The next morning, Merin opens the doors of his clinic. Barely a few minutes pass before a carriage pulls up outside. The Mori family’s butler steps down first, followed by a young man and a young woman.

Merin isn’t surprised. He had already spoken with the Mori family patriarch the day before—he knew they would send people to assist him.

The butler approaches with a polite nod. “Mr. Matsuda, good morning.”

Merin returns the nod and looks at the two standing behind the butler. He recognises the woman from his three-day stay at the Mori estate—Sora, the niece of the Mori family’s healer.

The butler gestures toward her. “You’re already acquainted with Sora. She will be your assistant.” Then he points to the young man. “This is Ren. He’ll handle errands and other minor tasks for you.”

Merin nods. “I assume Lord Mori has a task for me?”

The butler smiles faintly. “Let’s speak in your office.”

They step inside. Once seated, the butler retrieves a scroll from his sleeve and hands it to Merin. Merin unrolls it. Several pages are attached, each listing names, addresses, and symptoms.

“These individuals,” the butler explains, “have been diagnosed with incurable illnesses—according to the healers of the Sekio family or those affiliated with them. Your task is simple: treat and cure as many of them as you can.”

Merin scans the symptoms carefully, noting the patterns with a practised eye.

The butler then draws out two more documents. “This,” he says, holding out the first, “is the deed to this house. It has been transferred to your name.” He hands it over, then passes the second paper. “And this is a copy of the Cloud Sword Technique.”

Merin takes both documents without a word. His expression remains calm, but a sharp glint of focus flashes in his eyes.

The butler asks, “When will you begin?”

Merin thinks for a moment. Sora can handle simple diagnoses and prescribe appropriate medicine. As long as she avoids cases beyond her ability, there won’t be any issues.

“No time like the present,” he replies.

The butler nods. “Then let’s go. I’ll escort you.”

Merin gathers the documents and walks out with the butler. But before they reach the door, he pauses. “Wait a few minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he heads upstairs. Inside his room, he lifts his mattress and carefully hides the house deed and the Cloud Sword Technique beneath it. Only then does he come back down.

Turning to Sora, he says, “Take care of the clinic for a few hours. If you come across a patient you can’t diagnose, ask them to return later.”

Sora nods. “Yes, sir.”

Merin steps into the carriage with the butler. As it begins to move, the butler asks, “Which patient have you chosen first?”

Merin flips through the list, stopping at the name of a nine-year-old child. “This one.”

The butler glances at the name and gives the address to the driver. The carriage rolls forward through the snow-covered street.

Merin and the butler arrive at the first patient’s house, a modest wooden home with a snow-covered roof and a faint trail of smoke rising from its chimney.

As they step inside, the boy’s mother greets them warmly. It’s clear she already knows the butler, perhaps an old acquaintance. She turns to Merin with a respectful bow.

“You must be Mr. Matsuda. Thank you for coming,” she says, her voice laced with both hope and fatigue.

Merin offers a nod. “Lead me to the child.”

She guides him through the narrow hallway to a quiet room. Inside, a pale boy lies on the bed, absently playing with a wooden toy in his hands. His breath comes in shallow puffs, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his brow despite the cold.

Merin observes the child silently. The boy glances up, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes.

According to the case file, the boy is nine years old. His symptoms: persistent weakness, shortness of breath, and an inability to stay active for more than a couple of hours at a time. The previous doctors diagnosed it as a heart disease, with no cure.

Merin steps closer and kneels by the bed, placing two fingers gently on the boy’s wrist. He closes his eyes, focusing.

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Thin pulse. Irregular—but stable.

He channels a stream of his inner energy into the boy’s body, gently tracing the flow. Within moments, he finds the issue: one of the veins connected to the heart is unnaturally narrow, restricting blood and oxygen flow to the rest of the body. The condition won’t kill the child, but it will leave him permanently weak.

To fix this, the vein needs to be widened—but that can’t happen naturally. Merin knows the only solution: refining a blood-healing potion potent enough to increase the regeneration properties of the boy’s blood and gradually restore the damaged vein.

He opens his eyes—and finds the boy staring up at him, eyes wide with hope.

“Elder brother,” the boy whispers, “can you heal me? So I can go outside and play?”

Merin smiles gently. “Yes. In a week, you’ll be running again.”

The boy’s mother gasps. “Truly? You can heal him?”

Merin rises. “Bring him to my clinic at noon today.”

After a few more words with the mother, he and the butler return to the carriage. As they climb in, Merin says, “Stop at a medical shop. I need ingredients for the potion.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver replies.

After a moment of silence, the butler turns to him. “You’re sure you can heal him? How certain are you?”

Merin responds calmly, “I won’t promise he’ll be like other children. But he’ll be better able to live without being trapped in his bed.”

The butler nods slowly, thoughtfully.

Later that day, Merin stands in his clinic, waiting. On the table beside him are three vials of blood-healing potion, faintly glowing red through the glass. Outside, snow drifts past the windows.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sora at the front desk, calmly diagnosing a patient. Two more sit on the bench nearby, likely with common ailments. Sora can handle them.

A carriage pulls up outside the clinic. Merin steps toward the door as it opens. A man climbs down first, carefully lifting the boy in his arms. Behind him, the boy’s mother steps out. Then, unexpectedly, a fourth person exits the carriage—an elderly man with a white beard, long hair, and a navy blue robe lined in silver.

Merin narrows his eyes.

Healer robes…

The boy’s mother approaches quickly. “This is my husband—and this is Healer Wang Hai.”

Wang Hai steps forward, eyes sharp despite his age. “So, you’re the one claiming to heal the incurable.” He glances at the boy, then back at Merin. “How are you going to treat him?”

Merin meets the old man’s gaze calmly. ” I am going to widen his narrow vein.”

Wang Hai studies him in silence.” How?”

Merin says calmly, “I don’t think I need to explain anything to you. My method is my own.”

In this world, healers—like samurai—guard their techniques closely. Healing methods, especially those passed down or self-created, are considered personal secrets. Asking about them is rude, even provocative.

Wang Hai frowns. “I couldn’t heal him. And yet a young, unknown healer like you claims you can?”

The Mori family butler, still present, steps in. “Healer Wang Hai, you were also unable to heal our young lady. But Mr. Matsuda succeeded.”

Wang Hai waves the words away. “That was a different matter. Your young lady was poisoned. He created a medicine to neutralise it. But Zhu Yan’s condition is entirely different.”

Merin turns toward Zhu Yan’s parents. “If you don’t trust me, you’re free to take your child elsewhere.”

Zhu Yan’s father and mother exchange uncertain glances, both frowning.

Zhu Yan’s father finally speaks. “Sir… can you truly heal our child?”

Merin nods. “Yes. And even if I fail, his life won’t be in danger. I’ll take every precaution.”

Wang Hai cuts in sharply. “Don’t believe him. He’s bluffing. Give me time, and I’ll find a way to heal the boy.”

Zhu Yan’s mother steps forward, her eyes tired but resolute. “Healer Wang… It’s already been three years. You couldn’t find a way. Mr. Matsuda, I entrust my son to you.”

Merin steps forward and gently lifts Zhu Yan from his father’s arms. The boy is fast asleep, breathing shallowly but peacefully. Cradling him carefully, Merin walks to the inner room and lays him down on the treatment bed.

Inside the quiet room, Merin sits beside the sleeping boy and takes out a small vial containing a pale green liquid. It’s an extract from a rare plant—mildly poisonous, but not lethal. Its effect is unique: it traps the subject’s consciousness in a still, dreamless state, cutting off all sensation from the body. No pain, no awareness—only stillness.

He gently administers the dose. Moments later, Zhu Yan’s breathing slows, and his body becomes completely unresponsive. Merin confirms the boy’s condition with a touch of inner energy. Perfect. He won’t feel what comes next.

From a second pouch, Merin retrieves three veils of blood healing potion, carefully refined the night before. He administers each dose one by one, giving enough time for the healing factor to take effect. Under Merin’s spiritual sense, the boy’s blood begins to change—its regenerative properties enhanced, ready to repair damaged tissue at an accelerated rate.

With deep focus, Merin channels his inner energy into the boy’s chest and begins the most delicate step—widening the narrow vein near the heart. Slowly, with subtle control, he stretches the walls of the constricted vessel. A moment later, a faint tear forms. But his energy is already surrounding the site, creating a protective field to prevent blood from spilling or pressure from destabilising the flow.

He doesn’t stop.

The healing factor kicks in immediately, the torn tissue beginning to regenerate as fast as it breaks. Merin’s control remains steady. This is not a brute-force method—it’s precision work. Millimetre by millimetre, he widens the vein until its diameter matches that of the others. Just as the healing potion’s effect begins to wear off, he moves on to the final step.

Only a small tear remains. For this, he takes out a small piece of a hundred-year-old ginseng, its rich golden root pulsing faintly with vitality. He grinds it into a liquid form and lets a few drops slip into the boy’s mouth. The potent energy surges through the boy’s meridians, sealing the final wound and flushing the body with strength.

The boy’s pale skin warms. A soft, rosy hue returns to his cheeks.

Merin withdraws his inner energy and places two fingers on the wrist. The pulse is steady now, strong, even.

He smiles faintly and takes out a second vial—the antidote to the first poison. He applies a few drops under the boy’s tongue. The boy’s fingers twitch.

Merin stands and walks to the door. As he opens it, Zhu Yan’s mother rushes forward.

“How is he?” she asks, voice trembling.

Merin meets her eyes calmly. “He’s healed.”

The mother covers her mouth, tears flowing instantly. Before she and the father can step inside, Wang Hai pushes past them and hurries to the boy’s side. He places his fingers on Zhu Yan’s wrist.

Moments pass. Then his eyes widen.

“How?” he breathes, barely a whisper.

Merin offers no answer. He just turns and walks toward the front of the clinic.

Sora is diagnosing a waiting patient. Two more sit quietly behind, watching Merin with wide, amazed eyes. He pulls up a stool beside her.

“Next,” he says, and calmly resumes his work.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep