Crown Prince Sells Medicine

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“What is… a stroke?”

The instant Raciel comprehended this, his heart dropped heavily. Memories from over a decade ago emerged suddenly.

He had made an effort to avoid pondering over it. As time had gone by, the recollection had grown dim. The wounds from that period had only left a vague mark. Consequently, he believed he was okay at this point. The past no longer haunted him. That was his self-reassurance.

However, at this moment, with no means to manage it, the memory of that day resurfaced forcefully.

The day his father collapsed. The instant he received the news too late. His pitiable appearance on that day. His regrettable actions. These memories resurfaced vividly, unrelentingly, without end.

‘Damn.’

He reminisced about that time.

How many calls had come from his mother? But he didn’t know. He was playing a game. The noise in the PC room that day contributed to it. The game was going exceptionally well. No, rather, it was mostly his pitiful fault.

Finally, he dialed his mother’s number. He thought of saying he was studying late and was unaware of her calls. He wanted  to claim he had put his phone on silent. He prepared these blatant lies and then phoned her.

Yet, the moment his mother picked up the call. The moment he heard her unfamiliar, trembling voice. All the meticulously crafted falsehoods shattered like fragile glass, turning into mere fragments.

His mother informed him that his father had collapsed. He was in the hospital. It was a stroke, she said. And in his impulsive response, the first words that escaped his lips were those.

He inquired about what a stroke was.

His legs were already in motion, though. His heart raced even faster. What did he say to his friends who were with him? How did he flag down a taxi and what were his words? He still couldn’t recollect it clearly.

However, one memory remained distinct. His father’s face, lying in a white hospital bed, in an unimaginable state.

And that face, almost precisely…

‘Why are you. Emperor, you. Why does your expression mirror the one my father had back then?’

Raciel took a deep breath.

He struggled to steady his breathing. He clenched his lips tightly, enduring the numbing pain that pushed away memories from the past. It pushed aside the even more piercing regret that those memories hurled at him.

‘Get a grip on yourself, you idiot. Is this really the moment to indulge in memories of the past?’

He scolded himself and regained his composure. Then, finally, he saw the situation clearly.

The Emperor had collapsed.

He could discern the cause with a quick glance. The muscles on one side of the Emperor’s face were contorted. He lay helplessly, unable to regain consciousness. His body’s posture was askew and unnatural. The muscles, the nerve signals that commanded them, all twisted.

‘Stroke. Cerebrovascular Accident.’

Raciel turned to the steward and inquired,

“What happened?”

“I believe I can provide an answer.”

The steward cautiously stepped back, indicating a middle-aged man. A face Raciel hadn’t encountered before. The middle-aged man bowed to Raciel.

“I am Pasa, the Emperor’s personal physician. I greet you, Your Highness.”

“Start with the explanation of the situation rather than formal greetings. How long has His Majesty been in this state?”

“It has been one night.”

“…What?”

An entire night?

“So, the cause?”

“That is…”

“The cause?”

“Last night. Following dinner, His Majesty appeared unusually affected by alcohol.”

“Intoxicated? Unusually? Elaborate.”

“His Majesty only consumed one glass of wine. However, he exhibited all the signs of being completely inebriated. His speech slurred, his steps faltered. Consequently, we advised him to retire early.”

“… “

“As a result, His Majesty retired to his sleeping quarters. But when we checked on him this morning…”

“He was like this?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“…”

Raciel tightly clenched his fist. Now he understood. Sudden and inexplicable signs of intoxication. Slurred speech, loss of bodily control.

‘These are classic stroke symptoms.’

However, the attending physician had not caught on. He merely attributed the Emperor’s deteriorating state to other factors. He erred by advising rest. Consequently, during the Emperor’s period of rest, the critical time frame during which they could have addressed the early stages of a stroke had been fruitlessly squandered.

Yet Raciel didn’t yield to hasty anger. Now wasn’t the time to give in to fury; finding a solution was paramount. He inquired once more,

“What actions have you taken since discovering His Majesty’s condition this morning?”

“Initially, I assessed His Majesty’s condition.”

“What were the findings?”

“I observed pronounced paralysis symptoms accompanied by severe headaches.”

“And then?”

“Ah, I compounded the medications available to me and devised a prescription.”

“What did the prescription entail?”

“I combined medicines known for effectively treating headaches and incorporated specific herbs recognized for their efficacy in addressing muscle paralysis.”

“Is that the entirety?”

“Naturally, there is more, Your Highness. I employed a hot water-soaked towel to steam His Majesty’s arms and legs. It appeared to provide relief.”

“Relief?”

“The distortion of His Majesty’s facial features gradually ceased, and the condition did not worsen.”

“……”

Raciel was left without words.

Such prescriptions and measures fall far short of what’s needed. They are significantly inadequate. However, the attending physician remains oblivious to the insufficiency of his response.

‘I’m losing my mind.’

If only someone had accurately diagnosed the emperor’s condition last night. Then the critical time period wouldn’t have been missed. The emperor’s state wouldn’t have deteriorated to this extent.

No, even beyond that, the emperor had quit smoking and resumed sword training for the sake of his health. So why has it come to this?

‘It’s like a scene out of the original “Devil Sword Emperor.”‘

Out of nowhere, the plot of the original , “Devil Sword Emperor,” flashed into his mind. An emperor who falls and succumbs to a stroke. The second prince who ascends the throne. An empire engulfed in warfare. The decline of the imperial family.

‘I can’t let that happen.’

Of course, even if the emperor dies now, the story won’t unfold exactly as it did in the original. The second prince won’t take the throne. Raciel will become the emperor. But that mustn’t become reality.

‘Of course. Then my time will be cut short, and I’ll die.’

Raciel pressed his lips together firmly. Swift calculations raced through his mind. The subsequent events were fairly predictable.

‘If the emperor dies like this? I’ll likely ascend the throne as the crown prince. After all, I outperformed the second prince in our clash. I’ve demonstrated my capability. But is it truly advantageous for me to assume power now? No. Definitely not. In fact, it will shorten my life.’

The forecast was clear.

Being an emperor is never a simple role. It’s a position where political matters haunt you ceaselessly, without respite.

A multitude of domestic political dilemmas. Diplomatic tangles with neighboring kingdoms. Intricacies of minor policies and power struggles among the nobility. The captain of the empire’s aircraft carrier, housing millions upon millions, devotes his life to managing this complex ensemble.

However, if the emperor were to suddenly pass away and Raciel took his place?

‘Without a proper transition, I’d be thrust onto the throne. The volume of work I’d be shouldering? It would be beyond measure. From handling the aftermath of the emperor’s sudden death to addressing the array of domestic and international conflicts and challenges that arise.’

It was evident.

The local nobles? They’d initiate a fierce power struggle amidst this new political landscape.

Those ready to pledge allegiance to the emerging authority. Those aiming to exploit that allegiance for their personal gain. Those aiming to wield control. Many would test Raciel’s political mettle, each pursuing their own interests.

‘Foreign nations… need I elaborate?’

The numerous kingdoms encircling the empire would test him. They’d incite international and subtle power dynamics. They’d gauge the new emperor’s capabilities.

Whether he’s a potential threat.

Whether he’s an easily manipulatable adversary.

They’d consistently probe and prod.

‘I can’t endure such an avalanche of responsibilities. In that case, my tenure would be brief, and I’d meet my end.’

Raciel felt a deep gravity. This wasn’t just about evading work; it was an earnest, life-or-death dilemma.

‘I’m not even in good health. My body remains frail and ailing.’

Thus.

His life expectancy barely surpassed 200 days. Amidst intensive medical care for numerous patients, he clung to a fragile existence, barely extending his lifeline.

But what if he suddenly became the emperor? If he were submerged in overwhelming responsibilities? Would he have the time to care for patients?

‘No, not at all.’

Raciel vigorously shook his head.

Looking at the practicalities, there wouldn’t be any room for patient care. The opportunity for an extra chance at life wouldn’t arise. The chance to extend life expectancy wouldn’t materialize.

Death would loom nearer.

Evading it was impossible.

Halting it was out of reach.

‘That’s the inevitable conclusion.’

Swallowing hard, the calculation was finished.

The projection was formed.

The decision was made.

‘If the emperor dies, I’ll meet my end as well.’

So, preservation was imperative. It had to happen at any cost. Raciel made a firm commitment and approached the emperor’s bedside. He steadied his thoughts, then activated the mana circle.

Kiiiing…!

He rotated the mana ring enveloping the heart. Simultaneously, he initiated the meridian scanning function.

‘Beginning with a diagnosis.’

Tstsstssts-!

He intensified his focus. Singular target. His gaze remained fixed solely on the prone emperor.

‘The cause of the stroke is crucial. Please, anything but a hemorrhage.’

Internally, Raciel fervently beseeched.

A stroke is broadly categorized into two types. One is hemorrhagic, caused by the rupture of cerebral vessels and such.

The other is ischemic, wherein blood vessels are obstructed, leading to a halt in blood and oxygen supply to the brain due to thrombosis and atherosclerosis.

Which presents a higher fatality rate? Generally, hemorrhagic strokes are considered more perilous.

‘Please. Please.’

Raciel’s eyes moved rapidly. He meticulously inspected the emperor’s cranium. Like undergoing a CT scan. Like undergoing an MRI. He delved into every recess within the skull. Yet, he could discern no distinct site of hemorrhage.

‘So, the deduction is an ischemic stroke.’

But it was too premature to feel relief.

Which blood vessel had become obstructed? Thus, in which section of the brain had the oxygen supply been disrupted, causing brain tissue damage—referred to as cerebral infarction? He needed to establish that. Only then could he gauge the prospects of recovery and devise a treatment strategy.

Raciel intensified his concentration even more.

To an unprecedented level, to the extent that his head ached and his eyes grew rigid. Not a single blink escaped him. He vowed to overlook no minuscule hint, even from the tiniest capillary. He honed his focus. Enhanced his concentration further. Deeper. To the limit. And beyond.

And ultimately, he unearthed it.

‘What is this? This isn’t a naturally occurring clot, is it?’

With this realization, vigor surged into his grip.

(To be Continued)

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