While war in the east unfolded with uncertainty, John found himself bound by duty in Constantinople.
A week had passed since he personally administered the 'antibiotic' to Anna. Despite his earnest efforts, she remained unconscious.
However, there was a silver lining. Just three days after the administration, the symptoms of the disease began to recede rapidly—a development that Father Andreas, Anna's attending physician, described as nothing short of miraculous.
"Your Highness, it still amazes me," Father Andreas remarked during John's last visit, astonishment shining in his eyes. "Despite her comatose state, her recovery indicates that the worst has passed. Now, her consciousness is her own battle."
The news brought some relief to John, but a subtle feeling of guilt lingered. He feared that administering the cure might have been too late, potentially causing unforeseen consequences—Anna's passing being the worst of them.
These fears were not unfounded.
The antibiotic itself was not fully proven, and there was no time to ascertain its efficacy due to inconsistent production and the lack of volunteers for clinical trials. John understood this all too well.
The risks were plentiful, and ethical medical practices in this time period were almost nonexistent. Yet, as a modern man, John couldn't bring himself to force anyone into risky experimentation just to prove a point.
He knew that most 'black death' victims succumbed within a week of contracting the disease, but Anna was different. She had contracted the illness about a week before arriving in Constantinople, which meant she was already in the late stages—what most would consider irreversible or terminal.
Despite this, John kept his hope alive, even praying for a miracle, if such a thing existed.
According to Fatah, the young alchemist John had recently recruited into his circle, Anna might have developed partial resistance to the disease, which had allowed her to persist longer than most. Fatah called this phenomenon 'immunity build-up.'
Remarkably, despite being less understood at the time, this concept aligned with John's knowledge from the future. It was widely recognized that as the plague recurred over time, populations naturally developed some immunity, leading to a decrease in death rates, though they were not completely impervious.
This understanding was consistent with what John had learned in modern medicine. Most survivors, although their immunity was often short-lived, were able to resist the disease for a few more years before it finally claimed them.
This pattern was attributed to periods of dormancy within the human immune system. The bacterium would enter a state of hibernation after the initial deadly period, developing its own counter-resistance against the body's defenses before eventually adapting and overwhelming the host.
This process mirrored the principles of virology, which explained how diseases adapt against the immune systems of living organisms. It was only after the advent of modern medicine that these deadly pathogens ceased to be fatal, assimilating into the human immune system rather than remaining the parasites they once were.
Diseases such as smallpox, tuberculosis, and the once-dreaded 'black death' of the medieval world could be partially prevented or treated depending on the availability of cures—cures that unfortunately did not exist in this era.
For John, the development of antibiotics like penicillin was of utmost importance if he wanted the empire to prosper once more. His ultimate goal extended beyond the empire; he sought to eradicate the disease earlier than history had expected.
"I can assert that the 'cure' doesn't completely eliminate the disease; instead, it mitigates fatalities to a certain degree, functioning like—" Fatah began, only to be interrupted by John.
"Like a protective shield, building immunity against the disease."
Fatah was astonished by the co-emperor's remark, which aligned perfectly with his own thoughts. "Yes... that is exactly what I was about to say."
Fatah's explanation matched what modern virologists might conclude, much to John's relief.
'This guy might be the real deal... why he was never mentioned in history is mind-baffling...'
Of course, Fatah wasn't a figure in history. If it weren't for John's reincarnation and his mission to advance the science of this period, the young alchemist wouldn't even exist.
John contemplated Fatah's explanation, linking it with his own knowledge of medicine. Even in the modern era, the complete eradication of diseases remained an elusive goal. Most medicines don't necessarily eradicate diseases entirely; they provide protection without achieving total elimination.
Understanding how diseases operate is akin to understanding the interconnectedness of nature. Organisms don't necessarily face extinction; rather, they evolve, adapting to changes in their environment.
Charles Darwin's observations in his seminal work, The Origin of Species, highlighted how organisms inherit traits from common ancestors, using these traits to adapt to the ever-changing forces of nature.
Humans, with their remarkable adaptability, exhibit an unparalleled ability to evolve and thrive in diverse environments—an ability that surpasses even that of their primate relatives.
"Anyway..." Fatah continued, "Princess Anna showed some signs of immunity, but it wasn't enough to save her. The bright spot is that when you gave her the cure, it helped her body start to fight back against the disease."
Fatah's words pulled John out of his thoughts. He realized that rather than attempting to eradicate the plague outright, a more practical approach might be to cultivate immunity, forcing the human body to adapt to the unfavorable conditions brought on by the disease.
The key to achieving this lay in the mass production of antibiotics, which could potentially cure most deadly medieval diseases.
However, a significant challenge emerged in the form of the Church.
John, drawing on his recent experiences dealing with the ultra-conservative institution, was well-acquainted with the difficulties that would arise when confronting the authority he so despised.
Despite his biases, rooted in his knowledge of medieval church organization, John VIII had come to refine his understanding of the Church. He realized that his previous assumptions were too simplistic.
Contrary to the Catholic West, which resisted scientific advancements, the Greek Orthodox Church was more open to profound knowledge, due to its tradition of curiosity and intellectualism.
For John, being born into the Greek tradition provided a distinct advantage in navigating these complex issues. Instances like the acceptance of his reforms by the people and the Church—without being labeled as 'heretical'—had already altered his views on the Church.
This understanding was further deepened by his knowledge of the Church's role within the empire. Unlike the theocratic Catholic Church, the Orthodox Church was more restricted in its involvement in state matters. The supreme head of the church was the Emperor himself, not the Patriarch.
It was for this reason that when John introduced new practices, like the new sport, he faced little opposition from the Church. However, this didn't mean every initiative was acceptable, even within a caesaropapist institution like the Orthodox Church. While their power within the court was limited, their influence in spiritual and societal matters remained significant.
Despite this, Father Andreas, an Orthodox monk, seemed surprisingly open to John's medicine and methods.
Father Andreas, despite his religious background, was progressive in his practice, as were many monks John had observed in Constantinople. The Greeks, though devout, were not entirely backward. In fact, without the Greeks who fled the empire during its final days, Western civilization might not have advanced as it did.
The Renaissance in Europe owed much to the works of Greek scholars in art and philosophy after the fall of the Eastern Roman Empire to the Turks. It was also the Greeks who championed modern democracy in the West, despite being one of the last states to achieve it after their war of liberation.
Their contributions single-handedly ended Europe's Dark Ages, ushering in a new era that reshaped the entire continent.
Yet, one thing remained unchanged: the Church still held a monopoly over society, despite their receptiveness to progressive measures and their submission to imperial authority.
When John first presented the idea to Father Andreas, the monk-physician sighed in regret and pity.
"Though what you propose seems promising, it cannot be denied that the Church still holds sway in how such measures are implemented," Father Andreas cautioned. "It's an anomaly for an outsider, especially a monarch, to introduce new treatments without the Church's knowledge or approval. This could cause a conflict of interest between religion and state."
A dilemma indeed.
"You must speak with the Patriarch himself—perhaps hold a forum where the higher-ups would attend and have a dialogue," Father Andreas advised. "But considering that the one who developed this cure is a Saracen infidel, it will be much harder to see it through, unfortunately."
Of course. John had overlooked this crucial detail. Fatah wasn't even a Christian, which could bring additional resistance from the Church, despite their openness to the idea of the cure.
"I'll deal with that," John replied, though in reality, he knew he had to think carefully if he wanted this to succeed.
"Sigh... If the cure gets approved, it could alter the course of the empire and history itself. It's a shame we live in a time where the Church claims to hold the keys to Heaven, rather than Apostle Peter, to whom the Lord entrusted them."
Father Andreas lamented, and rightly so. Even as a man of the Church, it was difficult for him to say more than what was necessary.
Monopoly.
John expected that if the cure were widely sold and profitable for the empire, he wouldn't taste the fruits of his labor. Instead, it would be fed into the mouths of the oligarchs he despised.
Sacred Palace
Inside the opulent office of the emperor, two unmistakably similar individuals sat across from each other, leisurely sipping tea. A butler, standing straight as a statue, occasionally refilled their cups as the conversation flowed.
Bathed in the warm, sanguine glow of the afternoon light, the emperor and co-emperor engaged in trivial talk, momentarily forgetting their duties.
John, hesitant, sought to gauge his father's reaction before broaching the topic of the cure. Emperor Manuel II, maintaining his usual composed demeanor, calmly awaited John's revelation.
"Father, there's something I must share with you," John finally began, cautiously.
Manuel II raised an eyebrow and responded promptly, "And what might that be? Another of your unexpected ventures, I presume?"
The emperor jested, but had to clear his throat immediately as a prickling pain flared at the back of his head. The butler was watching.
"Recently, I developed something of a cure to treat the plague," John revealed, causing the emperor to flinch. But he let John continue, demanding an explanation.
"Of course, it's still under observation, but the initial results are promising. I wanted to get your thoughts before presenting it to the imperial court."
The emperor, momentarily at a loss for words, pondered. This was far removed from what John had previously shown.
The realm of science—something that few of his predecessors had ever dared to explore. And now, John wanted to dip his toes into this uncharted territory. How could Manuel not be surprised?
Despite being accustomed to John's brilliance, delving into medicine was a departure from the usual administrative talents attributed to the young co-emperor.
"Medicine? This is unexpected. Is it related to the recent argument with the Patriarch, or perhaps the princess' illness?" Manuel II inquired lightly, referring to Anna, causing John to accidentally spill his tea.
"That... No..." John attempted to deflect, but couldn't hide his embarrassment.
"It seems like it was," the emperor chuckled briefly before adopting a more serious tone.
"Listen, John, you understand that this decision isn't ours to make, don't you? It's the Church, specifically the Patriarch, who determines whether a medicine is legitimate. Even as emperor, I may have the authority to challenge the Church's decisions, but this is more than just a matter of power—it's about the ethics and morals that the Church upholds. I am merely a servant of the Lord, not the Lord Himself."
Manuel II's tone was firm as he looked John in the eye.
"Given the recent tensions with the Patriarch, it won't be straightforward. However, I can give you some support to ensure the Patriarch doesn't overstep—unless, of course, someone else takes his seat... Do you have any suitable candidates in mind?" He added with a hint of mischief.
"… I don't think that's necessary…" John responded, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement at the emperor's casual suggestion of replacing the Patriarch as if it were a trivial matter.
"Anyhow, show me what this 'cure' of yours actually does," Manuel II quickly returned to his dignified demeanor, prompting John to summon Fatah through the butler and instruct him to bring only the necessary reports.
The butler complied.
Moments later, Fatah entered the room, carrying a stack of papers nearly as tall as he was, leaving both the emperor and co-emperor speechless.
"I told you to bring only the report. What is all this?" John rubbed his temples.
"I beg your pardon, Your Highness, Your Majesty," Fatah apologized, but the emperor graciously excused him.
"No need for apologies, young man. If the co-emperor trusts you, then so do I. Please, enlighten me on the details."
Nervous, Fatah presented the cure to the emperor, repeating the explanation he had given John earlier.
Manuel II listened attentively, though his limited knowledge of medicine hindered his understanding.
John instinctively stepped in, simplifying the presentation to facilitate the emperor's comprehension.
It didn't take long for Fatah to conclude, before finally presenting a vial containing the cure, handing it to the emperor for closer inspection.
"So, this liquid here is the cure that can combat the plague's symptoms? Is it truly that miraculous?" Manuel II inquired skeptically, directing his question at John.
The vial's contents appeared no different from water.
"Indeed. By mass-producing this cure, we can not only combat the 'curse' that has plagued us for centuries but also generate a new source of income for the empire, enabling further progress," John explained.
A new stream of income.
It was true that the empire urgently needed funds to stabilize its recently acquired territories, devastated by the war with the Ottomans. Yet Manuel II remained skeptical.
The plague hadn't directly affected the empire, with only a few distant merchants reporting cases. Furthermore, there was no reliable evidence supporting the cure's efficacy, apart from Anna, who, according to John, remained unconscious despite the treatment.
"I beg your pardon, John, but how do you intend to persuade the imperial court and the Church of the credibility of this remedy? At present, there is a lack of verifiable results to support its efficacy, apart from the instance with the young princess, which I find... difficult to believe," the emperor admitted, genuinely perplexed.
"As I mentioned, Father, I have my own methods," John replied with an elusive tone, prompting a sigh from the emperor.
"If that's the case, I can only wait for your explanation in court. I plan to convene the court in a few days."
"Oh, and before I forget, I would like to inform you that you are now the Despot of Adrianople. Of course, this appointment will only become official during the upcoming imperial court session."
This sudden revelation surprised John.
"Adrianople?"
"Yes, Adrianople," chuckled the emperor. "But it's not official yet."
"Alongside the validation of your 'cure,' the appointment will be formalized during the next session. So, I expect you to prepare yourself for your new responsibility."
"If that's the case, then I will await the next session. That concludes our discussion for now; if you'll excuse us," John said as he and Fatah prepared to leave, having achieved their primary objective for the day.
"Very well... But John, what about the young lady? Is she well?" Manuel II asked about Anna, but John did not respond immediately.
His expression grew melancholic at the mention of Anna's condition.
"That... Only God knows," John replied, unease creeping into his voice as he bit his lip.
While his anticipation for the cure was high, there were aspects that troubled him deeply, particularly concerning Anna, upon whom he had experimented, much to his guilt.
Doubts loomed, casting shadows on the true nature of his endeavor. Was it love that compelled him, or perhaps something else entirely?
He couldn't be sure.
It was true that he cared for Anna, but it was also true that desperation had driven him to administer the unproven cure.
Yet, deep within him, he clung to hope.
Hope that Anna would open her eyes and be liberated from whatever tormented her. That was his sole aspiration.
However, hope, like everything else, proved to be a burden—a yoke he would bear for the rest of his days.