"Hmm..."
"Impressive."
It had already been three days since the prisoners were brought in.
During that time, they had only been given one piece of rotten bread to eat.
I had deliberately designed it that way.
'If it were a different infectious disease, the approach would have to be different... but for syphilis, this should suffice for now, or at least allow us to observe.'
To put it simply, if it were a different infectious disease—caused by a different bacterium—this kind of observation process could have been quite dangerous.
Why?
Because even if the medication works, the progression of the disease itself might not be straightforward.
Taking antibiotics once means the time to reach an effective dosage is relatively short...
But would all the bacteria die within that time?
Unless the bacteria were particularly vulnerable to penicillin, it would be difficult to achieve.
'This one is slow...'
However, syphilis is a disease that has plagued humanity for a very long time, so it has become quite familiar to us.
It's a disease designed to lower the mortality rate while allowing the host to survive as long as possible, maintaining its infectiousness.
Therefore, even if the dosage is slightly insufficient and some bacteria remain, there's no immediate urgency.
If the patient were to die, it would likely be due to something other than syphilis.
"It's improved."
"Hmm... Only scars remain now."
While I was engaged in these high-level medical thoughts, our 19th-century doctors were exclaiming in amazement.
And rightfully so.
Syphilis was considered an incurable disease, wasn't it?
Yet, after just one dose of rotten bread, it had either improved significantly or at least shown a remarkable turnaround.
"Pyeong-ah... How on earth did you..."
"How did you do this?"
It was no coincidence that Joseph and Alfred were reacting this way.
And they weren't the only ones.
"I always thought you were a genius, but this... this is truly..."
"Incredible. Absolutely incredible! The word 'genius' doesn't even suffice!"
Liston and Blundell were also raising their hands in astonishment.
They even gave me a thumbs-up, laughing heartily.
Fortunately, at least in this room, there was no one calling me a witch.
Well, given the devout image I've shown so far, who would dare?
"You... are truly remarkable... You must have been blessed with the Lord's grace."
Even Killian was saying such things, so that pretty much summed it up.
Haha.
Yes, I've been blessed with grace.
Otherwise, how could I have been reborn?
If I were to be a bit more greedy, it would have been even better if I had been reborn in the 1950s...
But even in the 19th century, there's plenty to enjoy.
"Now, now, let's not get carried away. There's still one person who hasn't been cured. We need to keep an eye on them."
Of course, I couldn't keep laughing forever.
There was still one person, after all, who hadn't been cured.
'Well... to say they weren't cured is a bit...'
If it had just stopped there, I would have felt much better.
But this person seemed to have developed a fungal infection.
Fungus.
In other words, a mycosis.
'A fungal infection...'
Several horrifying cases flashed before my eyes.
Fungi generally don't cause infections, but once they do, there's almost no way to stop them.
Even with antifungal medications, the infected area often has to be surgically removed, so in a situation without antifungals, there's practically nothing that can be done.
Did I not anticipate this happening at all?
That's not true.
'It's strange to expect that long-term syphilis patients... especially those who have been imprisoned... would have normal immune systems.'
I shook my head and looked at the patient.
Their fever was raging.
At the same time, black spots had appeared on their tongue and palate.
Calling them spots is an understatement—they were clear signs of a fungal infection.
'This can't be cured... There's nothing we can do.'
If I were my old self, I would have been consumed by guilt.
Well, it's not like I don't feel any guilt now.
But it's not as intense as before.
I knew there was nothing I could do.
That doesn't mean it's easy to feel indifferent, so I deliberately turned my attention elsewhere.
To the other patients—the ones who had responded positively to my rotten bread.
"Why is this happening? It's different from syphilis."
"Exactly. Hmm. What's going on?"
Meanwhile, Liston and Blundell were starting to chatter as they examined the same patient.
Fungal infections weren't uncommon in this era.
In fact, they were probably more common than not.
People didn't live as long as they do in the 21st century, but diabetes existed, didn't it?
Chronic diabetes often leads to immunodeficiency, and unsanitary conditions tend to increase the likelihood of any kind of infection.
'They're acting like they've never seen this before.'
But the two of them looked as if they had discovered some unknown disease.
They were probably half-right.
Finding a patient at the onset of such an infection was rare.
They might have known that diabetes was abnormal since ancient times, but until insulin was developed as a treatment, there was nothing they could do.
So, they didn't even think about treating it, and most fungal infection patients were either found dead or in a severely advanced state.
"For now, all we can do is monitor the situation."
"But the fever is raging."
"If we could at least give them willow bark tea, but... they're unconscious."
"Well, that's true. Why is this happening?"
I pursed my lips at Liston's question.
But all that came out was a faint sigh.
Should I tell them it's because of the fungus, because of the rotten bread I fed them?
'That's the truth, but... if it delays the introduction of this treatment...'
Right now, it's being used on those with compromised immune systems—those who are already too far gone—so the risk of side effects is high.
But if used on earlier-stage patients, the risk of side effects would be lower, and the damage caused by syphilis could be drastically reduced or even eliminated.
'Sigh...'
I let out a sigh, releasing some of my worries, and shook my head.
"I don't know."
"Well, of course. How could you know everything?"
"Right."
"Anyway, we should report this to the academic community. The mold growing on the bread left in Alfred's second-floor study has an effect on syphilis. Who could have imagined such a thing?"
"Uh... right."
"If we can mass-produce the same type of mold, London won't have to fear syphilis anymore."
With that, Liston began planning to report this to the academic community.
Technically, he was a surgeon and not particularly involved with syphilis, but that didn't matter much.
In this era, medical specialties weren't as strictly defined.
If Liston decided tomorrow that he wanted to start seeing gynecology patients, he could do so.
Of course, whether patients would actually come to him is another matter...
"I'll send a communication through Zemel. It's best to inform the journals in advance."
"Zemel... But will he agree? He's completely obsessed with mercury and mercuric chloride treatments right now."
"Didn't we prove it? That those aren't the cause."
"Exactly. I'm worried he might take it the wrong way..."
"Hahaha! What does it matter?"
Liston laughed at my words.
It wasn't because what I said was ridiculous.
Anyone would feel bad if someone told them they were wrong to their face.
Especially if they were asked to help spread the word that they were wrong.
But it was fine.
Knock knock.
Liston headed straight for Zemel.
Normally, he would have been in his lab around this time, but he wasn't in his right mind now.
He was intoxicated with a sense of omnipotence.
Well, it was understandable.
If you believed you had cured a disease that no one in history had ever treated before, wouldn't you feel the same?
"Aaaah!"
"P-please, save me!"
So, we headed not to the lab, but to the torture chamber—no, the mercury treatment room.
I have no idea why they combined mercury and treatment into one...
"Ugh, ugh."
"Aaaah!"
Inside, screams, groans, and the sound of something spilling out continuously echoed.
"Guess he can't hear us."
"What do we do? It's locked."
It seemed they had locked the door because it was too gruesome to show to just anyone.
I tried to open the door, but it rattled, so I looked at Liston, who grabbed the doorknob instead of calling a locksmith.
Crunch.
Then, with a sound of something breaking, the door opened.
"It's open?"
"Ah."
Normally, you'd say it was broken.
"What? Huh? You...?"
Before anyone could say anything, Liston strode inside.
Inside, traces of various tortures were scattered everywhere.
People with bloodshot eyes.
People vomiting.
People with diarrhea.
And the excrement they had spilled...
"Ugh."
Liston carefully walked through the mess and reached Zemel.
As always, being a head taller than most, he looked down with an intimidating expression.
"Why... why are you doing this?"
He was probably exaggerating his expression, but the stench alone was enough to make anyone grimace, so even Zemel, who knew him well, stammered.
I probably would have too.
That man was truly terrifying.
"Why? First, stop this nonsense. You don't actually believe that vomiting and diarrhea will kill the syphilis bacteria, do you?"
"No... why are you saying this? Didn't you think it was plausible yesterday?"
"Plausible? I said it was nonsense."
"No..."
"What? Do you think differently?"
"No, no. I guess I did say that."
Liston showed that he could manipulate not only his own thoughts but also others', and then continued.
"Anyway, we've done some experiments, and it doesn't make sense."
"No... what? Hey, I'm not the only one here."
Zemel looked at his assistants and patients.
The assistants looked confused, but the patients were glaring at Zemel as if they wanted to kill him.
They weren't criminals who had been captured; they were just sick people who had come for treatment.
"Does it matter?"
"Uh, no."
But the moment Liston raised his fist, everything else faded from view, and only the fist remained.
"Listen. Look at this."
"This is... rotten bread, isn't it?"
"Don't make that face. Look."
"Ah, alright."
And so, a deep discussion began.