A choice of words so clear that there was no room for misunderstanding.
A stance that had suddenly turned hostile.
And the eyes filled with blatant hostility, visible through the mask.
Perhaps Belzekiel's translation had never been necessary in the first place.
The change in her attitude as soon as the others disappeared was filled with such deep animosity that it couldn't even be compared to a single word like "lowborn."
"Don't touch me! You filthy outsider!"
Did she misunderstand my attempt to fold my arms as an attempt to approach her?
The Saintess, eyes blazing like an enraged wildcat, shouted once again.
"I'm not thinking of touching you right now. Though, once the treatment begins, there will inevitably be physical contact."
Fortunately, she hadn't completely blocked the translation magic, allowing my words to reach her.
An uncooperative patient could still be treated somehow, but a patient with whom communication was entirely impossible—just thinking about it was a headache.
"Hmm... So you're angry right now, huh?"
"...!"
"Yeah, it makes sense to be angry. Just so you know, you don't have to be ashamed of feeling that way. Anyone in your situation would naturally feel both sad and angry."
I decided to use informal speech.
In this situation, pretending to be overly polite would seem ridiculous, and speaking casually would likely make communication smoother.
"You were hit with unexpected misfortune, and as if that weren't enough, it has lasted for five years. Instead of improving over time, your condition has only worsened. If someone could remain calm in that situation, that would be even stranger."
"What do you know? How dare you speak so carelessly!"
"I don't know everything. But I can make an educated guess based on what I've learned. I heard about the onset of your illness on my way here. It started five years ago, didn't it? Suddenly, you were struck with pain. After that, your hands and feet started trembling and going numb, rashes appeared on your skin, and the pain worsened to the point where every breath felt like needles stabbing your brain and lungs."
I listed the symptoms the Saintess had been suffering from in a calm, almost poetic tone, without exaggeration or omission.
A healer must always have compassion for their patient, but they must never let that compassion make them afraid of confronting the illness.
Before beginning proper treatment, I reviewed her symptoms and the cause of her illness once more.
'The illness tormenting the Saintess is an extremely rare disease that affects only a small number of people within the Wave Tribe. The cause? Her body couldn't withstand the rapid acceleration of her mana circuit's rotation. Cases are so rare, and most who develop the condition experience only mild symptoms, leading some within the Wave Tribe to dismiss it as growing pains. Unfortunately, this girl wasn't so lucky.'
For most, an enhanced mana circuit was considered a blessing.
But for Estelle, it wasn't.
The rapid acceleration of her mana circuit was beyond what could be called mere enhancement—it had become a disease that devoured her body.
"Shut up! You don't know anything!"
"I'd be angry too. Imagine being in excruciating pain, only for people around you to say, 'Saintess, we believe in you. We know you won't succumb to this.' That would be infuriating."
"Ugh...!"
"But despite that, for the past five years, you've suppressed your anger just because you didn't want to burden those around you. But anger isn't something you can bottle up forever."
I put on a pair of sterilized magical gloves and stood up.
"That's why it's only natural that you want to take it out on an outsider like me—shouting, lashing out. This is all within my expectations."
I had never expected her to show me a favorable attitude in the first place.
The Saintess was only thirteen, just one year older than me. Far too young to endure such a cruel misfortune.
"But do you know what it means that this is within my expectations?"
"Stay away! I'll kill you! Don't touch me!"
She thrashed her limbs violently, filled with hostility.
But I had been training every morning for the past seven years.
Dodging the weak attacks of a sickly child was no challenge, and my enchanted gloves soon reached her wrist and the nape of her neck.
Woooong.
The engravings on the gloves reacted to her wounds, emitting a glow. Through that light and her skin's response, I was able to assess her current condition.
"It means that no matter how much you shout, rage, or insult me, I don't care. Regardless of your will, I will proceed with the treatment in my own way."
"I'll kill you! I swear, I'll kill you! Get your hands off me!"
"Go ahead. But if you want to kill me, you'll have to get better first. In your current condition, you wouldn't even be able to swat a fly."
The initial diagnosis didn't take long.
The purpose was to confirm what was already visible to the naked eye, and since her symptoms were so severe, there were no unexpected surprises.
'The heat rash across her body is causing skin necrosis, and the excessive body heat from cellular damage has begun to harm her internal organs. This has also created a major issue with nutrient absorption. I need to focus on both restoring her body and eliminating the disease at the same time.'
After finishing the examination, I withdrew my hands.
The Saintess, exhausted from her struggling, lay sprawled on the bed, breathing heavily, her glare still fixed on me.
"That's it for today. I'll come back earlier tomorrow. It looks like we'll be seeing each other quite often from now on."
Of course, I wasn't intimidated by her glare. If I were the type to shrink back from something like this, I wouldn't have started in the first place.
With one hand on the door handle, I waved the other at her in farewell.
"See you tomorrow."
Click.
After I left the Saintess's chamber—
"Ugh... Ugh... Ugh..."
A completely different kind of groan escaped her lips.
Gone was the fierce, defiant attitude. Instead, her voice was filled with despair and humiliation.
"Ugh... Waaah!"
Without thinking, the Saintess looked at her left arm—the one I had touched.
And with that, she broke down in tears.
A wave of humiliation crashed over her.
She had hidden her skin, covered in rashes and heat marks, from everyone in the Wave Tribe.
Yet now, she had exposed it—every blemish, every flaw—to an outsider. A boy close to her own age.
Even long after I was gone, her cries did not subside.
Tears trickled down her mask.