Chapter 89

One year later.

This land was no longer in its former state.

And—Marc was watching all of it.

Outside the gates, lines formed, and figures continuously populated the highway. Pilgrims, those harboring illnesses, and their attendants. And, the merchants who anticipated them. Everyone was aiming for this land.

The sick did not merely gather. Many of them recovered. Those who clung to canes stood on their own two feet, and those who could not move from their beds emerged beneath the outside light. Their complexions returned, and strength dwelled in their voices. Those who saw that called the next.

The fact that they were cured became the greatest proof of all.

The method of collecting taxes was set, and the permits became widely recognized. Those who voiced dissatisfaction also gradually disappeared.

His Highness used the increased taxes to strengthen security. Gathering personnel, raising them, and revising their wages to a pay that matched their work.

Maintaining the roads, making the flow even thicker. And, he unsparingly poured money into the medical university as well.

Marc understood.

This was something assembled from the very beginning.

Consolidating people, money, and techniques into one, and making them circulate.

His Highness had created that “shape.”

And—on the outside.

Like a quiet wave, movements were spreading.

The lords were observing the situation. Whether to make him an enemy, or join hands. Their judgments were divided, but no one remained doing nothing. The flow of people on the highways changed, and the pilgrims who had passed through their own territories until now decreased. Instead, they headed to that hot spring resort. Inns emptied, donations decreased, and taxes dropped.

“…At this rate, we will be whittled down.”

Lords who voiced such things were also beginning to appear. On the other hand, there were other movements as well.

“If so, we should just sell.”

Carts loaded with food began to move.

Wheat, dried meat, alcohol. That land has increased its people too much. If we secure it first, we can sell continuously.

Furthermore, there were those who sent envoys.

“Can you accept our sick?”

“I want to have my doctors learn there.”

They were the ones who decided to utilize it, not as an enemy. However, their vigilance had not disappeared either.

“They are gathering too much.”

“If something happens, they will gain power all at once.”

Those attempting to contact the doctors inside. Quietly, hands were reaching out.

This land had already become an “existence that could not help but be factored into calculations” for the surrounding territories.

The merchants had already produced their answer. They were swarming.

Loading their goods, choosing their paths, and entering first. Securing inns, taking spaces, and entrenching themselves at the center of the flow.

“There are people. If so, things will sell.”

That alone was sufficient.

Spices, cloth, alcohol, medicinal herbs, and food. All sorts of things were carried in, and all sorts of things turned into money in this land.

Faster than anyone, deeper than anyone. The merchants were beginning to take root.

And—another wave was quietly, but certainly, surging forward.

“…Apparently, the pain disappears.”

Such rumors had reached even among the nobles.

At first, they were half in doubt. But there were those who actually returned. It was said they ate meals without holding their cheeks, and could sleep at night too. And, they were laughing.

They understood what that meant.

Eventually, carriages appeared.

Decorated as they were, they were clearly different from the lines of pilgrims. The one who stepped out from inside was a well-dressed man. His face was distorted. Pressing one cheek, he bit out his words.

“…I heard that this land has that art.”

An attendant presents a box. Inside, it was packed with silver and gold coins.

“I will pay an appropriate reward. By all means, I ask of you.”

Similar people appeared one after another. Nobles unable to endure the pain. Those who had suffered for a long time. Or perhaps, their families.

They did not spare gold. They just wanted to escape the pain, that was all.

And, as if chasing after them, other people also began to gather. Doctors.

“…Is tooth extraction while suppressing the pain truly possible?”

“What medicine are they using?”

“To what extent is the dosage?”

They sought knowledge, not money.

Those pressing to be shown the records. Those requesting to observe. Among them, there were even those trying to stay.

From a place that cures, to a place that learns.

The meaning of this land was beginning to change little by little.

Furthermore, the pilgrimage routes were arranged.

Signposts stood, inns increased, and watering places were arranged.

Spoken of as “the path leading to the land of healing,” people began to flow in more, and without hesitation.

It was not a mere rumor. It held a certain shape as a place to follow.

The flow of people gathering in this land was also exactly the flow of faith. Prayers are offered, and donations pile up.

“…We should build a new cathedral here.”

Such voices had begun to rise within the church.

If arranged as a land of pilgrimage, even more people will gather. Faith will also grow stronger. It was not a matter of doubt, but a judgment bordering on conviction.

They already have the funds.

Stone, and people, can be assembled.

All that was left was—when to step forward.

Faith, money, and knowledge—everything gathers to this land. Marc quietly looked up at the sky.

“…It’s come this far, huh.”

He muttered so softly. He has pride. But, more than that.

“…It is beyond imagination.”

That was his genuine realization.

And, the Royal Capital.

News arriving belatedly. The increase in people, the growth of taxes, the relationship with the church. The reports piled up, and eventually took shape.

“…It is not a passing fad. There is a foundation.”

Someone said. The evaluation of it as a territory begins.

The First Prince picked up the report.

He silently ran his eyes through it for a while. The fingers flipping the pages were slow. Eventually, he stopped his hands.

“…To think it would grow this far.”

He muttered so softly. That was wonder, joy, and—a slight loneliness.

Emotions toward something that had left his own hands and begun to take shape in another place. But at the same time, a certain pride was there.