I Added D*ugs to Romantic Fantasy

“I truly apologize.”

…

In the ordinary village of Labidale, located in the Prefecture of Longkenny, it was a phrase the priest William found himself repeating several times every day.

Alan Medoff had merely stayed in the village for about an hour before swiftly leaving.

But the antibiotics and antiseptics he left behind were causing changes that seemed almost unbelievable.

The priest was witnessing these changes in real-time.

Because the beneficiaries were all regular parishioners at his mass.

One of them even came by with bread, smiling cheerfully as they greeted him.

“Hey, Respected Priest, I’ve brought some bread. Please share it with the nun and the deacon.”

“There’s only my wife and me who can work at home right now, but unfortunately, we both had stomach issues; tch. If it weren’t for that medicine, we’d have probably given up on half of our winter wheat. And where could we borrow more hands when everyone else is struggling? Would that even be possible?”

“Thanks to you, it seems we’ll get through this. Thank you so much.”

As the priest listened, he felt a lump form in his throat while gazing at the furrowed face of the believer.

It was a parishioner who had been severely affected by dysentery—fever, abdominal cramps accompanied by seizures, diarrhea, and vomiting. Dysentery usually clears up in a week, but this gentleman’s case was particularly severe. He could have died if Lord Alan hadn’t brought the antibiotics. Here, farmers often worked in the fields even when unwell.

But now, the man stood smiling, looking perfectly healthy.

Until this point, it was all cause for celebration.

‘But how dare I accept their gratitude? I don’t deserve it.’

The priest had done nothing at all. Frankly, he had only obstructed matters. He had suspected Alan Medoff of experimenting with narcotics on the ignorant farmers, believing that someone like Alan Medoff would certainly do something like that.

But it turned out not to be narcotics.

The antibiotics provided by Lord Alan were life-saving medicines.

‘People are healthier now. And they are smiling.’

Yet the priest couldn’t bring himself to smile. Receiving the innocent gratitude of the believers, when he had no right to it, filled him with deep anguish.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Huh? But you asked for help from the high-ranking official, didn’t you?”

“Ah… I don’t possess such abilities. On the contrary, I misunderstood the benevolence and even criticized the Chairman of the Privy Council.”

“Ah, Priest, why are you like this?”

“I’m sorry.”

The priest apologized humbly while looking at the basket of bread.

On the contrary, the parishioner looked flustered and added, “But still, Father usually does a lot of good things.”

That small comfort made the priest’s sorrow grow deeper. Confessing what he considered the biggest mistake of his life, yet not even receiving a scolding—it was such a shameful situation.

‘Heavenly Lord, please show me the way.’

Clutching the holy object tightly in his hand, the priest prayed inwardly.

No answer came.

Only guilt overwhelmed him endlessly.

…

The priest snapped out of his thoughts hours later.

“Father William, are you here?”

An unexpected visitor had arrived.

It was the deacon from the nearby small city, located three days’ journey away. Though familiar, they didn’t often cross paths. The priest blinked in confusion, unsure what the matter was, as the deacon, with an anxious expression, made a request.

There were a number of full-term pregnant women at the maternity ward run by their church. A rumor had spread that the medicine treating puerperal fever was effective.

Therefore, they desperately needed the antibiotics.

‘Even puerperal fever?’

Father William was momentarily stunned, his mind slow to grasp the implication.

If not just dysentery but other diseases as well could be treated, it made perfect sense why people were seeking it. Childbirth was always a matter where one prepared for death. Father William had witnessed several families wailing in desperation and agony more than once.

This was a medicine that could even prevent such tragedies.

It felt different from curing dysentery.

For a moment, the priest stared blankly, and then struggled to speak.

“It’s not me you should approach, but the village administrator.”

“Can they provide the medicine?”

“There might be a little left. Mention my name and they will willingly hand it over.”

“Thank you!”

The deacon ran off as fast as he could toward the modest administrative office.

The priest stood watching him go.

‘What have I done?’

The one who had saved the farmers from the annual outbreaks of dysentery, who had spared the postpartum mothers from dying from swollen bellies after suffering excruciating pain—this person had also purified the wells, providing clean drinking water.

Feeling guilty over doubting someone who performed miracles, a new question came to Father William.

‘Why do I keep chasing leftover medicine?’

If he went to Lord Alan directly, couldn’t he obtain more medicine—and with far less effort?

Right now, Lord Alan was traveling across the empire, visiting underdeveloped villages and towns while performing charitable acts. Not only that, he even openly declared his destinations in advance. So, why was he running around chasing leftover medicine?

‘Something’s not right here.’

With this question in mind, the priest stopped the deacon, who was about to leave in a hurry.

“Why did you come all this way?”

The answer was astonishing.

“Father William. We’ve heard that Lord Alan has stopped his travels. Rumors say that he suffered an affront in Count Skenting’s territory… I heard it from officials, though it might not be completely accurate, but I believe it to be true… Why were you unaware of it, father?”

Upon hearing this, the priest’s face clouded with disbelief.

“How could such a thing happen?”

“It’s also said that Bishop Guinness from your parish played a role.”

“Oh my.”

The news of how the dull-witted count and the bishop had together frustrated Lord Alan filled Father William with sudden anger.

But this anger quickly subsided.

‘How could it be only their fault?’

It wasn’t hard to imagine how much indifference Lord Alan must have endured.

He must have been suspected by many, a good number of whom were clergy members. The officials likely obeyed just out of fear.

And as this resentment accumulated and layered,

It eventually led to Lord Alan’s frustration.

“We are all accomplices.”

Feeling a rising tide of remorse, the priest looked up to the sky.

Today’s clear sky only added to his sorrow.

…

Not just him. Others too felt engulfed in despair.

“What made us act like that?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“It’s not just the two of you. The situation was understandable enough to be misunderstood.”

“Hush.”

The nuns who had previously warned their believers against the medicines left by Alan Medoff later lamented their mistakes.

“Shouldn’t we just go to the institution and apologize?”

“…Where do you propose we look for someone who holds the post of the Privy Council Chairman?”

“That’s a valid point…”

The lord who had asked to be excluded from Lord Alan’s tour, under the excuse that his residence was unimpressive, showed his discomfort upon learning about the rumors surrounding the antibiotics.

But it was too late for regret.

Already,

Alan Medoff, the very person who had performed charity in the most remote corners of the empire, wielding the empire’s most formidable power, had long returned to the state. And the ones who caused his charitable activities to end so pointlessly were none other than his very beneficiaries.

This was an impossible situation to remedy.

…

Meanwhile, the miracle-working medicine’s fame continued to spread rapidly.

And due to this fame, some found themselves in a highly awkward position.

“Count Skenting, what do you plan to do?”

“I’m still considering.”

“So how long do you plan to keep considering? Exactly.”

“Just give it some time.”

It was two middle-aged men.

Count Skenting and his diocesan bishop, who made the decision to discontinue Alan Medoff’s charitable activities.

In reality, it wasn’t discontinuation but a polite refusal with an appropriate excuse.

However, the truth was irrelevant. Strange rumors were already spreading—nobody knew who spread them.

Right now, they felt tangible threats.

“Come on, Bishop Guinness. Didn’t you clearly tell me you were uncomfortable with the narcotics?”

“Sure, I said that! But that doesn’t mean you get to use my name to chase the Privy Council Chairman away! Do you even know how awkward my position is? I will undoubtedly be interrogated at the bishop’s conference—will you take responsibility for it?”

“But I didn’t chase him away! I received him with great respect…!”

Their voices grew louder.

Only a few days ago, they were friends.

They respected each other’s realms and supported each other in difficult times—they were reliable allies. There was originally nothing to quarrel about.

But now, rather than supporting each other, they were arguing, their faces flushed.

That was proof of how serious the situation was.

The sudden gathering of the bishop’s conference by the Cardinal and the protests from neighboring lords—while the state remained unnervingly silent, the tension continued to rise.

For simply refusing charity, the punishment seemed too harsh.

This was a crisis they couldn’t resolve by simply banding together as usual.

“…My lord. I will attend the bishop’s conference and testify honestly. I bear no responsibility whatsoever—I will say that His Lordship Count Skenting acted independently.”

“Wait, Bishop Guinness! We need a unified story!”

“I’m sorry, but I need to protect myself.”

“This goddamn son of a bitch!”

In a rage, the count grabbed the bishop by the chin.

The bishop, refusing to back down, clung to the count’s collar, struggling.

What began as a heated argument quickly escalated into more aggressive behavior, exchanging vulgar curses, glaring fiercely at each other, bringing up sensitive topics about illegitimate children, and, eventually:

BAM!

“Together, we’ll die, you bastard.”

“What!? How dare you hit a priest!?”

Fists were flying.

Grabbing each other’s hair and swinging punches wildly, kicking shins—an ugly and messy brawl ensued.

Onlookers could only watch them dumbfounded.

…

The fight technically ended with the bishop just barely on top.

But it was a meaningless victory.

The bishop stared blankly at the bloodied and defeated count’s face, his own face smeared with blood too. The entire situation—Count Skenting’s childish behavior at this age, his own obsession with avoiding responsibility when a miracle drug had emerged—was all depressingly pathetic.

With a heavy sigh, the bishop let his head fall.