The mercury treatment had been going on for quite some time.
Honestly, even if it had only been a second, it would have felt like an eternity.
That kind of thing...
That kind of thing...
It was an utterly despicable act that should never, even briefly, be inflicted on a person.
"Ugh... Ughhh! Ughhhh!"
Should this be called a side effect?
Would the people who dunk others in mercury even call this a side effect?
Wouldn't it be more accurate to call it a premeditated nightmare?
"Good, very good."
"It's going well, Professor."
"Just as expected."
Even Zemel and his lackeys—no, assistants—standing in the back were laughing.
I've often thought that this brutal era feels like hell on earth, but... this moment felt more real than ever.
I was holding on, trying not to faint if I let my guard slip even a little...
"Alright, it seems he's vomited enough. Let's take him to the ward."
"Yes, Professor. We'll move him now."
"If it seems effective, let's keep it up... and do it a few more times while monitoring his condition."
That's when it happened.
Killian, who had endured countless treatments—no, tortures—like the tough sailor he was, finally passed out.
Even someone who had crossed the Atlantic multiple times couldn't bear the thought of going through this a few more times.
Honestly, enduring it even once was impressive.
If it were me, I'd have died already...
"Heave-ho."
Since there were no wheeled beds in this world, the assistants carried Killian on a stretcher-like contraption.
They flexed their strong arms and brought him back to the ward.
Only then could I get a proper look at Killian's face.
He looked almost like a dead man.
The word "pale" seemed invented for moments like this—he was completely drained.
"Ah, it seems he's been through quite the treatment."
"Indeed. Hehe. Syphilis is no joke. I heard this hospital doesn't hold back on mercury, and the rumors are true! Hehe."
"We should call someone who knows what they're doing, huh?"
As they chattered, the patients, many missing limbs or about to lose them, looked at Killian, who had returned looking like a zombie, with a strange sense of camaraderie.
It was probably because of the medicine I had given them.
Of course, some still wore expressions of discomfort.
After all, the medicine I made was far from perfect—just a primitive painkiller and anti-inflammatory. Expecting dramatic results was unrealistic.
"Ugh... ugh..."
Anyway, I checked on my patients, did a quick dissection, attended a lecture, and then returned.
Killian was awake.
He wasn't dead—his eyes were open.
He really was something else.
Truly... a man who could charm countless women even while suffering from syphilis.
He was unusually tough and tenacious.
-*If you want to get into a relationship, you've got to be a bit ruthless. No one likes a pushover.*
I remembered the advice a senior once gave me when I was almost a complete novice in love.
"Are you okay?"
Of course, I wasn't particularly interested in foreigners, so I focused on my patient.
Honestly, Killian's condition was so horrifying that even a cold-hearted person would feel pity.
"Are you... going to be okay?"
"Well... probably not."
Killian snapped at me, but it was understandable.
What could he do? Take his anger out on Dr. Liston?
If he did, they'd probably chop off his syphilis-ridden limbs.
It was a scary thought, but it wasn't unheard of.
In an era where blood tests, latent periods, and such were unknown, doctors could only focus on visible symptoms. Many resorted to directly removing lesions like chancres.
Wouldn't you think so?
Dr. Liston, who at least secretly cared for his patients, was one thing, but there were also those who cut just out of curiosity.
"Well, you don't look great. But you heard, right? They might do that treatment a few more times."
"Just... kill me..."
I tried to speak kindly, but Killian reached out with his bound hands, pleading.
It was no use.
They had tied him so tightly that even a gorilla couldn't escape.
Honestly, after the treatment he'd endured today, even an elephant would have collapsed.
Dunking someone in mercury... what kind of world is this?
-*What's the big deal? Some hospitals even spray mercury vapor. Like a sauna. Must be so effective. I'm jealous... but the director won't allow it.*
Zemel's words had truly shocked me.
Sometimes it felt like these guys weren't trying to save lives but rather figuring out how to kill people in the most shocking ways.
-*I just want to die now.*
Killian's words dragged me back into an old memory from my residency.
A patient who had delayed surgery to attend his son's wedding with a healthy appearance had missed his chance.
We tried every treatment, but timing is everything, isn't it?
Especially with cancer.
I—no, the professor and I... we lost the patient.
Before that, the patient had lost the will to live.
"You're not dying. I'll do whatever it takes."
I had made a decision back then.
Even if a treatment seemed excessive, if it seemed necessary, I'd do it.
Of course, if it crossed the line into madness, like here, I'd make an exception.
"Don't... don't do it..."
Killian, unaware of my resolve, tried to wave his hands.
His hands, tied to the bed rails, flailed weakly, and it broke my heart.
Considering what he'd been through today, his reaction wasn't unreasonable.
No, if he were cooperative, that would be even more concerning.
It would mean he'd gone mad.
"It's a relief."
"No, it's not a relief... save me... no, kill me..."
Thinking he wasn't completely mad, I tapped a small, clean spot on his body, about 1 cm wide, free of vomit and filth.
"Eek!"
Perhaps it seemed ominous, as Killian curled up.
-*We'll decide on the next treatment in about three days.*
As I looked at Killian, I recalled Zemel's words, spoken to me alone.
Three days.
Zemel had said it casually, but...
To me, it felt like a death sentence.
From what I could see, it was a miracle Killian hadn't died today.
"See you later."
"Don't... don't do anything, please..."
Ignoring Killian's desperate pleas, I stepped outside.
"Did he improve? Using precious mercury on someone like that... Dr. Zemel, you're a true physician."
I was greeted by a quintessential 19th-century doctor.
He was also my close friend Joseph...
Anyway, I didn't feel like responding and just patted his shoulder.
"Let's go see the senior first, then come back here."
"Huh? Aren't you going home to rest?"
"Killian... if we leave him like this, he'll die."
"Syphilis kills anyway."
"No... it's not like that."
You guys...
You're going to kill him, just like always.
I barely held back my last words and climbed into the carriage.
Fortunately, Joseph had always been obedient to me, and after yesterday's events, he had become even more so. I didn't need to say more.
"Oh, you're here?"
"Yes, nothing's happened, right?"
"No, if something had happened, I would have sent word."
"Let me take a look."
As soon as I arrived at the senior's house, I rushed to the room where Alfred was.
*'If nothing's happened... it just means he hasn't taken a turn for the worse.'*
Even in the 21st century, caregiver statements were only for reference.
Detailed descriptions of symptoms and progress were helpful, of course.
But whether things were okay or not was ultimately up to the medical staff.
In the 19th century, where higher education wasn't even widespread, it was even more critical.
"Hmm..."
I checked his pulse first.
I kept thinking how useful a blood pressure monitor would be.
I'd heard there was a way to measure it, but...
It didn't seem feasible to mass-produce it.
To measure blood pressure, you'd have to stick a needle into an artery, not a vein.
Of course, we had arterial blood pressure monitors, but those were only used in critical cases.
*'Roughly speaking, it's not too low...'*
The blood pressure I was measuring was purely guesswork.
Still, it was probably more accurate than anything most doctors in this era could do.
"No fever... and the inflammation doesn't seem to be worsening..."
I checked his pulse and forehead.
This was also guesswork, as accurately measuring body temperature was impossible.
I also checked his abdomen.
At first glance, it seemed fine.
The stitches weren't medical-grade, so there was some redness around them, but the localized inflammation seemed manageable.
Well, it shouldn't have been, but... there was no alternative.
"Hmm..."
"Are you feeling more alert?"
"Yeah... I'm fully conscious."
"You don't look it... Anyway, how's your stomach?"
As I examined him, the senior suddenly opened his eyes and groaned before speaking.
He spoke clearly, but his face was a mess.
He hadn't been able to eat, so it was understandable.
I couldn't just start an IV—everything was a concern.
From the needles to the tubes to the IV fluid, nothing could be trusted.
*'Unless he's dying... let's not do that.'*
Unless it was absolutely necessary, I wouldn't risk it.
The only saving grace was that the senior had appendicitis.
With other illnesses, recovery to the point of eating would take forever, but this would only take a few days.
"I'm going to press here lightly. Really lightly, so don't tense up."
"Okay."
"How does it feel?"
"Hmm... just a little sore?"
"Good. The progress is good."
"Ah... thank you."
"Thank me? It's a doctor's job to treat patients."
"Still, thank you for saving me. I'd have died twice already without you."
"Let's wait a week before saying that."
"Okay."
I spoke defensively, but honestly, it didn't seem like anything would go wrong.
Well, who would have complications after I operated?
*'I might really be a genius...'*
Feeling a surge of pride, I started searching the house for hidden bread crumbs.
I planned to test which ones killed the bacteria in the agar, then feed the effective ones to Killian, and if they worked, to the senior too.
It felt like I was adapting a bit too well to the 19th century, but what choice did I have?
*'Great progress is born from a spirit of adventure.'*
I recalled a phrase that wasn't in any textbook as I gathered the bread crumbs in a sieve.