14 — Chapter 14

Dennis von Kestner was shaking out his prized blonde hair, frantically rubbing perfume all over his body like a madman.

“Ugh, enough! It stinks! It stinks! It stinks!”

His features were reasonably well-formed—lacking masculinity, perhaps, but possessed of a certain elegance. His young, lean frame lacked power, yet it was impeccably clean.

Dennis was desperately trying to prevent that beautiful, aristocratically maintained body from being corrupted by a vulgar, stomach-turning stench.

“Why me?! A member of the glorious Kestner family, a man whose future as a Holy Medical Mentor is so promising! Why must I work while covered in horse dung and the sweat of men!”

Only after using expensive perfume without restraint to drown out the abominable smell did Dennis finally allow his breathing to settle.

Then, taking advantage of the privacy of his dormitory room, he continued to spit out curses, even daring to invoke the name of God with a look of utter disdain.

“What is wrong with those people? They call themselves knights, but they’re nothing more than a collection of ruffians. They’re smelly, they’re filthy, and they have no manners. Even though I graced them with the use of my sacred healing arts, they didn’t even offer a word of worship or praise. Do they not understand the sanctity of a Holy Medical Mentor?”

A Holy Medical Mentor.

These were individuals who practiced medicine through the sacred power known as God’s Grace.

On this continent, the vast majority of people followed the Church of Owl, worshipping the primary deity Aurelle. Among them, a select few were granted God’s Grace, also referred to as “Holy Power.”

The nature and strength of this power varied, but it generally focused on protecting and nurturing life—healing wounds, accelerating the growth of plants, or calling for rain.

Holy Power could manifest suddenly in a commoner like a literal miracle, but it was fundamentally passed down through bloodlines.

The Kestner family was one such noble house that had produced numerous high-ranking Mentors and Saints. Though they held only the rank of Baron, they were an ancient and honorable lineage with close ties to the House of Marquis Rottner, who concurrently served as Bishop.

Among them, Dennis possessed a healing power said to be identical to that of the Kestner family’s founder.

While its potency was significantly inferior to that of the founder—who could supposedly regenerate severed limbs—it was still a power that far surpassed the skills of any ordinary physician.

As a result, Dennis had been permitted to serve the court officially as a Holy Medical Mentor at the age of fifteen, before he had even reached adulthood, and was granted a room near the center of the Royal Palace.

“With the Marquis’s patronage, I, who will eventually hold real power in the religious world of Luten! Why must I endure this… this loathsome grunt work!”

Despite his status, Dennis had spent the last few weeks overwhelmed by treating knights and tending to servants.

This was because his beloved Marquis Clemens von Rottner had ordered him into an internship, claiming that “to enhance your healing arts, it is vital to gain experience in the field and broaden your horizons.”

“I mean, sure, now that the demons we’re supposed to exterminate are extinct, noble figures rarely suffer serious injuries… But even so, there’s no reason I should have to fix the injuries of the lower classes, is there?”

Dennis bit his well-manicured nails.

Healing arts were a sacred power given only to the chosen.

To bestow such a thing upon common people—who were neither nobles nor favored by God—seemed like an utter waste.

One should just hand some roadside herbs to those peasant-born types. They were sturdy enough anyway.

“And on top of that, they can’t even offer a proper word of thanks after being treated…”

Recalling the scene from earlier made Dennis grind his teeth.

Today had been a medical examination day for the knights.

He had been dragged along to their so-called mock battle training and told to wait in a gazebo, only to have a constant stream of injured men carried in one after another.

Most of the injuries were bruises, sprains, or lacerations.

None were what one would call trivial, but they weren’t life-threatening either.

Furthermore, those being carried in were all low-ranking knights—who, from the look of them, were no different from filthy ruffians.

Thinking it was insolent of them to appear before a nobleman in such a state, Dennis nevertheless touched their mud-stained, sweat-reeking bodies and muttered the words of prayer.

Despite this, the knights who received his healing arts uniformly looked disappointed, as if to say, “Is that it?”

“Did they expect their wounds to vanish in an instant? Hmph, as if I could pour such a massive amount of Holy Power into every single person. Idiots.”

After all, he was performing these treatments without knowing how many more people he might have to tend to.

As a result of holding back his strength, he could only manage to close each person’s wounds just enough and dull the pain.

Mind you, even that was several times faster than ordinary medical techniques, and it placed quite a burden on him as the caster.

“And yet… one of them said, ‘If it’s only this much, it’s no different from the maid’s first aid’…!?”

The most unforgivable part was the remark a knight had muttered with a shrug on his way out.

It was a monologue delivered in a very low voice, but Dennis, who had ears like a hawk, caught every word.

According to the rumors, a maid named Elma had recently started frequenting the knights’ order to treat the injured.

Supposedly, her technique was magnificent, and those treated by her recovered three times faster than those who weren’t.

‘But she’s a maid. Neither a noble nor a Medical Mentor. Not even a man! Hmph, it’s likely just the delusions of knights going soft over a woman.’

He had heard the name Elma before in the context of being the former consort’s favorite or a woman who was good at cooking.

She was surely an ambitious social climber who used her feminine charms to target the handsome Second Prince or a seat as a knight’s lover. A meddler.

However, for a mere maid to dabble in medical practice was going too far.

In reality, her techniques were likely little more than charms with a few extra steps. If so, he really wished she’d stop using “treatment” as a weapon to win the hearts of men—Dennis was an arrogant boy, but he did believe that the act of healing itself was sacred.

“Ah, I want to finish these days quickly and become a personal Medical Mentor for a noble figure, just like the Marquis.”

Before his internship began, Dennis had acted as Rottner’s bag carrier, visiting the room of the First Prince, Felix, whom the Marquis supported.

Rottner was a Marquis, a Bishop, and though he lacked healing arts, he possessed the ability to soothe the mind; thus, he was also active as the Prince’s counselor.

Felix himself seemed like a dim-witted, mediocre man just as the rumors suggested, but he was still the First Prince.

His room was lavishly decorated, and his collection of horse tack and jewelry—which appeared to be his hobby—was splendid.

Dennis had been granted the honor of admiring them through the Marquis and had been utterly delighted.

That was the world he desired.

“I want to return to a world suited for me as soon as possible…”

A world where the miracle of healing was properly praised, and where only clean, noble people surrounded him.

The knights could go ahead and be grateful for “maid’s treatment” or whatever folk remedy they liked.

Dennis let out a long sigh and stared vacantly at the prayer cloth hanging on the wall.