Crown Prince Sells Medicine

‘It hurts.’

Demian pondered the cause behind it.

Was it due to the grudges held by those wounded by his sword? Or the lingering effects of relentless training, leaving no room for rest? Perhaps it was because his purse remained empty despite his struggles in battle.

One thing was certain: when the pain struck, he desperately needed medicine. Some called it painkillers, others deemed it a cursed drug.

‘But who is he…’ 

Demian wondered, as an unfamiliar man entered the waiting room, clutching the container of medicine. Moreover, he spewed nonsensical remarks while eyeing the contents.

“Tsk tsk. It’s unfortunate. Why settle for such cheap painkillers? Can you find solace in these?”

“…What?” Demian Cayenne felt taken aback.

This man was a stranger. How had he managed to enter the room? Was he an arena official? He didn’t give off that impression; rather, he seemed dubious at first glance. Demian struggled to comprehend.

“Who are you?” he asked, his gaze growing cold. The man’s response came swiftly.

“I am someone you will need.”

“Are you here to sell medicine?” Demian queried, considering that possibility.

Many gladiators endured pain, and painkillers became an integral part of their lives. Consequently, there were individuals who sought to deceive by claiming to possess superior medication for gladiators.

As expected, the stranger nodded readily. “Well, close enough. Your intuition serves you well.”

Demian’s interest waned. He had already encountered enough of these individuals and saw no reason to entertain him further. A scowl formed on his face.

“Leave before I sever your wrist. Set the medicine down. If it’s about medicine…”

“I have plenty, you think? Are you satisfied with such cheap medicine? Really?”

“What the hell are you…” Demian began, growing increasingly irritated.

“I didn’t come here to spout nonsense.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Then you’ll never be rid of that tingling pain at the back of your head for the rest of your life.”

“…”

“Typically, the symptoms start at the occipital region. Numbness and tingling spread to the back of your neck and head. The pain may extend to your entire cranium and even reach your shoulders.”

“…”

“When it’s severe, the pain radiates to your forehead and the corners of your eyes, following the path of your temples. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, and you perspire profusely. The agony becomes unbearable, as if your eyeballs are about to burst. Strangely, the pain arrives in waves, repeatedly tormenting you. It’s a hellish experience where the hope of relief is shattered, only for the torture to persist.”

“How…” Demian faltered, shocked by the accuracy of the man’s description.

“How do I know?” Raciel smirked.

How would he know? 

Because he read the novel. 

‘So I nearly recited the sentence describing the symptoms word for word.’

For the first time, Demian, who had been irritable throughout the encounter, displayed a flicker of reaction. It was a promising development in their conversation, or so it seemed.

‘So this is the moment?’ 

Raciel resolved to be even more audacious.

Raciel donned a triple-embossed steel plate across his face, exuding an air of shamelessness.

“Such symptoms, so evident. It’s trauma, anemia, renal deficiency causing circulatory disruption along the neck vein. That’s what it is.”

“……”

“But you never even consider addressing the root cause of the pain. That’s why you continue to suffer like this, relying solely on narcotic painkillers. Is a painkiller truly medicine? No, absolutely not.”

“……”

“This is a recurring pattern. There are quite a lot of people subtly suffering in the same way as you.”

Raciel expressed genuine regret, clicking his tongue.

The foolishness of only looking for painkillers when in pain. It wasn’t only Demian to blame. In retrospect, he had seen a lot of cases like this in Korea too.

They would search for painkillers whenever pain struck, juggling the responsibilities of raising their children and working. The high costs of big hospitals often deterred them, leading them to rely on painkillers and patches to endure, inadvertently exacerbating their conditions.

“So what I’m saying is, can you simply cover up spilled soup on the floor with a blanket and call it done? No. If you’re in pain but refuse to address the underlying cause, relying solely on these narcotic painkillers, you’ll only suffer more. Isn’t that true?”

“……”

“If you have a voice, answer, you pitiful and foolish person.”

“……”

Demian felt an uncontrollable surge of anger. He was on the verge of exploding in rage. He felt unjustly accused. He was merely following his usual routine, seeking rest after defeating a troll. He had only considered taking medication to alleviate the customary post-battle pain.

And now, this stranger he had never seen or heard of before had not only barged into the waiting room but also commenced lecturing him.

‘Why me?’

Demian channeled his bubbling doubts, absurdity, and sense of unfairness into a single interrogative word.

“……Who the hell are you to say such things?”

Who was this person?

To come all the way here.

And to act like this.

If he failed to provide a satisfactory answer this time, Demian vowed to unsheathe his sword and strike him down.

The madman responded.

“The Crown Prince.”

“……”

“Seriously.”

“……”

Demian’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, his patience wearing thin. But then, to his relief, the man before him broke into a wide grin.

“Just kidding. I’m actually an envoy sent by Kusman.”

“Kusman?”

“Yeah, your promoter.”

“……”

“You should trust me by now.”

“……”

Demian loosened his grip on the sword slightly, and Raciel breathed a quiet sigh of relief to himself.

‘Phew, it worked.’

Kusman.

That was the name of Demian’s promoter, known only to those closely associated with the arena.

‘Of course, the arena needs a promoter.’

To put it simply, the promoter acted as a middleman for the underground arena. Just like real estate agents connect tenants and landlords, or publisher management connects authors and platforms, the promoter connected gladiators with the arena, organizing their match schedules.

In return, they took a 30% commission from the gladiators’ fight fees. Promoters also provided accommodation for the gladiators, along with training facilities and various amenities, for a fee.

‘That’s the issue. The cruel part about promoters, unlike real estate agents or publishers, is that they provide addictive painkillers.’

Addictive painkillers.

That was the major problem.

Gladiators always needed pain relief. Promoters, under the guise of controlling the supply, sold addictive painkillers at exorbitant prices.

‘Thanks to this, most gladiators can’t save money no matter how much they fight. They spend the majority of their income on buying expensive addictive painkillers. No, most can barely avoid falling into debt.’

The gladiators fought.

The gladiators shed blood.

And all the money went straight into the promoters’ pockets.

‘But there were no gladiators who could break free from this vicious cycle. By the time they realized the injustice that ensnared them, they were already addicted to addictive painkillers.’

Raciel remembered more details, particularly scenes from the novel ‘Devil Sword Emperor’ featuring Demian’s exclusive promoter, Kusman.

The dialogues, the narratives.

The situations Demian encountered.

He amalgamated all this information in his mind. Mixing and processing it, he constructed a believable lie and loaded it generously onto his tongue, which had finished its warm-up exercises.

And he unleashed it.

“Mr. Kusman mentioned earlier that you’ve been complaining. Lately, you’ve developed resistance to this medication.”

“……”

“So it seemed Mr. Kusman also had a headache. Since this painkiller is supplied to other gladiators he manages, it’s difficult to provide a larger quantity. It’s not the season for harvesting opium poppies, so it’s challenging to obtain extra stock. You probably heard about this from Mr. Kusman, right?”

“What exactly are you trying to convey?”

“That there is an alternative method to alleviate your pain, separate from relying on this painkiller.”

“A new approach? Can you provide it?”

“That’s precisely why I am here.”

“Sent by Mr. Kusman? Is that the truth?”

“Yes.”

“And what is the cost?”

“You can discuss that separately when you meet Mr. Kusman later. I have already received my share of the fee.”

He pretended to be indifferent.

He really acted as if Demian’s promoter, Kusman, had sent him so convincingly that Demian couldn’t help but scrutinize Raciel.

“……”

Something felt amiss.

The way he spoke, it didn’t seem like he belonged to their side. But what was even more peculiar was that this individual knew about his connection with promoter Kusman.

That was the most baffling part.

‘Only the gladiators who signed a contract and key personnel in the gladiatorial arena should be aware of Kusman’s existence.’

Yet, he casually mentioned Kusman’s name. Not only that, he even referenced specific incidents that had occurred between Demian and Kusman.

Suddenly, a memory from a few days ago resurfaced in Demian’s mind. It was the evening after he had triumphed over twenty goblins in the arena. He had approached Kusman, requesting more painkillers.

He had mentioned that the medication hadn’t been as effective recently.

He had been having trouble sleeping.

But Kusman had appeared displeased.

He had explained the challenges in obtaining extra stock these days, as it was difficult to divert it from the allocations of other gladiators under his management. With it not being the season for opium poppy harvesting, acquiring additional supply had become a struggle.

‘But that conversation… this person just repeated it word for word.’

The meaning became clear.

He truly was the person dispatched by Kusman. Finally, Demian set his sword aside.

“So, are you telling me that you have brought a new medicine that isn’t a painkiller?”

“No.”

Raciel grinned mischievously.

His ambitious deception had proven successful. With unwavering conviction, he had crossed the line.

“You can’t rely on medication to overcome the pain you’re enduring. Trust me, you must address the root cause.” 

“The cause… If it’s removed, does that mean the pain won’t return?”

“Yes.”

“You seem to be making that guarantee too easily.”

“Why don’t you verify it for yourself?”

“What method are you referring to?” 

Raciel’s playful smile grew wider. “First, remove your shirt and lie down.”

“…What?”

“You need to undergo treatment. Don’t worry, it won’t endanger your life. Are you afraid?”

“Of course, that’s…”

“Well, I insist that you take it off.”

“……”

Demian regarded him skeptically while Raciel casually met his gaze. Eventually, Demian sighed deeply and complied. He removed his shirt, revealing his sleek and well-developed upper body adorned with numerous scars.

How many times had he fought in the underground arena? His body bore the evidence. However, Raciel’s focus was not on Demian’s muscles or scars. Instead, he zeroed in on a distinctive mark etched on Demian’s left back.

The mark branded in the arena.

The mark of a gladiator.

‘As I suspected, it’s there.’

Just as described in the novel’s illustration.

That mark was the underlying cause.

It served as the origin of the excruciating pain that tormented Demian in the earlier part of the story. The occipital neuralgia he experienced was merely a symptom that manifested as a consequence. Raciel quickly composed himself, masking his expression and gaze before speaking again.

“Why are you staring blankly? Lie down on the bed. Relax and let go of your tension. That’s the only way we can begin the treatment.”

“…Are you planning to give me a massage or something?” Demian questioned suspiciously as he lay down.

“It’s not that,” Raciel replied, his smile carrying meaning.

The mark engraved on Demian’s back.

It needed to be eradicated.

However, it couldn’t simply vanish. Cutting it with a knife or peeling off the skin would be futile. It held a curse within.

To eliminate that curse, there was only one method.

“Since it was seared with a hot iron, it must be heated in the same manner, like this.”

Raciel reached into his pocket and pulled out the secret weapon he had prepared for this moment. It was a mysterious, dark green substance, about the size of half a fist. Tapping the bed with his palm, he presented it with a cheerful beam.

“Welcome, is this your first time experiencing moxibustion?”