Feverish Fuss

Heat burned in Lucian’s blue eyes.

Without realizing it, Shana reached out and carefully brushed aside the black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

His eyes were unfocused from the fever, and even with his face twisted in pain, he was smiling.

Lucian gently pulled Shana into an embrace by the neck and pressed a hot kiss to her cheek.

A soft sound followed.

With long, cool fingers, he traced her cheek, then smiled hazily once more.

“Shasha…….”

At that low, fever-drenched call, Shana stared at him, momentarily dazed.

Fragments of moments she hadn’t had time to fully process came rushing back.

The kiss she’d shared with him while trying to get the Moon Dew down his throat.

The moment she’d climbed over him to fool the priests.

Come to think of it, the one who had crossed all the embarrassing lines… was her.

In his current state, Lucian could easily pull her onto the bed.

Especially if that dizzying heat from earlier had continued.

If that happened—

What was she supposed to do?

Shana lightly brushed the cheek he had kissed.

His eyes held only her.

In their deep blue depths, she saw her own wavering reflection.

Lucian cupped both her cheeks again, as if about to kiss her once more.

Shana closed her eyes.

But instead of lips, his hands slipped away.

“…Huh?”

Lucian collapsed weakly back onto the bed.

Startled, Shana shook his shoulder.

“Lucian?”

There was no response.

His eyes remained closed.

He had passed out.

Shana blinked.

“…What?”

He just fell asleep?

After all that agonizing over how to deal with temptation—it had all been because he was sick?

‘I’m… I’m the crazy one.’

She’d seriously been debating whether or not to sleep with a patient in that condition.

This had to be the Moon Dew messing with her head too.

Shana carefully placed a hand on Lucian’s cheek.

He was still burning hot.

All color had drained from his pale face.

He didn’t look fine at all.

‘…So it was all just fever-induced nonsense.’

Especially considering his past of acting completely unlike himself when given the wrong treatment for Mana Rejection Syndrome.

‘What was I even thinking… about a patient.’

“Ha…….”

Shana let out a long sigh and gently supported the back of Lucian’s neck, settling him into a more comfortable position.

No matter how chaotic things had been—monsters, cultists, everything—

thinking like that in front of a patient was unacceptable.

‘This isn’t the time for self-reproach. He needs proper treatment, now.’

She was an excellent apothecary, but not a physician.

With severe internal injuries and signs of mana overload, professional medical care was essential.

Lucian—imperial war hero and heir to a grand ducal house—

collapsing after fighting countless monsters.

Only the imperial physicians could handle something like this.

Thankfully, they were no longer in the old cabin, but in the heart of the capital, right near the Imperial Palace.

Shana went into the apothecary’s sitting room and found the high-grade communicator Lucian kept on his study desk.

Even without mana, she could use it—a pinnacle of imperial technology.

The problem was how to explain her relationship with Lucian once she contacted the palace.

‘The antidote research is classified.’

But she couldn’t leave him like this.

‘I’ll make something up.’

The moment Shana sent an emergency request to the Imperial Medical Institute, elite imperial knights flooded into the apothecary.

Their speed and discipline were overwhelming.

Surprisingly, none of them questioned Shana’s identity or her relationship with Lucian.

When she introduced herself as “Duke Lucian’s personal apothecary,” they simply nodded and focused on Lucian’s condition.

‘Is it because of his status?’

The gap was too vast for them to assume a romantic relationship.

Lucian was transferred to the palace’s highest-grade medical ward.

Three imperial physicians immediately began examining him.

They used magitech to inspect his mouth, checked his temperature and pulse, and even measured the flow of mana, discussing things in grave tones.

Shana waited anxiously.

“…His condition is…”

One doctor trailed off.

“Is it serious?”

Shana asked urgently.

He had vomited blood, burned with fever, and lost consciousness.

“Actually… it’s fine.”

“…What?”

Shana blinked.

“He vomited blood and passed out. And you’re saying he’s fine?”

“There is internal damage, yes. But it’s nothing he hasn’t endured countless times on the battlefield.”

An elderly physician who seemed to be the chief adjusted his glasses and spoke flatly.

“If he’s had it many times, isn’t that worse?”

“Old injuries could worsen or turn fatal.”

The doctor looked her up and down openly.

“Ah, Apothecary, you still don’t know His Grace very well.

This has happened many times before, and it has never once become a problem.

Our institute believes His Grace possesses a uniquely blessed constitution that allows him to recover quickly from conditions unique to the imperial bloodline.”

‘…What kind of nonsense is that?’

Lucian hadn’t inherited the grand ducal title yet, but after the war the emperor had granted him a ducal rank, giving him immense power.

There was no way the imperial physicians would treat him carelessly.

And yet—this indifference?

“So you’re just… leaving him like this? No medicine?”

“There’s no specific medicine for internal injuries.

And frankly, it’s surprising he even has a personal apothecary.

His Grace rarely seeks doctors or apothecaries, even when injured.”

She had forgotten.

Imperial medicine had never truly developed.

The empire had relied entirely on white magic to heal everything.

After white magic vanished, doctors and apothecaries became necessary—but their status never truly rose.

‘Maybe that’s why Mana Rejection Syndrome was never properly treated.’

The doctor continued, almost instructively.

“Moreover, because His Grace suffers from Mana Rejection Syndrome, we cannot treat him with mana-based devices or potions.

All we can provide is standard care.”

“Standard care” meant little more than pain-dulling magic and nutrient infusions.

To Shana, who had studied real treatment since childhood, it was absurd.

‘I could’ve done better back at the apothecary.’

“So every time he collapsed like this, this is how you handled it?”

“We cannot risk administering unverified medicine to one of imperial blood. That would be reckless.”

‘…I’ve been doing exactly that since we were kids.’

She didn’t back down.

“Then at least let me give him this.”

Shana pulled dried flower petals from her herb pouch.

Lucian didn’t like sweets, but he tolerated flower tea.

When he was young and suffering from Mana Rejection Syndrome, it had helped calm him.

“Herbal tea? That’s folk medicine.”

A younger doctor scoffed.

“…He’s been drinking this since childhood.

I’ll brew it mildly.

Mental stability is the foundation of recovery.”

As she quietly prepared the tea, she felt a gaze on her back.

Turning, she saw a tall red-haired man among the knights.

He watched silently, adhering strictly to aristocratic etiquette.

Shana spoke first.

“And you are?”

“Vice-Captain of the Red Wolf Knights, Leon Valcerio.”

He bowed politely.

He was enormous—nearly two meters tall—with scars crossing his face.

More mercenary than knight in appearance.

“I came as soon as I heard the captain was injured.

I was told this happened during a border operation.

Could you tell me anything about the monsters or the situation?”

“…There were werewolves. Hundreds of them.

And two rifts.”

Leon’s expression visibly eased.

“Then he’ll wake soon.”

“…You’re not worried?”

“To the captain, werewolves are paper targets.

He probably wasn’t even hit.”

“That’s exactly why it’s dangerous. Mana backlash can be fatal.”

“He’s special.

Even that heals quickly.

One day of rest should be enough.”

At that, something hot surged in Shana’s chest.

“He said he might not make it back alive!”

Leon froze.

“…The captain said that?”

“Yes.”

Leon stared, then let out a hollow laugh.

“Then he must’ve made quite a fuss… for you, milady.”

“…What?”