibran nodded and followed every instruction. That night, he even slept in the same bed as Toby to watch over him.

Early the next morning,

Toby's delighted voice suddenly rang out in the room.

"Brother! Brother, wake up and look at me! My nose isn't blocked anymore! My head isn't dizzy either..."

He shouted in disbelief as he pushed Gibran's shoulder.

Gibran had not been deeply asleep to begin with. The moment he opened his eyes, he immediately sat up, fully awake. "Could Toby's illness already be cured?!"

Toby said, "Other than still having a little runny nose and slight discomfort in my throat, I feel better everywhere!"

Gibran could see it as well.

Toby had been listless yesterday, yet today he looked remarkably energetic.

He could not help saying joyfully, "It must be the medicine the Count gave you taking effect!"

Toby nodded, his eyes sparkling. "The Count is amazing."

The two immediately got up and went to report the matter to Cyrus.

Cyrus had expected this.

People of this era had not yet developed drug resistance through long-term use of Western medicine or the abuse of hormones, so quick results were only natural.

"Drink another three doses today. You still need to come tomorrow so I can check on your condition."

But Toby said uneasily, "No, there's no need, my lord."

"Such medicine is too precious. It isn't worth wasting on someone like me. After this, I can completely..."

Cyrus interrupted him. "Toby, medicine is made for people to drink. There is no such thing as waste, much less being unworthy."

"You are worthy. Judas and Gibran are worthy. Kelly is worthy too. Every servant in the castle—their lives are all important, and they are all worthy."

"You can drink this medicine."

While it was impossible to achieve equality for everyone on the Western Continent,

he hoped that in the future, everyone's lives could be treated as something that mattered, and that no one would die innocently from minor illnesses or absurd treatments.

Toby could not hold it in and burst into tears. "M-My lord, you're too kind, sob..."

Kelly could not help standing behind them and wiping her tears with her apron. "Oh heavens, how can the Count be so sweet and considerate?"

Touched expressions also appeared uncontrollably on Judas and Gibran's faces.

Coalball and Snowball had been lying in the middle of the carpet, pawing playfully at each other. Toby's shout startled them into jumping up, after which they tilted their little heads at him in confusion.

Cyrus: "..."

There was really no need for this. It was such a small matter. Look at all of you...

Cyrus was so embarrassed that even his little feet pressed together.

As Toby gradually recovered, a ship sailing along the Volri River docked beside the port of Niramo.

The ship drew the attention of many people because the emblem carved into its hull was the symbol of the Nagabi Merchant Guild, the largest merchant guild in the Anas Empire.

A gangplank was laid against the shore.

A group of knights wearing feathered plumes on their heads descended from the ship first. They then stood on both sides of the port with swords in hand, their solemn and imposing presence making the surrounding commoners and slaves move away.

Immediately afterward, two more people descended the gangplank one after another.

The one in front was a youth of perhaps only a dozen years. He had handsome features, a tall, slender build, and an upright posture.

He had dazzling golden hair that rose and fell lightly in the river breeze, as if glimmering with fine specks of light. His eyes were a rich emerald green, like flowing light beneath a lake's surface—deep and captivating.

Behind him followed a man around thirty years old. Once ashore, he said, "Young Master Boris, would you like to find somewhere to rest first? Your health..."

The boy named Boris Yabo seemed somewhat unwell. Frowning, lips pressed tight, he waved a hand at the words. "No need... cough, this illness is nothing serious. Handle the important matter first."

The man was worried but could not persuade him otherwise, so he could only ask, "Then in your opinion, should we contact Bass Riches first? Or set off for Visas first?"

Boris Yabo raised a brow, his expression immediately coming alive. "Since the Seawater Solar Salt-Making Method was developed by Desinia, and the Rose Salt produced in his territory has stolen much of the Nagabi Merchant Guild's business in Gadayat and even Gaina, Nagabi Salt has practically lost its market."

"I naturally need to settle this account with him properly first."

"As for the deal with Bass Riches, there's no need to rush it for now."

"Yes, Young Master Boris."

Vincent added, "But I heard Desinia is only seven years old now. Do you intend to use your age to bully a child?"

Boris Yabo said, "...So what if I bully him? Who isn't a child?"

Vincent fell silent and nodded.

Yes, you were a "child" nearly six feet tall.