NOVEL NEXT Chapter 80
The courier visited every three days.
Leon Rothe Dale of the Swordsmanship Department at the Academy would always earnestly pray during these visits.
More accurately, he would invest all his time except when under the influence of drugs in supplicating to the heavens.
He would pray: Please let me receive more medicine, or that the courier might mistakenly overcount and accidentally include an extra Monglongyi.
But the heavens consistently betrayed his desperate prayers.
Even though it didn’t seem like a particularly difficult request considering the powers of the heavens, his prayers were always ignored, dismissed, and ultimately capped at the standard quantity.
What a truly pathetic deity.
‘Is it a wicked woman? Or a wicked man?’
It didn’t matter.
What was truly important was that the quantity of free medicine he received from Medoff Pharmaceuticals hadn’t increased in months.
Six Monglongyi, which is morphine. And six Bulongyi, which is ephedrine. That was a three-day supply.
He took one Monglongyi and one Bulongyi together at a time.
There wasn’t really a special reason for mixing them. Monglongyi and Bulongyi were just meant to always go together. They were inseparable, a pair that could never be split, like a couple standing affectionately by the Academy lake…
‘No. It’s more than that.’
How could such trivial lovers compare? Monglongyi and Bulongyi were closer than twins. Even families could be separated, but these two must never be parted.
Leon was irritated that his lack of eloquence prevented him from explaining why these two must be taken together.
Together, they were truly wonderful — as much so the first time as now.
But still…
‘Why don’t they give me more?’
Shit.
Spitting a profanity, Leon looked at the small medicine bottle.
Inside were only four pills.
And after he finished these? From then on, it was hell.
Of course, an employee from Medoff Pharma would deliver another three-day supply, but it didn’t offer any solace. It would still only be six and six — the same frustrating amount that never changed no matter how many times he checked. Far from what Leon desired.
Naturally, he had begged.
But to no avail.
He lied, excused, and even begged, but it was always the same quantity.
He wanted to eat more, desired more. Why wouldn’t they give it to him? If they doubled the amount, he could stay high all day. Hell, with triple the amount, he was confident he could handle it. So why not?
Leon found his current situation grievous and sorrowful.
‘I gave up 50,000 talers for medicine, so they should give me 50,000 talers worth. No, it wasn’t giving up. What was it? …Anyway, why don’t they give more? What do I need to do to receive more Monglongyi and Bulongyi?’
At this point, Leon Rothe Dale had only one hope left.
Swordsmanship.
For some reason, the couriers occasionally showed interest in his skills.
Though it was unclear why they would be interested in something trivial like swordsmanship, they surely would give him more medicine if he honed his skills and achieved results. Enough medicine to enjoy smoking opium while mocking idiots who think it’s delicious.
“That’s all.”
As usual, after taking his medicine, Leon headed to the training ground.
It began with mind-cultivation practice.
To be honest, it entailed just sitting blankly in the middle of the training ground. Watching other students from a sprawled position as he had during class.
“Excuse me, senior?”
A junior asked him to move, but Leon ignored him. Sitting blankly like this would eventually bring him insight.
After a while, a slight ferocity entered Leon’s face.
Due to the drug influence, a demon appeared before his eyes.
Of course, it was a demon born from his imagination.
“Son of a bitch!”
Leon jumped up with his sword, ready to confront this demon.
At first, it was merely a figment conjured for virtual sparring.
This was something other swordsmen frequently did.
However, driven by his constant craving for drugs, the imaginary enemy started taking grotesque forms.
The early, kind-faced deliveryman who used to bring his medicine, the elderly deliveryman who would just toss the medicine and leave, the friend who mocked his talk of breaking mental barriers with “You…?”, their faces blended together into something increasingly hideous.
“Why won’t you give me more medicine!?”
In a fury, Leon began swinging his sword at the demon.
Sometimes staggering, sometimes fiercely pressing forward, even rolling on the ground while yelling, “Aaaah!”
At some point, he began wildly dancing his sword. The demon was laughing and dancing in front of him, and Leon was merely dancing along, unable to lose.
“Insane… idiot…”
“Let’s just go to the second training ground.”
“Don’t swear. He’s still the second best or third ranked.”
The students murmured, but Leon, completely absorbed in his duel, paid them no mind.
Drugs.
More drugs.
That was the sole motivation behind Leon Rothe Dale’s sword swings. His practice continued well past midnight, fueled by the drug-induced state.
**
Master (Jin) Hoso-in.
There was no other way to describe Leon Rothe Dale’s current condition.
“He claims he has reached the wall of imagination. I checked with the Swordsmanship Department professors, and honestly, it lacks credibility. He spends lectures with a vacant expression, idling. Even during last month’s field assignment, when a Demon Worshipper attacked the students, he stood idly by watching.”
This was the report from the knight I sent to investigate.
Whether it was the wall of imagination, the fragment of insight, or enlightenment itself — the claim was that he was on the verge of achieving Master status.
If we only look at Leon’s original talent, this wouldn’t be unusual.
He might even be a little late compared to reaching Master level during a duel with Marcela in the original storyline.
Rationally, it was mostly likely false.
But it still warranted investigation, as it might help with an upcoming crisis from the original story.
In the original plot, Demon Worshippers began wreaking havoc during the Academy’s winter break.
That time was approaching.
Demon Worshippers were merely fanatical terrorists belonging to a dark cult — not a major threat. However, demons that manifested using their bodies as vessels were quite dangerous. Not only were they powerful, but they also employed cunning tactics.
Some brazenly attacked the Academy’s entrance ceremony, while others instigated national-level unrest.
‘If the Empire could gain one more Master, it would be a meaningful help. Even if solving the main conflict as actively as in the original work isn’t possible.’
With this thought, I decided it was time to finally evaluate Leon Rothe Dale and headed to the Academy.
My expectations were low.
The man had been immersed in health syrup and opium & rum for nearly a month, and then reliant on ephedrine and morphine for over three months. He must look more like a derelict addict rather than a genius nearing Master level.
Of course, there was no intention to perpetually supply him with free medicine.
By now, Leon must be feeling dissatisfied with the current dosage of 15 milligrams of morphine and 40 milligrams of ephedrine per session.
If there was no potential to use his power, it was time to make a decision.
This visit was to make that decision.
…
As soon as I arrived at the Academy, my already low expectations plummeted further.
“That gentleman? He’s Morphine.”
Some students were whispering this as they looked at me.
Their recognition wasn’t surprising.
After all, I had quite a reputation, being renowned for morphine supply and the fall of the third Imperial Princess, a key figure in the Medelin coup, and a figure of interest for many nobles.
The problem was that they were whispering right in front of me rather than from afar.
From their expressions, they seemed aware that morphine was used recreationally. I suspected some might be opium addicts.
‘First-year students, even.’
Of course, I had heard about the situation at the Academy.
I was told they implemented dormitory inspections and roll calls due to opium problems.
While this managed to eliminate dormitory dens, the problem persisted. In this semester alone, there were double-digit dropouts, and some of those who dropped out still frequented the area around the Academy, keeping in contact with current students.
It was clear that narcotics had already polluted the Academy.
With such conditions, guessing the state of Leon, a prime offender, wasn’t difficult. I would likely need to make a decision today…
“Lord Marquis.”
Marquis?
I immediately turned at a comment from behind.
In front of me stood a student, standing awkwardly with a slightly-open mouth, patchy beard, and a strangely unstable posture. His emaciated frame was odd, given that the Academy did not starve its students. A face I vaguely remembered, but one I hesitated to acknowledge.
Leon Rothe Dale.
His appearance, a clear indication that three months was not a short span, stood before me.
It was better not to ask about the “Marquis” comment. It was unclear what thought process led to it, and Leon himself would be incapable of explaining it anyway.
I had only provided him the standard dose in the hope that it would suffice… but apparently, it failed. I was contemplating the best way to resolve this when Leon spoke first.
“Medicine!”
“I haven’t come to deliver medicine.”
“But not for that reason. You see… I take it at 6 PM and 10 PM. Without it, I can’t see the demons. I don’t have any left now. I proved that I grasped the essence, so didn’t we agree on giving two extra doses of morphine? Why not increase… the morphine? And the Bulongyi?”
“…”
“It’s not about complaining.”
Had he made some sort of agreement for additional supply with an imagined person? While worrying about being caught, he still timidly held out his hand to beg for medicine.
I instructed Bono, who accompanied me, to provide the medicine.
“Leon Rothe Dale. You told one of our employees that you achieved enlightenment. Prove it. I’ll arrange a sparring partner for you.”
“Yes!”
Answering loudly, as if gobbling down the pill all at once, the protagonist of the original story sprinted toward the training ground with a blissfully unaware expression, unaware that free medicine had an end.