Chapter 41: Corruption
“Milord.” Following Miss Laura’s lessons, Alicia bowed and curtsied before the count. The count sighed. Why now? Why show proper etiquette after starting to talk? Still, the matter was urgent, so he let it slide.
“Continue, Alicia. What insight do you wish to convey?”
“First, we should assign numbers—a queue ticket, so to speak. That way, there won’t be chaos when Lady Elidranthia heals her patients. Then, we should limit it to fifty and turn away the rest. It’s simply beyond our capacity.”
“I see. I planned something similar, but your method seems more orderly. Jadenbale, note those of highest status—our vassals—and make it thirty, not fifty. Eli must attend at least five tea parties this winter outside the territory; she can’t remain in her clinic all day.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But, Father! How could we heal only the rich? What about the peasants? Alicia, what do you think? Shouldn’t we also heal the poor?”
“The number of healed patients remains the same, Lady Elidranthia. I believe we should heal Milord’s allies first. We then can extract favors from them later, so I suggest selecting patients from our vassals—or Duke Bron’s. Those favors could then fund your clinics, allowing them to reach further.”
Alicia’s reasoning earned her a nod from Count Shadowstep.
Though she had once been a modern man, Alicia never believed in something like free stuff. Social welfare only benefitted the poor by taking from the rich. She is rich now, so, like a good American she was, there is no way she would support socialist ideology Lady Elidranthia had.
Her cunning mind frowned upon Lady Elidranthia’s generosity. She wanted Eli to be a hero, not a servant. Free service breeds complacency; people begin to see it as their right and demand even more. Alicia didn’t want that. So she chose to play devil’s advocate, telling Eli that she shouldn’t give the poor such a high service of healthcare while her friends and allies still needed her service.
“I know the number remains the same, but I want to help the helpless—the ones who’ve despaired!” Eli protested.
“Eli, the fact remains that you can’t heal them all. If you can only heal a limited number of people, shouldn’t you start with your family and friends—those closest to you?” Count Shadowstep said.
“I understand. You’re right, Father. I’ll let you choose them. But please, let some of the poor ones in as well.” Eli yielded. Despite her wishes, she understood that the world revolved around money. She couldn’t manage the clinic entirely on her own.
“In that case, we could set aside ten tickets and draw lots among the masses. This way, everyone would have a share. That should keep the populace happy,” Rodrigue suggested.
“Excellent. Rodrigue, Jadenbale—I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” Count Shadowstep nodded. His mood turned a full 180 degrees as he smiled from ear to ear.
“Alright, now that it’s settled, you can return to your lessons, Elidranthia. Ah, Elena—go and purchase some jewelry, or use some from the gifts we’ve received. Don’t forget the satin dress,” Count Shadowstep said. Elena bowed and left to carry out his order at once.
“Why should I wear jewelry inside a hospital? That’s bad manners! What if it gets stolen? Moreover, a satin dress? What if blood splatters on them! The stain won’t go away, you know. What a waste.” Eli raised her tone, almost forgetting her manners at the absurd order her father demanded of her.
“You must wear them this time, Eli. That’s final. You may change out of the satin dress when you heal the patient, but you must wear the jewelry. Show the prestige of being a scion of a Shadowstep!” Count Shadowstep insisted.
Normally, during triage, doctors and healers wore simple tunics they didn’t mind getting dirty. Wearing a satin dress sounded ridiculous—but Count Shadowstep was desperate. He needed to prove to his peers that Eli was well cared for and properly compensated for her talents. Otherwise, the Mage Union and Slane Dukedom would raise a fuss.
“Yes, Father…” Eli pouted, still unsatisfied.
A week passed, and people convened at her clinic after the tickets were given out. This time, the Count personally attended, greeting a vassal and his daughter as they knelt before him as though he were royalty.
“Greetings, I am Baron Lucas, Lady Elidranthia. Milord, I thank you for extending this service to my daughter. She was struck by a carriage when she was a child, and her legs were crushed beneath the wheels. I swear once again my fealty to you, as I always have, Milord—if you can cure my daughter. The healer in my lands could mend the scars, but not restore her legs fully,” the baron said.
His daughter, about the same age as Eli but taller, wobbled as she stepped forward to reach the table. Her gait was unsteady; she limped on her left leg.
She’s just a bit limp. Why should I care for her instead of farmers who worked their fields? They need the healthcare more than her. Eli thought. A noble’s daughter—albeit from a lesser house, mostly sewed or managed households; a limp like that wouldn’t hinder her much, except perhaps in finding a husband or attending parties. Hah… I don’t want to do this. I want to help people who actually need it.
Eli’s mood darkened as she healed more patients. Four people in total: one missing two fingers, another missing an earlobe, one burned badly on the back from a mage’s miscast—and only the last one lifted her spirits: a soldier who had lost an eye to a training arrow.
“Eli, you’ve done well for our territory. I’m proud of you. You are the pride of Shadowstep. As a reward, you’ll have free time for the next three days. Please, rest well. You may visit your favorite teahouse and enjoy as much cake as you like,” Count Shadowstep said with a hearty laugh, patting her head.
Eli tilted her head. Her father’s praise was genuine, but something felt off. He seemed to be trying too hard—to show her off, or to display his affection before the others. The reason clicked as the vassals began praising her in unison.
“The golden age of our territory is coming!”
“Shadowstep will finally have a high-ranking mage!”
“Long live Shadowstep!”
Ahh, politics. should have known. I’ve ignored them all this time, but I’m a noble now—politics will come to me whether I like it or not. I should indulge them.
“I can do more! I don’t need to rest for three days! Let’s invite the next person tomorrow!” Eli said. She thought her father would approve, but the politics flew right over her head. She misunderstood his intent. Count Shadowstep didn’t want to show that she was a capable mage or benevolent girl; he wanted to show that he rewarded his mages fairly and granted them ample rest. His eyebrow twitched at Eli’s determined answer.
“Eli, you need to take care of yourself. A mage is precious—we must not overwork or dishonor them, right, gentlemen? Besides, you’re still underage. You must finish your studies before thinking of helping humanity flourish.”
“Hahaha, excellent. I am glad that power has not bewitched you, Lady Elidranthia. As thanks for your service today, here is a diamond necklace—the pride of our domain. Let it be known that I, Viscount Kerbeck, will always remain loyal to Count Shadowstep.”
Eli knew better than to trust those lips. Those words were just lip service. She didn’t want to entertain them, but she was a noble now. By modern standards, she was a middle manager, something like a department head—not at the top, but not at the bottom either. It was inevitable she’d have to people kissing her ass to gain favor now.
Meanwhile, Alicia served tea and cakes to the guests alongside Elena. Eli wasn’t the only one irritated by the situation. The clinic—meant to heal the sick—had turned into a dining hall where nobles laughed, shared stories, and exchanged gifts. All of these facade was revolting for Alicia. She was glad she hadn’t taken the spotlight in this farce of a party.
Fortunately, the count cut the event short before both mages’ irritation could explode.
Afterward, Eli plopped onto her bed with a long sigh. The sun had already set. She felt as though half her day had been spent not healing the wounded, but smiling and entertaining vassals. She had become what she hated most—a socialite. To her, those elite socialites who partied all day were evil. They were the very symbols of corruption: people who ate cake every day while the common folk suffered below, possessing no skill of their own and relying solely on connections to gain advantage.
Three days later, Eli reopened her clinic, thinking the previous events were just obligatory pandering. Even humanitarian aid in her past world had never been free from government meddling. Since this empire ran not by law but by nobility, Eli had to pander to them for security—that was just normal.
What was unforgivable were the two peasants she was supposed to heal next. Both of them wore gaudy clothes, flaunting their wealth.
“You have nice clothes,” Eli commented as she moved closer to the girl, whose face was disfigured by a monster attack. Jagged scars ran from her right cheek down to her ear, twisting the line of her jaw. Her hand bore similar claw marks. The fine silk dress, embroided and dyed bluue like flowing water highlighted the scars. No matter how fine her clothes were, the scars made her uncanny. A deep unease crept into Eli’s chest, quickly followed by empathy at the girl’s suffering. For a moment, Eli forgot her resentment.
“Yes! These are clothes my father bought just yesterday. Sir Jadenbale said we needed to dress our best since we’re meeting nobles.”
“...You didn’t need to buy new clothes for that. They must have been expensive,” Eli said.
“But I don’t have any others! I only had a rough linen tunic I wore when I was still on the farm, tending cows in Silas village next over.”
“Just wear your everyday clothes, alright? No need to go into debt just to buy new ones.”
“Milady, this was but a small price. As long as I can see my daughter’s pretty smile again, it’s nothing.” Her father bowed. Eli’s eyes flicked to Jadenbale, but he only smiled and denied any involvement.
“We never force them to buy new clothes, Milady. We only ask them to be presentable before you. That should be common sense. A linen dress would be fine. As long as they were clean.”
Jadenbale then hinted at the times when people had come to him covered in dirt and filth because of their disabilities. Eli didn’t fully agree, but she nodded anyway. She didn’t want to treat patients who showed such neglect for hygiene either.
The next man who entered also wore elegant clothes and limped slightly on one side. Eli thought he had the same backstory, but soon, the darker side of peasant greed began to reveal itself. Corruption wasn’t limited to nobles—peasants were often even more vulnerable to it.
The man’s complexion was unblemished, his frame thin, and his body soft—a sign of a sedentary life. At first, Eli assumed he was a scribe or scholar, but the air around him reeked of opulence. Eli wanted to help the weak, not run a business.
“Greetings, kind sir. May I know what you do for a living? You don’t seem to be from around here,” Eli asked.
The lottery was fair to all; even a wealthy merchant might win it—just as she, a noble, had been blessed with magic. She shouldn’t be so presumptuous, but the man’s stutter and the cold sweat on his forehead made her innocent question feel suddenly suspicious.
“Hmm… now that you mention it, Lady Eli, I don’t recall seeing him as a lottery winner,” Jadenbale said.
At that moment, the man went paler than snow.
Eli turned toward him, startled. Realization dawned on her—how could a man who had not won the lottery for her clinic show up with a lottery number?