The Obsessive Regressor of The Academy

2. Drug Delivery

Colds, influenza, and pneumonia shared a similar face. Yet none could be taken lightly in the slums.

A simple cold might be weathered with time and a reliance on one’s immune system, but even that was a gamble. Here, people succumbed to even the mildest sicknesses like insects beneath a boot.

Influenza and pneumonia were far worse. Without proper medical intervention, complete recovery was practically unattainable.

Even a miraculous recovery always left some kind of mark. A strange limp, slurred speech – these were common impairments in the slums.

But even that was a product of miracle. In most cases, influenza and pneumonia simply claimed their victims.

Could Evelyn escape such a fate? Could she recover without treatment, without any lingering damage?

Impossible. The time for believing in such fairy tales had long since passed. Asel pressed a cold metal object against Evelyn’s forehead, clenching his jaw tight.

According to his memories from his previous life, pneumonia and influenza were not so dire. While the mortality rate was significant, advanced medicine had conquered both diseases, and with timely treatment, death was practically unheard of.

But this was different.

Was the medicine of this world inferior compared to his past life? To a degree, yes. But it was not so primitive that it couldn’t treat pneumonia or influenza. A complete cure might be beyond reach, but a visit to a physician in the city could prevent the worst.

The problem was, such care was simply out of reach.

Ultimately, it came down to money. It was the environment, the cursed reality they lived in. A truth he had tasted from the moment he left home. No, since long before even when living under his parent’s wing. Only the acknowledgement was delayed.

“……Asel.”

Just as Asel writhed within the iron grip of reality’s cruelties, Evelyn called out his name, her eyes half-open. Her hushed voice pulled him back.

“Sis! Are you alright? Can you speak?”

“……Asel. Blood.”

“……What?”

“Blood… you fool…”

Evelyn spoke thus, tracing a streak of crimson from Asel’s lip with a finger. A steady bead of blood followed, a testament to a split gum from teeth clenched too tight. Asel hadn’t even noticed until Evelyn pointed it out.

“Don’t be in pain…”

Evelyn smudged the blood on her finger onto the blanket, forcing a fragile smile. The words affected Asel more than the gesture.

“Look who’s talking…!”

“I’m alright, Asel… I’m alright… Don’t, haah, don’t worry about me.”

“Bullshit.”

Asel dismissed Evelyn’s words outright. He moved the heated metal aside, already placing a different, cooler piece against Evelyn’s brow.

Evelyn opened her mouth to protest Asel’s actions, but Asel spoke faster.

“Wait for me. I’ll get medicine.”

“…Asel.”

“Don’t die before then. And don’t pass out. I’ll be back before sunset, so stay awake until then.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Asel rose abruptly and exited the crumbling shack. A frigid winter wind blew, seeming to chill him to the very marrow, but Asel pressed on without hesitation.

He thought of Evelyn.

The only blood relative who took responsibility for him in place of parents, driven mad by demons to murder and eat human flesh. Congenitally frail, yet she still somehow managed to climb trees and pick fruit, her smiling face vivid in his memory.

After arriving in the slums, unlike himself who rested when there was no work, she never missed a day at the factory. If she was lucky enough to get decent food, she always shared the edible parts with him. He couldn’t forget those moments.

And he’s just supposed to watch this person die? Just watch her because she may die any time and at least he has to attend the deathbed?

‘Total bullshit.’

Asel had no intention of doing that. Miracles didn’t happen from prayer alone. Something had to be done to make even something resembling a miracle. He had not forgotten that rule since he settled in the slums.

Asel pushed on, forcing warmth into his rapidly cooling body. His destination was the drug manufacturing plant.

‘Stealing medicine from the city is practically impossible.’

The city’s security was hardly lax. Guards were visible near even simple merchants, to prevent robbery, so how could he possibly infiltrate a doctor’s office and steal medicine?

Even if he was lucky enough to quietly enter a doctor’s office, there was no way to distinguish pneumonia medicine from flu medicine among the countless remedies. Asel had no knowledge of pharmaceuticals.

So, he had to find another way. The only way, and one of the things Asel did best in the slums.

“I want to deliver drugs.”

He shouted the moment he entered the factory.

*

The drug factory operated surprisingly simply.

The factory owner, the source of the drugs, brought them in from outside, refined and produced some, and distributed the rest for sale.

Asked which was more important, those involved usually chose the refining. Refining the drugs well and selling high-quality products generated far more revenue.

In that regard, the factory where Asel had come was considered quite decent for renovations, even within the slums. A piece of information he knew well, having worked as a delivery boy here before.

“So.”

Asel, still seated, focused on the voice coming from across from him. A middle-aged man with sharp features stared down at him, then began to speak.

“You want to take on the delivery with the highest pay?”

“That’s right.”

“The reason?”

“I need money urgently. To buy medicine.”

“Medicine, hmm…”

The man, the factory owner, muttered, leaning back into the sofa. Then he gave a short, dry laugh and took a sip of his coffee.

“Are you aware how strange it is that I’m even having this conversation with you?”

“…Yes, I am.”

Just a few weeks prior, Asel had spilled the drugs he was carrying, grinding them into dust finer than sand. The source of those drugs he was transporting belonged to the factory owner sitting before him. Asel had not only botched that delivery spectacularly, but he had disappeared without a word for days afterward.

Because of that, the factory owner had lost a customer who regularly ordered drugs, and even suffered a slight blow to his credibility with other clients. A small loss, but one that couldn’t be ignored.

And now, he suddenly reappears, asking for a high-paying delivery job.

“Don’t you think there’s a limit to how brazen one can be?”

“…”

“Frankly, I’d like to kill you right now and sell your organs on the black market. Connoisseurs quite fancy the organs of young runts, you know. Whether they’re mere collectors or devil worshippers, either one will pay a hefty price.”

A chilling statement. But Asel didn’t tremble. The very fact that he was saying it was practically a declaration that he wouldn’t do it. The factory owner, knowing that Asel was quite sharp, quickly moved on to a different subject instead of continuing to intimidate him.

“You need medicine, you say.”

“…Yes.”

“Expensive medicine?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know the market price. But it’s a common enough medicine.”

“So, something around five silver coins, perhaps? In this dump, that’s enough to eat and play for more than half a year.”

“…”

“As it happens, a job with a similar payout has come in. The problem is, no one wants to take it.”

Good news and bad news. It was good that there was a job available, but the reason it was still available was the problem.

No one wants to take it.

That meant there was a reason, a reason strong enough to make people refuse the task. A reason, perhaps, that put one’s life in danger.

The factory owner immediately explained the reason without hesitation.

“It’s a commission from a Corpse Necromancer.”

“…The Corpse Sorcerer, you say?”

“Indeed.”

The Factory Owner nodded, while Asel’s face steadily began to sour.

A Corpse Sorcerer. As the name implied, a magician who manipulated corpses. Unlike typical mages who transmuted mana into magical power, they were peculiar mages who converted death-energy into spells. This defining characteristic earned them a less-than-stellar reputation.

In truth, their reputation wasn’t far off the mark. To them, sentient beings were merely resources for magic, and morals or emotions were nothing more than useless byproducts to be discarded when learning magic.

What mattered to them were the rituals and transcendence achieved through corpses, the lingering thoughts of the deceased, and their individual accomplishments.

“He wants five crates of narcotics. He’s already paid a deposit here, and promised a bonus upon delivery.”

“…”

“The drugs are worth five gold coins. Seven silver coins will go to the delivery boy. More than you were hoping for, wouldn’t you say?”

The Factory Owner grinned. Asel chewed his lip for a moment before asking in a low voice.

“…I suspect there’s a price for arranging this request. Otherwise, you wouldn’t offer even a rotten job like this to someone as untrustworthy as me.”

“Haha! You’re sharp, alright. Had you been born into a noble family, you might have amounted to something?”

The Factory Owner leaned forward toward Asel as he spoke.

“Let’s get to the point. In exchange for this job, I want to incorporate you into my organization. And that includes your sister, of course.”

“…”

“I see potential in you, in my own way. Your mind works well beyond your years, and your memory is sharp. The fact that you escaped once is a bit of a concern, but as long as I hold Evelyn hostage, you won’t run off on a whim, will you?”

Asel pressed his lips together. Ignoring him, the Factory Owner stretched his lips into a wide grin, continuing his spiel.

“As time goes on, your mind will only become more exceptional. I’ve seen plenty of your kind. Those who show promise from a young age invariably make a name for themselves later on. I believe you’re one of those people. I’ve never seen anyone memorize a map of the slums, and rattle off descriptions of the narcotics being delivered, immediately after hearing it.”

“…You overestimate me.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

The Factory Owner took a drink of coffee to soothe his scratchy throat from talking so much, then looked down at Asel.

“So, will you do it?”

The answer was already decided.