Summer is an irritating season in many ways.
The already humid weather of London becomes even wetter, and the temperature rises a bit higher, so it's only natural.
Well, compared to Korean summers, it's nothing, but...
This is the 19th century, after all, so it's really something.
"Brother, brother."
Ah, this isn't about me.
"Yes, what is it?"
Was it because he spent even a single day in that prison camp—no, monastery?
Or maybe it just suits his temperament.
I'm not sure what it is, but...
The chef had become an excellent thug.
Since he's gone from guarding corpses to producing them, calling him a thug isn't unfair.
"Take a look at this. I followed what Pyeongsin-nim told me, but the blood isn't draining properly."
"Is that so?"
"So I was thinking about it... and I got a hint during a dinner with the guys from the slaughterhouse."
"Ah, those guys. They're gentle souls."
Gentle enough to kill people and turn them into pig feed.
Ever since I found out about that, I haven't eaten pork here.
If someone didn't know better, they'd think I was Jewish.
Ah, I'm East Asian, that's right.
Or Muslim, I guess.
Ah, that's not considered a good thing in London, at least.
"So I tried hanging it like this, and look. The blood is pouring out."
"Wow, oh... that's pretty good, isn't it?"
"Exactly. Haha. As Pyeongsin-nim said, there's something to learn from everyone."
"Right. Korean proverbs are wiser than you'd expect."
We—that is, I—are now in a small room next to the dissection lab.
It's not in the same building as the hospital.
Earlier, this building was expensive, and...
Due to security issues like corpse theft, we initially had a small dissection lab next to the wards, but in just a few months, we've earned more money, and our chef has been doing such a great job guarding the corpses that we've bought a small building specifically for the dissection lab.
Anyway, in that small room...
'Sigh...'
Corpses are hanging from hooks.
With holes in their jugular veins, upside down.
This isn't deliberately set up to create a grotesque scene.
At the very least, removing the blood before formalin treatment prevents decomposition for a long time, something we learned through trial and error.
But did I personally drain the blood?
I've never even seen it done.
At most, I came up with the idea that opening the jugular vein would allow the blood to drain without pooling.
"Look, Pyeong. They'll last much longer now. Clearly, dissection cadavers... won't be needed as frequently, will they?"
"That... that's right."
That's the result of our corpse guard collaborating with the guys from the slaughterhouse to improve the process, and it's now laid out before our eyes.
It's horrifying.
But still...
As Liston said, draining the blood this thoroughly will indeed make them last much longer.
Hasn't anatomy itself been gradually reaching its completion?
Microanatomy requires advancements in fields like physiology, so we'll leave that alone, but at least we already have most of the knowledge needed for the surgeries currently being performed.
All we need to do is teach it, but before, because we had to rush before the corpses decayed, there was a lot of rough, hurried cramming of knowledge.
And if an accident happened—that is, if someone got exposed to the Miasma of the corpse—they'd be done for.
"One business is coming to an end."
"Huh?"
This is a time of improvement, I mean.
Thinking about that, despite the not-so-pleasant scene before my eyes, I felt good.
Education is going well, the demand for cadavers is decreasing...
Of course, we'll still need cadavers for surgical practice, but still, this is a win-win situation, isn't it?
While I was pondering this, Liston was saying something incomprehensible.
When I asked, our corpse guard, who also goes by the nickname 'the Nameless One,' opened his mouth with a serious expression.
The scar on his face from getting stabbed by corpse thieves twitched as he spoke, making him look like a seasoned thug with at least ten years of experience.
"But rumor has it there are people targeting Pyeongsin-nim."
"A rumor's going around?"
Actually, he seemed pleased.
He had been afraid to go out without disguising himself because he might be recognized as the chef—a typhoid carrier—but now he didn't need to do that anymore.
Honestly, even without the stab wound, his appearance had changed enough that unless someone had sharp eyes, they wouldn't recognize him...
But after getting stabbed, he started going out without hesitation.
"Yes. Among the corpse suppliers, there are some nasty ones."
"Ah..."
Technically, corpse suppliers are supposed to be nasty, right? It'd be strange if they weren't.
Anyway, only after hearing about the suppliers did I understand what Liston meant by 'one business is coming to an end.'
Of course, it wouldn't end overnight.
But just as coachmen became unemployed with the spread of automobiles and stenographers disappeared with the rise of typewriters, once formalin became widely available, most corpse suppliers would lose their jobs.
"There's a rumor that they're targeting you, brother."
"Those bastards."
"This is no ordinary matter."
Though he said 'those bastards,' with Liston by my side, I felt reassured.
But when Liston said it was no ordinary matter, I felt a bit intimidated.
"Why?"
"Haven't you gained fame and made money in a short time?"
"That's true."
"And doesn't that attract bandits occasionally? Luckily, Alfred's house has good security, or you'd already be dead."
"Actually, I think they're a bit lacking, so I've let some of our guys loose."
"Right. But the suppliers are different. People who've decided to sell human corpses—do you think they're sane?"
19th-century London is a den of vice.
It's no accident that people like Charles Dickens compared London to Babylon.
It becomes clear just how far people will go to make a living when you see it here.
But...
As Liston said, among the many things you could do to make a living, why would anyone choose selling human corpses?
"So what do we do?"
At my question, Liston was silent for a moment.
This was quite rare, and since I didn't have anything particular to say in this situation, I stayed quiet.
Our guard?
He's not the type to speak without our permission.
Moreover, with Liston staying silent, almost no one has the guts to speak up.
"I've heard there's a Korean proverb: 'Win before you fight.'"
After a long silence, Liston finally spoke.
It was an absurd statement.
More than the content...
"Where on earth did you hear that?"
"Ah, the mood between the Qing and Japan is tense, isn't it? So there are more people going back and forth. Through them, I got a book. Proverbs? Words filled with the wisdom of ancestors, right?"
"That... that's true."
It seems the time has come.
The fame I've built by selling Korea is about to be exposed, is what I mean.
Fortunately, the bonds we've built in the meantime are far from ordinary.
Look at us now.
Even though it's technically only me they're targeting, you're all worried as if it's your own problem.
'Huh? Come to think of it, wasn't the formalin patent filed by both me and Liston? Why are they only targeting me?'
Thinking deeply, it's a bit strange, but...
That's how the world works.
If you think too deeply about everything, it gets a bit overwhelming.
And if it's related to Liston, it's even more so.
"It's about time we cleaned some things up."
"Huh? What things?"
"The gangs. There are too many of them."
"That... but why should we do it?"
"Hey, Pyeong."
"Yes, Brother."
The atmosphere quickly turned noir.
Actually, there are several corpses hanging from the ceiling, and outside, the drained corpses are lying around.
At least the corpses lying outside have been treated with formalin, but unlike in the 21st century, their faces aren't covered.
-What are you doing?!
-Why would you cover their faces?
-It's... scary...
-Hah! How can a citizen of the British Empire say such a thing?
-Are you doing this because you want to remove your fear?
Thanks to Liston, Blundel, and others like them.
It's not just them; the director and even seemingly unrelated people like Sir Jamie and Sir Damian do it too.
Madmen...
Anyway, with corpses everywhere, it feels like Shutter Island or Infernal Affairs—London 19th-century style.
"We've been getting bovine pancreases for free, haven't we?"
"That's right."
"It's been a few months now?"
"Almost half a year."
"We've made a lot of money from it, haven't we?"
"An enormous amount."
It's not because I'm stingy with words that I use 'enormous.'
It's truly insane.
Bon-Gil Kim sold river water to make money, but we're taking discarded bovine pancreases and making a fortune.
A few hospitals have somehow figured out our secret and started producing it themselves, but would nobles want to go to a knock-off when they can get the original?
Besides, the largest slaughterhouse near London exclusively supplies pancreases to us, so there's no competition.
"You're not thinking it's completely free, are you?"
"The guys at the slaughterhouse are nice."
"Calling people who kill others 'nice'... Is it because you're Korean? Are you a warrior race?"
"They're nice to us..."
"They all have something they're coveting. Their relationship with the police, and me."
"Brother?"
"Yes. Me."
Liston had already drawn his sword and was standing there.
I didn't even hear the shling sound.
"Sword Saint Liston."
"Wait... So you're saying we're going to take care of the suppliers for them?"
"I heard those suppliers have been gradually getting involved in smuggling. I was planning to deal with them anyway."
"Ah..."
"And now that they're targeting you, well. It's killing two birds with one stone."
"But are you seriously going alone?"
"Huh? Why alone? You're coming too."
"What can I do? I can't fight!"
"You've got quite the reputation. Just get some blood on you and set the mood. There will definitely be people who'll be scared stiff just seeing you."
Liston swung his sword around a few times before sheathing it with a look of disappointment.
Even the Sword Saint couldn't openly go out to chop people into pieces.
After all, a doctor is still a doctor, right?
So what he pulled out was a police baton, but considering it as a blunt weapon, it was still pretty formidable.
"Brother!"
"Pyeongsin-nim!"
Outside, the slaughterhouse guys had gathered.
They looked the same as always, but with their large knives and guns out in the street instead of the slaughterhouse, they definitely looked like a gang.
"Let's go!"
"Waaaaaah!"
And so, we set out to take care of the suppliers.
'What... what is this?'
I was completely caught off guard and ended up going along...
In the distance, I saw the chemist uncle.
Judging by what he was holding, he'd achieved some kind of breakthrough.
Damn.
I'm curious, but...
Looks like I'm off to kill people.