My Ex-Boyfriend Gave Birth to My Child? What Does That Mean? - Chapter 40

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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My ex-boyfriend had my baby—what in the world is this supposed to mean? Episode 40
The High Archbishop’s office, into which I was shown, was a blindingly, sickly white. From the walls and floor to the very edges of the furniture, not a speck of dust or stain was tolerated—an eerie, unsettling whiteness that made the point clear.
A room that resembled its owner.
The High Archbishop, stepping in ahead of me, issued a warning in a grave voice.
“Come in. Don’t touch anything carelessly.”
She added with a small sound of acknowledgment.
“That chair there—you must sit in the one with that black cushion placed exactly where it is.”
I walked carefully and took a seat. I didn’t dare bring anyone else into this room, so all the servants who had come with me had to wait outside the High Archbishop’s office.
The High Archbishop handed me a pair of White Gloves identical to the ones she wore.
“Put these on.”
I did as she instructed without protest.
Watching me obey without resistance, the High Archbishop spoke quietly.
“As you know, I have a mental affliction.”
High Archbishop Vivian Rochelle.
The daughter of the Marquis Rochelle Household suffered from severe Mysophobia.
From her earliest childhood, she had been pathologically obsessed with cleanliness, so the Marquis Rochelle Household abandoned any thought of marrying her off. They did what any noble family does with a child bearing such an incurable condition.
With a modest donation, they sent her to the Temple before she’d even come of age.
Typically, noble children sent to the Temple like that would pine away and die before reaching adulthood.
Yet contrary to all expectations, the girl from the Rochelle family, abandoned to the Temple, devoted herself to Divine Service and became a priest, ascending the ranks at an unbelievable speed.
“But you’ve risen to the position of High Archbishop at such a young age. I’ve always held you in the highest esteem.”
“A mage respecting a priest… even a dog passing by would laugh.”
“It’s the truth. Not many people are capable of resolving to do something noble despite suffering from such a painful condition.”
“I merely wish to offer my suffering to God.”
Right. She was also an extreme asceticism addict.
Twenty years hence, if the rumors were accurate, the young Vivian Rochelle had become convinced of something.
That her pathological obsession with cleanliness was proof that God was watching over her.
She resolved to throw herself into religious austerity, guided by her faith in God.
Defiled by blood and pus, yet sacred work.
She decided to become a healer.
“I dislike roundabout speech.”
Vivian Rochelle spoke in a cold voice.
“Tell me plainly what you want from me.”
I nodded toward her and opened my mouth.
“I hope you will manage the health of my household’s patients, High Archbishop.”
“Family members?”
“Servants—those as good as family.”
Even when I mentioned treating servants and maids, her expression didn’t change. I knew this much: worldly rank meant nothing to her.
The blue-haired woman paused briefly in thought, then asked a single question.
“It’s true that I served as an assistant to physicians for a long time.”
A sharp gaze swept across me, searching.
“But why me? If you needed a physician, the Capital Hospital would be easy enough to find one. I’ve been working as a Midwife far longer.”
“The Capital Hospital conducts deliveries as well. But how many of those who went in there came out alive? Meanwhile, you’re achieving remarkable results.”
“Results… how mercantile of you to say.”
“I’m a merchant too.”
No hospital grants formal positions to women. But it was common for priestesses to double as midwives.
Since few people would willingly take on such grueling work, Vivian Rochelle had become a midwife under a mentor while still young—or rather, still a girl.
She had no idea at the time that this decision would accelerate her rapid rise through the ranks.
‘The Blessed Hands, Vivian Rochelle.’
That was the epithet the Temple now proudly displayed for her. That such a grandiose title was given by a fastidious institution meant her accomplishments were extraordinary.
The mortality rate among mothers whose children Vivian Rochelle had delivered and whose wounds she had treated was remarkably low—incomparably lower than the maternal survival rate of the Capital Hospital.
Even nobles who had thought of Temple treatment merely as a lifeline for the poor came to believe that children must be born in the Temple.
Just as it was in the secular world, the Temple, being a place where people lived, could not simply stay quiet.
‘Who doubts God? The very existence of the ‘Blessed Hands’ is God’s grace—the greatest proof that God exists.’
The High Archbishop spread this word far and wide.
But having lived through the future once, I knew the truth: that no one questioned that reputation more than Vivian herself.
‘My sincerity is still insufficient. Why has God granted me such a blessing?’
As time passed and experience accumulated, she came to understand naturally.
That her habit of pathologically changing to fresh gloves frequently and soaking every implement she used in boiling water to scrub away grime—this was the true nature of that ‘blessing.’
Vivian Rochelle’s devotion and selflessness were genuine. She did not hoard what she discovered. In the future, she revealed to the world what she had observed and learned over long years.
Her pathological obsession was, in truth, an insight that would save humanity.
Vivian Rochelle, who had been lost in thought with her hand pressed to her lips, spoke in a quiet voice.
“But as you know, the Temple doesn’t look kindly on contact with mages. Lately, the High Archbishop has been particularly difficult, as though I’m threatening his position.”
“I’ve heard he’s somewhat… political. I understand.”
“Then speak to me as a merchant would. If you wanted to move me, you should have prepared something rather different from that donation.”
I nodded.
“The Magical Beast Rampage Incident wounded many people. Not many have the means to go to the hospital, so most will flock to the Temple.”
“…And?”
“For the past two quarters, I will donate all the fabric sales that came into House of Autraha under the High Archbishop’s name. With that, we could build a large relief tent and help people.”
“Everyone donates. Especially after something this grave.”
I nodded and then smiled.
“But I believe my other conditions will satisfy the High Archbishop.”
“Let me hear them.”
“Anyone who undertakes healing work in the tent built by House of Autraha’s donation must observe the following conditions.”
I straightened my spine and began to enumerate the complex requirements slowly and deliberately.
“When treating a patient’s wounds, one must use gloves that have been boiled in water and dried in a clean environment. Once used, gloves must not be reused until they have been boiled in hot water. Any tool that touches a wound must be boiled in water. Once used, a tool must never be used again until it has been boiled in hot water…”
With each condition I added, Vivian Rochelle’s expression shifted gradually.
“…Finally, if there are shortcomings in these provisions, I will also welcome your counsel.”
She opened her mouth with the most vibrant light in her eyes that I had seen all day.
“Truly delightful conditions.”
Smiling gently as though she were a saint, she nodded.
“I like this very much.”
I smiled back at her.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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