235 “Disease”
Observing Lumian’s silence, Michel spoke with anxiety creeping into her voice.
“If you’re not willing, I can find someone else.”
“Who should I look for… They don’t really like us. They can’t stand our foul odor…”
That was precisely why she sought out Lumian, a leader of the mob. Lumian and Charlie were the only ones at Auberge du Coq Doré who could calmly communicate with the couple, but Charlie had already left.
Glancing at the short and hunched figure of Madame Michel, Lumian let out a sigh and responded.
“I’ll go and check it out.”
Still perplexed, he walked past Madame Michel, hastened up to the second floor, and entered Room 302.
The place was filled with various kinds of rubbish, emitting an indescribable stench. Lumian raised his hand, pinching his nose, and maneuvered his way through the cramped space, barely fitting a single person, until he reached the yellowish and greasy bedsheet.
Ruhr, with his wrinkled eyes tightly shut, lay on the bed, his face flushed and his breath ragged. He had fainted.
He’s seriously ill… Lumian furrowed his brow, holding his breath. He turned around and carried Ruhr out of the room.
Meanwhile, Michel swiftly rummaged through the piles of trash, uncovering hidden spots with single banknotes and coins, which she promptly concealed on her person.
Soon, they left Room 302. As Michel locked the door, she spoke to Lumian.
“Monsieur Ciel, pay me no mind. Send Ruhr to the clinic without me. I’ll catch up.”
Lumian nodded, quickened his pace, and sprinted out of Auberge du Coq Doré.
He was familiar with Rue des Blouses Blanches’ clinics, often frequenting the area. After a short sprint, he spotted the Roblin Clinic, a small hospital in all but name.
Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman and Quartier de No?l had been neighboring districts for some time now. The Holy Palace Hospital, funded by the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, was located across the bridge. As a result, only a few clinics were situated on this side of the bridge.
Roblin Clinic had two doctors on duty during the night. Temporary beds were set up in the spacious hall, with a few patients lying on them, receiving infusion treatments.
Lumian carried Ruhr to one of the doctors and gently placed him on a treatment bed.
The doctor, donning gold-rimmed glasses and in his early thirties, glanced at Lumian. Without directly mentioning any consultation fees, he disdainfully examined Ruhr’s condition.
After a few minutes, he adjusted his glasses and spoke.
“He’s running a high fever, but there don’t appear to be any other symptoms. I suggest we try to bring down the fever first. If it persists, we should immediately transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital.”
“Alright.” Lumian possessed limited medical knowledge, so he could only heed the doctor’s advice.
The doctor swiftly wrote a prescription for Lumian and instructed him to make the necessary payment. Lumian complied, receiving the fever medicine and infusion drip from the pharmacy.
The Fool Pharmaceutical Company’s Type 1357 Fever Medicine… Lumian glanced at the prescription’s contents and then proceeded to the payment window.
Madame Michel finally arrived, panting and exhausted.
She accepted the prescription from Lumian and glanced at the price. In a burst of frustration, she exclaimed, “It’s 5 verl d’or…”
Without waiting for Lumian’s response, she clenched her teeth and retrieved copper and silver coins. She gathered 5 verl d’or and paid the consultation fee.
Before long, Ruhr was carried to a temporary bed for the infusion.
This treatment had gained popularity only in recent years.
Madame Michel finally regained her composure and spoke to Lumian.
“Thank you, Monsieur Ciel. You can go back and rest. I’ll stay with Ruhr.”
Lumian didn’t insist. After all, he wasn’t a doctor.
He nodded slightly and directed his gaze towards Ruhr. Concentrating, he intended to check on his luck.
Lumian couldn’t help but furrow his brow.
Monsieur Ruhr was on the brink of death!
However, it wasn’t severe or evident. Unlike the previous vagrant, there seemed to be a chance of salvation.
Just as Lumian was about to suggest transferring him to the Holy Palace Hospital, Ruhr’s condition took a turn.
Translucent blisters resembling burns emerged on his skin. They swiftly filled with light yellow pus, exhibiting signs of festering.
Such symptoms, such progression, and such rapid evolution caused Lumian’s pupils to contract. His intuition informed him that this was no ordinary illness.
Perhaps it was connected to mysticism and supernatural forces!
Monsieur Ruhr is merely a scavenger. Why is he affected by supernatural powers? Lumian raised his head and pointed at the unconscious Ruhr. He addressed Madame Michel, “You’re believers of the Eternal Blazing Sun, correct? Take him to the église Saint-Robert and give it a try.”
He sensed that the Holy Palace Hospital might not be equipped to treat an illness involving supernatural powers. It would be better to visit the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral and determine if purification could eliminate the effects.
Madame Michel noticed her husband’s peculiar transformation and pleaded with a sobbing tone, “No, transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital! Transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital!”
To Madame Michel’s understanding, seeking blessings at the cathedral was akin to giving up on treatment and preparing for the solace of a deathbed.
Lumian refrained from persuading her, realizing that it was the dead of night and église Saint-Robert had long closed its doors. Moreover, Ruhr and Michel were nothing more than a couple of scavengers, so the chances of the cathedral opening for them were slim.
Additionally, église Saint-Robert was quite far away. Ruhr’s condition was rapidly deteriorating, and he might not survive the journey, let alone live long enough to rouse the cathedral’s caretakers to unlock the door.
Lumian observed Ruhr, whose blisters had burst and were now oozing pus. After a brief moment of silence, he spoke to Madame Michel, “Find a doctor and transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital immediately.”
“Alright, alright!” Michel snapped out of her daze and hurriedly approached the doctor who had attended to Ruhr.
Once she vacated the temporary bed, Lumian positioned himself to block the view of the other patients. From his pocket, he retrieved an iron-colored metal canister adorned with a spring fountain pattern.
This was the Healing Agent he had obtained from “Baldy” Harman!
Lumian believed that ailments as a result of mysticism could only be countered by mysticism remedies. Although uncertain whether this agent, primarily meant for external injuries, would work on Ruhr, he was determined to give it a shot.
Unscrewing the cap, he pinched Ruhr’s mouth open and forced down half of the agent.
Ruhr, seemingly parched, instinctively swallowed the clear liquid resembling a refreshing spring.
After two gulps, he began to calm down.
In less than a minute, Madame Michel returned with the doctor. The blisters on Ruhr’s face shriveled, scabbed over, and silently fell away.
It actually worked… Lumian breathed a sigh of relief and focused on observing the shifts in Ruhr’s fate.
This time, there were no signs of impending death. Ruhr’s destiny for the next few days appeared somewhat chaotic, making it difficult for Lumian to decipher or speculate upon.
Perplexed, the doctor glanced at Ruhr and asked Madame Michel, “Isn’t he in pretty good shape?”
Madame Michel also noticed that the dreadful blisters that had marred her husband’s face were now gone, leaving behind only scars and wrinkles. His breathing had steadied and was no longer labored.
“I apologize for my anxiety,” she quickly apologized.
The doctor, irritated by the stench emanating from her and Ruhr, waved his hand dismissively.
“The Fool Pharmaceutical Company’s medications are far more effective than others. Since the situation has improved, keep a close eye on him. Don’t rush to transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital.”
With that, he hastily departed from the temporary bed.
Madame Michel slumped down next to Ruhr, occasionally checking his forehead to gauge his body temperature.
Lumian remained by their side. He pulled up a stool and sat, attentively observing Ruhr’s condition.
Ten minutes later, Ruhr opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the unfamiliar white ceiling.
“Where am I?”
Michel let out a sigh of relief and swiftly recounted his sudden illness.
“Why did I fall ill out of the blue?” Ruhr was bewildered. “I felt perfectly fine before going to bed.”
Interrupting their conversation, Lumian casually inquired, “What did you do before bed that was different from your usual routine?”
“Nothing,” Ruhr pondered for a moment before replying, “Just the usual routine. I sorted through the trash I collected, went to the washroom, had a chat, and then went to sleep… Maybe I came back late last night. It was nearly one o’clock by the time I finished sorting. I guess I ended up sleeping too late…”
Could there be something amiss with the garbage? Or did something occur during the day that only manifested in the dead of night? Lumian delved deeper, hoping for valuable clues from Ruhr and Michel, but alas, his efforts proved fruitless.
Ruhr recuperated swiftly. Once the IV had been administered, he insisted on leaving the Roblin Clinic immediately, unwilling to spend any more money and determined to return to the motel before dawn.
Observing that Ruhr’s luck remained unchanged, Lumian didn’t try to dissuade him.
Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 302.
Lumian furrowed his brow, surveying the piles of garbage emitting various odors, hoping to pinpoint the problematic one. Ruhr and Michel stood beside him, expressing their gratitude incessantly.
Given the peculiar environment, his sense of smell proved useless. Lumian activated his Spirit Vision and observed for a while, yet found no clues.
He could only say to Ruhr and Michel, “We can’t rule out the possibility that there might be something contaminated in this trash that caused your illness. Sleep in a different room tonight and wait until morning.”
Lumian intended to seek the assistance of Franca, a skilled Witch in divination, once she awoke, in order to identify the source of the problem.
Before Ruhr could respond, Michel, terrified by her husband’s sudden illness and brush with death, spoke up.
“Alright! Thank you, Monsieur Ciel.”
Two vacant rooms were available on the third floor. Lumian arranged for Ruhr and Michel to rest in Room 307.
It was already past four in the morning. Lumian returned to Room 207 and lay on the bed, contemplating the reason behind the strange occurrence. Gradually, he drifted off into a dazed slumber.
Suddenly, he jolted awake, barely catching a glimpse of a woman’s anguished cry.
Lumian’s heart tightened as he grabbed Fallen Mercury and left the room. Following the sound of the wailing, he ascended to the third floor.
In the darkness, his heart sank as he slowed his pace, filled with trepidation.
Finally, he halted outside Room 307. In the crimson moonlight that filtered through the curtains, he spotted Madame Michel kneeling before the bed, weeping uncontrollably.
Sensing his approach, Michel, clad in a yellow gown, turned her tear-streaked face in the dimness and directed her gaze towards the door.
Her voice hollow, she uttered, “Ciel—Monsieur Ciel, Ruhr is dead…”