The Northern Grand Duchy was struck by a plague. A disease so swift and deadly that it was unlike anything seen before.

However, the witches who were supposed to suppress it were not in the best condition either.

They could only watch helplessly as the plague spread uncontrollably.

The pride of the Northerners, which had soared to the heavens with spices, fertilizers, porcelain, and paintings, plummeted.

The once-praised paradise of the North now found its morale scraping the bottom.

To make matters worse, the outbreak occurred after the visit of the bell-wielding witch, casting an even darker shadow on the Northerners’ perception of witches.

“What is the reaction of the Kingdoms’ Alliance? Have we received any updates from Sigma, who infiltrated Baedonheim?”

Crown Prince Canbraman, the mastermind behind this scheme, asked Prime Minister Karaso while reading a report on the Northern situation.

“Baedonheim has yet to grasp the situation. It all happened too suddenly.”

For the first time in a while, the Prime Minister answered with a soft smile.

Inside the Spring Palace, where the Crown Prince usually conducted affairs of state, the atmosphere was as warm as its name suggested.

Canbraman sat in the silver chair symbolizing the regency, placed just below the golden throne, as he reviewed state matters.

“Your Highness, the Northern relief force has just completed its preparations for departure.”

At that moment, a royal knight walked into the hall, knelt, and reported.

“Understood.”

The Crown Prince set aside the documents he had been reading.

He intended to personally send them off.

The Empire had decided to send a single legion to the North.

It was not an expeditionary force or a punitive army but a Northern relief force.

The stated purpose of their deployment was to aid the Northerners suffering from the plague.

Ricard, the royal champion and a superhuman equivalent to a Swordmaster, was appointed as the commander of this relief force.

‘I can only hope nothing happens while Ricard is away.’

For Canbraman, who had sacrificed greatly for the safety of both himself and his father, the Emperor, this was a calculated gamble.

“I will personally present Ricard with the Buol—a golden axe enchanted with all manner of magic, crafted by the Tower.”

Although the North had figures like Balzac and Soon, he was not particularly concerned.

The plague had thrown the North into chaos, and it spared neither soldiers nor knights.

In such conditions, it was impossible for just two superhumans to stand against the entire imperial army.

“Your Highness, Archbishop Theresia is expected to arrive shortly.”

“Very well. The Archbishop must be present as well. Once she arrives, we shall depart together.”

Additionally, the Church had dispatched numerous paladins and high-ranking priests to support the operation.

With both justification and power on their side, the Empire had crafted a scenario in which defeat was inconceivable.

‘But… this also means I won’t be able to claim the entire North as an imperial domain.’

On one hand, this realization left him uneasy. It felt like going through great effort only to give away the rewards to others.

‘I have no choice.’

Sighing, Canbraman rose from the regent’s seat.

The attendants waiting nearby approached to inspect the Crown Prince’s attire.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Just then, a subordinate burst into the hall, running urgently.

‘Your Majesty?’

The man, shockingly irreverent, addressed the Crown Prince as “Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty!”

“...?”

The man was the chamberlain who oversaw the Emperor’s personal chambers.

“His Majesty the former Emperor, Soled la Goit, has just passed away. From this moment, His Majesty Canbraman la Goit is the supreme ruler of the Empire.”

“!!”

“Long live the Emperor! Glory to the Thousand-Year Empire!”

The chamberlain proclaimed through tears.

“Long live the Emperor!”

“Glory to the Thousand-Year Empire!”

“Long live the Emperor!”

“Glory to the Thousand-Year Empire!”

Like dominoes, the cheers for the new Emperor echoed resoundingly through the hall.

“This is… truly tragic. My father has passed… What a sorrowful day for the Empire!”

Though now Emperor, Canbraman wore a sorrowful expression.

“…”

“…”

Yet the Prime Minister and ministers in the hall clearly saw it: the unmistakable smile in Emperor Canbraman’s eyes.

“Hurry and prepare for the former Emperor’s funeral and the coronation ceremony!”

The new Emperor calmed the gathering and issued his commands.

“And postpone the departure of the relief force.”

After all, the North was already dealt a blow from which it could not easily recover.

A slight delay would hardly matter.

“Once the former Emperor’s funeral is concluded and the coronation ceremony is complete, I will personally lead the relief force to the North.”

Though the Northern expedition was important, it could not surpass the significance of the funeral and coronation.

“The Northern expedition will be my first personal campaign as Emperor. Increase its scale even further!”

With that, he ascended the golden throne above.

Though the coronation had not yet taken place, and the imperial crown had yet to adorn his head, he now claimed the Emperor’s seat.

‘This is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for!’

Seated on the throne, Canbraman looked down at the hall he had used as his office.

Everything appeared different now.

‘Finally… finally, I am Emperor!’

The regency and the imperial throne were worlds apart.

Neither the imperial nobility nor the Church could challenge the Emperor’s authority.

Absolute imperial power remained distant, but it was still formidable.

If the Emperor casually commanded someone to die, they would at least have to pretend to comply.

“What is the meaning of this!? Postponing the relief force’s departure all of a sudden!?”

From outside, the voice of Archbishop Theresia rang out.

Distressed and agitated, she hurried into the hall.

“This is unacceptable! How can—oh…!”

About to voice her protests, she caught sight of Canbraman seated on the golden throne and fell silent.

“Your Majesty.”

She lowered her head and paid her respects.

In that brief moment, she had grasped the situation.

“I will hasten to prepare for the coronation…”

With that, Theresia exited the hall.

The crimson eyes of Emperor Canbraman, seated on the golden throne, burned with unparalleled exhilaration.

***

Soap had existed in Arcadia for over a hundred years.

If one were to consider the Golden Age, it likely existed much earlier, but regardless, soap had a presence here.

Unlike Earth’s medieval period, this otherworld had the good fortune of possessing at least a basic concept of hygiene.

Because of this, people used soap for washing regardless of whether they lived in the sweltering South or the frigid North.

“Of course, that’s only true for those who can afford it.”

I remarked while looking at the Nursing Kit for the Grand Duke, the name ultimately chosen for the Medi-Kit.

“Thanks to you, boss, even more Northerners will be able to use soap now. We’ve succeeded in mass production, and it even smells good,” Mary said beside me as she placed soap into the Medi-Kit.

Puff—

A short pipe filled with mana-infused tobacco hung from her lips.

“Why do you smoke so much when you’re not even an official witch?”

I looked at Mary curiously.

Unlike on Earth, tobacco in this world was harmless, thanks to mana’s cheat-like properties.

In fact, for mana users—especially mages—it was even beneficial.

“Well, it boosts mana, doesn’t it?”

Still, there was something about watching an employee I admired smoking mana-infused tobacco right in front of me that didn’t sit well.

“Why don’t you smoke, boss?”

Mary, seemingly oblivious to my feelings, found it strange that I didn’t smoke mana-infused tobacco.

“Would you like to try mine?” she asked, her face slightly flushed, as she offered me the pipe she’d been using.

“I don’t need it.”

I politely declined her offer.

“Don’t need it? Why not?”

Mary asked in a slightly sullen tone.

“Two circles of mana are more than enough for me. It’s not like I aim to become a master of magic.”

Though this was my excuse, the truth was that I had unpleasant memories of tobacco from Earth.

My father had been a heavy smoker, which led to his death from throat cancer.

To make matters worse, my mother had suffered from lung cancer caused by secondhand smoke and spent her final years in pain before passing away.

‘That’s why I never touched tobacco on Earth. I even deducted 20% of the points from job applicants who smoked during interviews.’

Because of these traumas, I couldn’t bring myself to like mana-infused tobacco, no matter how beneficial it was.

“Hm…”

Mary seemed to realize only then that I wasn’t pleased. She quietly extinguished her mana-infused pipe.

“What’s the matter?”

“Pardon?”

But remaining silent now would only make me seem like a nagging superior.

“Don’t mind me. Go ahead and smoke. For a mage, there’s nothing more important than mana.”

Though my words were insincere, I reassured Mary that it was fine.

“Is that so? Then…”

Tick—

Mary immediately lit her pipe again, smiling brightly.

Hoo—

The fresh scent of mana-infused tobacco wafted over my forehead with the breeze.

“...Let’s just focus on work.”

Resigned, I turned my attention back to the task at hand.

“Yes, sir.”

Mary, too, focused on her work, the pipe still in her mouth.

Currently, the two of us were sitting on the factory production line, helping with the packaging process.

Of course, our presence here wasn’t making much of a difference.

At best, we weren’t getting in the way.

‘It’s all about symbolism. Symbolism.’

This was purely for show.

A gesture of noblesse oblige during a time of national crisis.

The image of an heir to an earldom and the president of a company personally working on the production line?

No one in the Arad Industrial Complex would dare slack off under such circumstances.

“Boss, the sketches are complete.”

At that moment, a painter approached me cautiously and reported.

“Are they?”

I finished packaging the product in my hands and stood up.

Across from me, Mary continued her work, puffing smoke from her pipe.

“Let’s head to Factory No. 8.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep up the good work, Mary.”

“Yes~. Please send my regards to Director Tae.”

As I mentioned, this was a full-blown performance.

‘Now that I think about it, despite commissioning numerous paintings, I’ve never had my own portrait done.’

Soon, paintings by our resident artist would adorn the walls of the industrial complex, depicting me, Arad Jin, laboring alongside employees from the lowest positions.

“Oh, right! A message arrived earlier via the Winter Hawk,” Mary suddenly called out as I was about to leave for the next scene.

“A message? From whom?”

“Sir Balzac and the high-ranking knights will return to High Castle within two days.”

“Have they captured the bell-wielding witch?”

“It doesn’t seem so. They’re likely visiting to have the magical tools you made repaired.”

“Is that so? Understood. Once you finish this batch, return to the office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Although a critical crisis loomed over the North, life in High Castle and the Arad Industrial Complex remained as peacefully busy as ever.

***

The Arad Medi-Kit was divided into two main types.

One was the “Care of the Grand Duke,” a general-purpose medical kit designed for household use.

It contained a variety of items: a red antiseptic reminiscent of Earth’s iodine solution, powdered cold medicine, ointments, soap, bandages, medicinal herbs with pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory properties, hemostatic powder, and digestive aids.

Each kit also included an illustrated manual printed using the rudimentary press Arad had hastily developed.

The second type was the “Blessing of Renslet,” a professional-grade medical kit.

In addition to the contents of the “Care of the Grand Duke,” it featured liquid antiseptics, immune boosters, and penicillin-based antibiotics, along with syringes.

Both kits were the culmination of Arad’s MAX-level skills in alchemy, healing, and herbalism.

They were crafted to extend life and were designed to be mass-produced using the materials and infrastructure of the current era.

“Alright~, here comes the pinch!”

Dorothy, a priestess of the Renslet Church, spoke as she administered an injection into a patient’s arm.

Scattered around her were no fewer than 30 boxes of the professional-grade medical kit, Blessing of Renslet.

In addition to these kits, separate supplies of immune boosters, cold medicines, antibiotics, and syringes were piled up like a wall nearby.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“It’s alright. It’ll just sting for a moment.”

She repeated the same words countless times, administering injections with practiced precision.

At this point, she could practically do it with her eyes closed.

The trembling hands that once left patients’ arms bruised were now a thing of the past.

“All done!”

Dorothy stood up after finishing the injection.

Crack, crack.

After treating and tending to patients for hours on end, her young body ached and groaned in protest.

Stretching, she dusted off the Renslet Church priestess robes she had donned to create a sense of solemnity.

Cough, cough, cough.

As she stretched, the occasional sound of coughing echoed through the ward.

“The symptoms are subsiding quickly.”

Hearing those sporadic coughs brought her a sense of relief.

Compared to a few days ago, the ward was much quieter now.

“What… what will happen to me now, Priestess?”

Just then, the patient Dorothy had just treated asked, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Eat well, get plenty of rest, wash thoroughly, boil your clothes and bedding in hot water, and most importantly, wash your hands often.”

Dorothy answered mechanically, as she had countless times before.

Despite this being her hundredth or perhaps thousandth repetition, she still wore a gentle smile.

“Ah… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Hearing her words, the patient reacted as though he had been truly saved.

“Renslet… Rune Renslet… My children… your father is coming back alive. Alive…”

Expressing his gratitude repeatedly, the patient’s voice soon trailed off, likely due to the effects of the medicine, and he drifted into sleep.

“This must be what divine power feels like.”

With this patient treated, Dorothy had no immediate cases to attend to.

Though she was utterly exhausted, she considered herself fortunate.

She was serving in a neighborhood that was relatively well-off, considered middle class in this city.

Other members of the Renslet Church were said to be working in slums or the wilderness, relying on soldiers for protection as they tended to the afflicted.

After resting for about five minutes,

“Priestess Dorothy! We have another patient! He was found collapsed in an alley, so the discovery was delayed!”

Soldiers arrived, carrying another patient.

“Hurry! Lay him down here!”

Dorothy bid farewell to her fleeting respite.

“Rune Renslet… please grant me the strength to save this poor soul…”

Silently offering a heartfelt prayer, she examined the patient and opened her medical kit.

Hummm.

A faint divine aura began to emanate from Dorothy’s body.

Though subtle, this phenomenon was not unique to her—it was occurring among other priests of the Renslet Church as well.