A Revolutionary Cure

Chapter 2: A Revolutionary Cure

The door to my room creaked closed, leaving me alone with nothing but my thoughts and a growing sense of urgency. I had five years before Roland would appear, but that time would slip away quickly if I didn't act soon. The key to survival—and power—lay not just in the witches, but in proving that I had something no one else in this world did. Knowledge. Modern science. Medicine.

I had to make my first move, and nothing would solidify my position more than creating something revolutionary—something that could make me indispensable to the kingdom and, eventually, to the witches themselves.

Penicillin. The antibiotic that changed the course of history in my world. If I could recreate it here, I'd not only save lives, but also gain the leverage I needed to attract powerful allies.

But first, I needed to figure out how to make it in a world that didn't have the tools or resources I was used to.

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I began with a notebook I found in the manor's study. Crude as it was, it was enough to start outlining the steps in my head. Penicillin was derived from the Penicillium mold, which grew naturally under the right conditions. That part was easy enough to remember. The tricky part was isolating it without modern equipment—no incubators, no autoclaves, no petri dishes.

I started by exploring the small plot of land behind the manor. The soil was moist, the weather humid. There was enough plant decay and organic matter that I felt confident I could find Penicillium mold growing naturally. But it would take time, and the process would be messy. This wasn't going to be as simple as walking into a lab.

After days of searching, I finally found what I was looking for—fuzzy, blue-green mold growing on old bread stored in the manor's pantry. It wasn't exactly sanitary, but in this world, I had to make do with what I had.

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The Struggles of Science in a Medieval World

The hardest part was the sterility issue. In my world, even high school labs had sterile environments to keep experiments from being contaminated. Here, everything was filthy by comparison. Dust, dirt, insects—everything was an enemy. I couldn't guarantee a clean environment, so I had to be careful with every move.

I set up a makeshift lab in the cellar, where I could control the temperature and humidity to an extent. Using glass jars I found in storage, I began preparing the bread mold, creating small slices of bread and keeping them in controlled environments to grow more mold. Each day, I scraped the mold carefully, transferring it into a new container.

The next challenge was extracting the penicillin. I didn't have access to alcohol distillation equipment or centrifuges, so I had to improvise. The best I could do was boil the mold in water and use rudimentary cloth filters to strain out the liquid, leaving behind what I hoped were concentrated doses of penicillin.

The process was agonizing. Every step felt like it was teetering on the edge of failure. Without proper tools, the extraction was crude at best. I had no way of knowing how effective it would be or whether I had even isolated the right component. But I couldn't let that stop me.

By day five, I had produced what I hoped was a weak form of penicillin—a cloudy liquid stored in a small vial, its murky contents swirling every time I shook it. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. I just needed to test it.

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The Test

As luck would have it, I found the perfect candidate. One of the manor's stable boys had been sick for weeks, suffering from what appeared to be an infected wound on his leg. The local healers had tried everything, from poultices to prayers, but nothing worked. The wound had become inflamed, and red streaks were beginning to spread from it—clear signs of sepsis.

I approached the boy's family with caution, presenting myself as a healer with unique knowledge from distant lands. They were desperate, willing to try anything at this point. I had no way of guaranteeing success, but this was the moment I had been waiting for.

With a carefully measured dose, I applied the penicillin mixture directly to the wound and gave the boy a few drops orally, hoping the crude formula would be enough to stop the infection. Then, all I could do was wait.

For days, I watched the boy's condition like a hawk, my heart in my throat. Every morning I feared the infection would worsen, that he would slip further away. But then, on the third day, I saw it: the redness around his wound had faded. The swelling was less pronounced. By the fifth day, the boy was sitting up, asking for food.

It had worked.

Against all odds, with no modern tools or equipment, I had recreated penicillin in a medieval world. And more importantly, I now had proof of its effectiveness. The stable boy's recovery spread like wildfire among the villagers, and soon people were seeking me out for treatments. I was no longer just a minor baron—I was becoming a healer, someone with knowledge that no one else in this world could even begin to fathom.

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Gathering Information on the Witches

With the success of penicillin, I knew it was time to move on to my next objective—finding the witches. Nightingale, Wendy, and Leaves were my targets. If I could locate them before Roland did, I could offer them something far more valuable than safety: power.

But I needed information first. I began discreetly asking about witches through the local merchants and travelers. The kingdom was vast, and witches were hunted by the Church. Finding them would be difficult, but rumors circulated if you knew where to listen.

The first whispers I heard were about the Witch Cooperation Association, a small group of witches living in hiding, constantly moving to avoid the Church's hunters. No one knew exactly where they were, but it was said they operated somewhere in the kingdom's outer territories. That was a start.

Then, I heard of a witch with wind powers, helping travelers on dangerous journeys in secret—Wendy. She was closer than I thought, perhaps only a few days' travel from my manor.

Finally, there was talk of a witch who could manipulate plants, though the details were vague. It had to be Leaves. If I could find her, her powers over nature could revolutionize farming and herbal medicine, giving me another edge over Roland.

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I sat in my study that night, a single candle burning low as I stared at the map before me. The Witch Cooperation Association was my next destination. If I could find them, offer them safety, and show them the power of my modern knowledge, they would join me—not Roland. And together, we could build a kingdom that would rival anything Roland could dream of.

The pieces were falling into place. Penicillin was just the first step. Next, the witches.

And then, the world.