A mage? A spell engineer!

Chapter 214 Consumption

Most of the time, Varen was a polite and respectable man. He had the manners and demeanor of an aristocrat, as well as the enthusiasm and energy of a young man. This charming young man could win the admiration and affection of others, whether in front of the king or under the parasol of a noblewoman.

However, when he meets Rorschach and Pascal, he always appears miserable and dejected.

"Cough cough cough" This person was sweating profusely, his unhealthy face contrasting sharply with the blood. Passersby wisely detoured and stayed away from him, but only Rorschach and Pascal dared to move forward despite the invisible filter bubbles.

"I shouldn't have anything contagious. Someone, please help me, help me!" The young man's chest felt like it was being ripped open; with each word he spoke, more blood and less air rushed through his respiratory tract. Varon was on the verge of tears, his tearful eyes seeing the newcomer, seeing his destined savior.

A gentle blue light flowed into his body, not only soothing Varon's coughing up blood, but also replenishing the soul he had coughed up. A born superior being was finally able to stand up again. He recognized the two mages in astonishment and spoke with slightly more fluency than before: "Thank you both. You always appear when I am on the verge of death, making it hard for me to tell whether you are death or angels."

"Perhaps it's the angel of death?" Pascal joked, not forgetting to make a sound. He saw that Varon was covered in blood, his expensive custom-made coat was wrinkled and dirty, and his face was terribly pale. "I was going to say that you owed Rorschach two lives, but now I think you don't even have one left!" Although he was sarcastic, he didn't care that the other was covered in dirt and personally helped the weak Varon up.

Although he was in a terrible situation, senior brother, you didn't have to be so blunt, did you? Unexpectedly, Varang nodded repeatedly: "Sir, you are right. I have sold my life to the devil, and I have very little left!" He took out a handkerchief, unfolded it layer by layer to reveal a piece of ugly, shrunken skin.

Perhaps due to excessive excitement, Varang gasped for breath and fainted.

"Your words have made him faint again."

"Why don't you shine that magical blue light on yourself again?"

Rorschach dared not risk it; if he were to cause the bacteria in the lungs to multiply again, he might truly die. Unlike Pascal, he didn't touch him with his hands, but instead used the [Mage's Hand] to stabilize Varang so he wouldn't collapse, and instructed:

"Senior brother, you go back to the textile factory. I'll take this poor fellow to the clinic." He felt that the connection between the donkey skin in Varang's hand and his life was not nonsense; the last time he saw it, it was clearly a large piece.

"Alright, since I didn't assign you anything at night school anyway, I'm leaving."

"Wait," Rorschach called to Pascal, asking him to extend his hand so he could use the [Water Creation] spell to cleanse his senior brother.

Rorschach hailed a carriage and took Valon to the private hospital where he had once stayed. The hospital was frequented by sorcerers, and Rorschach needed to show his sorcerer's badge before entering. He registered Valon and temporarily paid his first fare.

Rorschach was pleased with this privacy; he could sense that Varon would be a key and exploitable figure, especially after learning that one of the initiators of the investigation was an earl from a sub-plane territory.

A sharp knife that reveals the truth can also pierce the heart of some people, provided that the knife isn't already buried.

"Doctor, how is my friend?"

"We can only let your frail friend get some rest first." The doctor observed Varon lying on the bed, examining his eyelids and feeling his slightly feverish temperature: "What symptoms did he have before he collapsed?"

"Coughing, coughing until blood comes out."

Have you suffered any external injuries?

Rorschach recalled: "As far as I know, there was no such thing, but I did fall into the water once in winter."

The doctor confirmed his diagnosis: "It's most likely tuberculosis. He's quite weak, and if he's coughing up blood, the disease is probably in its middle to late stages. Only one in four patients with this disease recovers."

He glanced again, making sure Varan wasn't conscious, before continuing, "Clearly, this gentleman's condition isn't one of the four lucky ones. I'm not cursing him, but reminding you, as his friend, to be prepared, both mentally and otherwise, to give the patient a dignified end."

"How can we prolong this poor man's life? He's young, and he has so much to do." Rorschach didn't feel much sympathy or pity for Varon. After all, he had been a gambling addict and had once voluntarily given up his life. Now, he had only himself to blame for his current predicament.

If I had chosen another method to end my life instead of jumping into the river, and had failed, I wouldn't have suffered these aftereffects.

We need to find a way to extend Valon's life, but Rorschach must ensure he lives to the day he is used.

"It's hard to say. Healing spells can slow the damage, but based on experience, the illness will likely continue to progress. My advice is the same as that given by most physicians in Valuwana:"

"Go to a place with high altitude, beautiful scenery, and especially fresh air to recuperate properly, and be quiet and restrain your desires. In this way, even if you cannot be cured, you can enjoy a peaceful time at the end of your life." This doctor seems to have dealt with monks a lot, and he speaks very frankly.

He prescribed some medications, all alchemical products, unavailable at other hospitals, but they wouldn't cure the root cause. Before leaving, the doctor turned and left behind another "interesting" idea:

"Are you a mid-level mage?"

"Yes."

"If you are confident in your spellcasting abilities, or can find a master in the field of healing, you can try my immature ideas."

"Please speak."

"Why not try destroying this poor man's entire chest cavity, then using healing or other magic—sorry, I don't know—and then restore him with magic? But that would damage his heart, and I'm not sure if it would even work."

Hmm...it seems a little bit feasible? But Rorschach doesn't know if the tuberculosis bacteria will enter the bloodstream or lurk in other tissues. He can't just blast Varan down to his head, can he?

Furthermore, he didn't know to what extent healing spells and divine magic could restore the body. According to the doctor's crazy idea, destroying and then rebuilding the entire lungs and heart would count as dying once during that process, which would be almost the same as resurrection.

"That's just what I said." The doctor left the ward, adding before departing, "If you intend to treat your dear friend this way, please allow me to watch!"

Very well, this is a healer who doesn't know magic but has the heart of a mage, but his professional ethics are questionable.

Rorschach then thought of writing to the Forest Tower, as it was Master Humboldt who had cured Mariano's extensive open chest wound of microbial infection.

Almost forgot to refill the bubble cooler. Rorschach, mindful of isolating himself from the patient, refilled his own bubble cooler. Valen, oh Valen, I can't possibly make para-aminosalicylic acid and isoniazid for you, can I?

With synthetic dye companies like Bassoff, it's not impossible for them to produce the drugs mentioned above. At most, the purity would be questionable, and byproducts and other impurities could cause patients' liver and kidneys to deteriorate more quickly, as well as cause random reactions such as nausea and gastrointestinal bleeding.

It's better than coughing yourself to death.

"Master Rorschach." After the sun had completely set, Varon finally awoke, and his first instinct was to search for the "scale" of his life: "My donkey skin, where's the donkey skin?"

(End of this chapter)