Chapter 82
One day, I dropped my eyes to another piece of paper.
Prior to that, a report had come up. Joint pain, swelling of the knees, difficulty walking. Papers lined with similar descriptions had already been compiled separately.
The doctors had begun selecting patients and observing their progress based on their own thoughts.
Soaking them in the hot springs, having them rest, and arranging their meals.
They applied the flow up until now exactly as it was.
The church was watching that too. Outside the bathhouse, beside the recording desk. The men in black clothing were taking records and observing the progress without interjecting anything.
However, results had not appeared.
“…The changes are scarce, huh.”
I trace the written text with my finger. The pain remains, and the swelling does not recede. Rather, there is even an appearance of them stiffening due to not moving.
At that report, the people of the church gave a small nod.
“It is different from the skin.”
“It lacks reproducibility.”
Low voices are exchanged.
“As expected, was that result an anomaly?”
I lightly tapped the paper.
—Joints, huh.
I pull out several sheets.
“These people.”
The doctor receives the papers and runs his eyes through them.
“…A worsening of old wounds, or perhaps the joint pain of the elderly.”
“You’re wrong. They are just not moving them.”
The doctor raises his face. I continued.
“If warmed, they loosen. And, if moved, they will return.”
Silence.
“…Just soaking in the hot water is not enough.”
I looked outside the window, in the direction where the steam was rising.
“There is a method unique to this land.”
A few days later.
People were gathered in a corner of the bathhouse.
An old farmer. A woman with a bent back. And a single knight. Standing as if protecting one knee. He has removed his armor, but his body is clearly that of a knight.
Around them, slightly apart—shadows of black clothing.
The people of the church do not interject this time either.
They just watch.
“Do not just soak, move them.”
The patients enter the hot water. The doctor furrowed his brow.
“…Even if you say to move them.”
I let out a small breath.
“…You people are mistaking the method.”
The doctors raise their faces. Behind them, a man in black clothing raised his gaze slightly.
“You think it will be effective if you put them in hot water for a long time, don’t you.”
No one denies it.
“That is wrong. If you put heat in when it is swollen, it is adding oil to a fire. Make it lukewarm first.”
A slight stir runs through. It extended not only to the doctors but also to the people of the church taking records.
“Making them drink too much is the same. If you pour strong hot water into a weakened person, it will end with them upsetting their stomach.”
One of the doctors raised his face as if startled.
“…Then, to what extent.”
“Little by little. Divide the frequency.”
I continue.
“And, do not put those with wounds and those with skin illnesses in the same hot water. Separate them. Cloths must absolutely be boiled.”
I sweep my gaze around further.
“If you just let them lie down, they will stiffen. Move them inside the hot water. Within a range where pain does not occur is fine.”
I demonstrated slowly moving the knight’s leg inside the hot water.
At that moment—gazes gather. Not only the doctors. The people in black clothing were also watching.
The knight distorted his face, but moved it without minding. In the water, weight disappears, and movements that cannot be done on land become possible.
“…Light.”
The knight muttered. I nodded.
“That’s right. When you are done, use this.”
What I presented was crushed tree bark. Thinly shaved and dried. Its appearance is merely nothing more than pieces of wood.
The doctor takes it in his hand and furrows his brow.
“…Isn’t this just wood.”
I shook my head.
“Willow. It softens pain.”
I myself had read books on medicinal herbs and accumulated knowledge.
The doctor’s eyes narrow slightly.
“…I have heard of it. To brew it and have them drink it.”
“That is fine too. But this time, apply it. I heard it was used for the wounds of soldiers in the past.”
Wrap the crushed tree bark in a cloth, warm it, and apply it to the affected area.
“After warming it with the hot water, press it with this. After moving it is the crux. Do not let it cool.”
A few days later. The knight was walking while using a cane. Furthermore, a few days later. He was standing without a cane.
And.
“…Can he ride?”
Someone muttered. Saying nothing, the knight put his hand on his horse. Slowly, he pulls his body up.
For an instant, his knee shook. But, he got on.
The surroundings fall completely silent. Within that silence, there was another gaze. A man in black clothing narrows his eyes slightly.
The knight straightened his back just like that. Like his figure from the past. Eventually, he lets out a small breath.
“…It has returned.”
That single phrase was sufficient.
The stir did not remain in that place.
Within that day, the words leaked outside.
“Did you see? That knight… was supposed to be unable to walk.”
“They say he was just put in the hot water and moved.”
“It must be a lie.”
“But he got on. He certainly got on a horse.”
Doubt and excitement intermingle. Eventually, it changes shape.
“…Can it be cured?”
Someone muttered low. That single phrase spreads.
Before a few days passed, the rumors crossed the roads. To the post towns, to the markets, and to the manors.
“Did you hear? About that hot spring resort.”
“Apparently it cures illnesses.”
The words take on further concreteness.
Nobles said.
“…If it is to that extent, it may be fine to try.”
Acting lightly. But their eyes were serious.
…Perhaps I, too, can be cured.
Knights muttered low.
“…Can I return to battle?”
Not directing it at anyone to hear. However, there was heat in those voices.
…Perhaps I can grip a sword once more.
Merchants laughed.
“People will gather. If so, it will turn into money.”
Their movements were fast. Packing their goods, choosing paths, and entering first. Faster than anyone else.
A certain room.
In the room surrounded by stone walls, people were gathered once again.
On the desk, records are piled up.
Skin, abdomen, and—joints.
No one opened their mouth immediately.
Eventually, one says.
“…It cannot be explained.”
It was a low voice.
Another man quietly taps the paper with his finger.
“No, it can.”
Gazes gather.
“They all have things in common. Washing, restriction, adjustment. Correcting excesses and deficiencies, and arranging the body. That is all there is to it.”
A matter-of-fact tone.
“It is not a miracle. It is logical.”
But another voice cuts that off.
“…Can things align to this extent with just that.”
The air pulls slightly taut.
“Skin, abdomen, joints. That it applies to everything—is too convenient.”
“It is not convenience. It is a system.”
He returns immediately.
“It is just that we do not know it, logic exists.”
“Then, where is that logic.”
The words stop.
“…It is within that person.”
Someone said low.
The air changes.
“The Third Prince.”
They do not say the name. Just that was sufficient.
“He moves as if he knows the results. There is no hesitation. It is not a coincidence.”
Another continues.
“If so, is that knowledge? Or perhaps—something else?”
At that single phrase, a slight tension runs through.
“Do not speak lightly.”
A suppressed voice.
“It is our role to speak of miracles.”
“That is exactly why.”
He persists.
“Without prayer, without ritual, such results appear. Are you going to dismiss that as ‘mere logic’?”
No one replied immediately.
Eventually, the man who opened his mouth first said slowly.
“…Either is fine.”
Gazes gather.
“Whether it is logic or not—the result is the same. …People will gather.”
To those words, no one objected.
“If so, there is no reason to block the path.”
“But if we acknowledge it—”
“We will not acknowledge it.”
He interrupts immediately.
“We will not call it a miracle. We will not call it holy either. We just let it pass.”
It was a quiet voice.
“As one point on the journey of pilgrimage.”
Silence.
It was a compromise. At the same time, it was also a decision. Eventually, one nods.
“…Meaning we will not bear responsibility.”
“That’s right.”
Another also nods slowly.
“But we will receive the flow.”
That was sufficient for a conclusion.
The church finally handed down a single decision.
It was not an exaggerated declaration. But it is heavy. To monasteries and pilgrim inns in various regions, a single notification is sent.
—On the path of pilgrimage, we do not hinder passing through the land in question.
It is a simple wording, but that holds meaning. Continuing, it was written like this.
—There are reports that those suffering from illnesses are obtaining comfort and recovery in said land. On the journey of pilgrimage, arranging the body serves as an aid to fulfilling the duties of the soul.
It was “acknowledging it as a part of the pilgrimage.”
I ran my eyes through the report and stopped my finger.
“…Acknowledge it as a part of the pilgrimage, huh.”
A short single sentence. I placed the paper on the desk.
The waiting Marc lets out a slight breath.
“Yes. They are not treating it as a miracle. They have not granted it the status of a holy site either. However—as a pilgrimage route, they are saying it is fine to pass through.”
I gave a small nod.
That is sufficient. A pilgrimage is, originally, something determined by the church. Where to pass, where to drop by. That is faith, and at the same time, the “path” itself grasped by the church.
If you call yourself one arbitrarily, you are a heretic. If you gather people arbitrarily, you will be eliminated. However, once the church says “it is fine to pass”—it is a different story.
I said quietly.
“…It won’t be able to be stopped.”
Marc laughs slightly.
“Yes. Pilgrims walk the correct path.”
The church decides that “correctness.” At the point this land was included there, people will flow in without reason.
In the name of faith. In the name of prayer. Without being reproached by anyone.
“…They are skillful, aren’t they.”
I mutter softly.
They do not bear responsibility. But they do not let profits escape. A method very like the church. I leaned back in my chair.
“With this, it is no longer a ‘rumor’.”
I say quietly.
“It becomes a path.”
That alone was sufficient.
