Chapter 189 - 134 : Year 31 - 36 We Are Not gods ?

Chapter 189: Chapter 134 : Year 31 - 36 We Are Not gods ?

Elisa could see that her father was not refusing because he did not care. She had watched him study reports from struggling villages and reconsider his decisions when he learned that a family had fallen on especially difficult times.

She knew how much the people under his care mattered to him, and she understood that he could not give what the treasury did not have. Yet knowing all this did not make his answer any easier to accept.

She had come to him hoping there might be something more they could do, only to learn that even her father’s willingness to help could not reach everyone who needed it. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, there would still be families waiting for help that might never come.

That afternoon, she sat at the writing desk in her room, surrounded by the books and notes that had occupied more and more of her time over the previous two years. Her chamber was still recognisably that of a nobleman’s daughter: an embroidered cover lay across the bed, a woven rug softened the stone floor, and pale curtains framed the tall windows overlooking part of the castle grounds. A carved wooden chest stood against one wall, while a small tapestry and a few carefully chosen ornaments lent warmth to the room. But the space around her desk had become a working corner of its own.

Several books from the family library lay open beside the physician’s notes and collections of medicinal formulae. Some dealt with herbs and their uses; others described wounds, ailments, and the preparations used to treat them.

On loose sheets, Elisa had drawn leaves, stems, roots, and flowers, adding notes wherever the physician had corrected her identification or explained a difference she had missed. Small bowls held dried samples, and a mortar and pestle stood beside a row of stoppered jars. Bundles of herbs hung from a wooden rack near the window, their faint scent mixing with ink, paper, and the traces of medicine that seemed to linger on her hands no matter how thoroughly she washed them.

She was supposed to be studying a plant whose leaves appeared in more than one remedy. Instead, she had been staring at the same page for some time, her pen resting between her fingers. Her long curls had fallen forward over one shoulder, and the soft expression that usually made her seem so approachable had given way to quiet distress. There were no tears on her face, but her eyes looked tired, and she had pressed her lips together as though trying to contain thoughts she could not put into order.

Lucy noticed it as soon as she entered. She paused beside the door, taking in the open books, the untouched work before Elisa, and the way her daughter sat without moving. The girl’s usual eagerness had not disappeared, but something had weighed it down.

"You haven’t turned a page in quite some time," Lucy said gently as she approached. "Is it still the family you visited today?"

Elisa looked up. For a moment, she seemed ready to say that everything was well, but the words did not come. She lowered her eyes to the drawing before her.

"I keep thinking about them," she admitted. "The physician treated the man’s injury, but he still can’t work. He needs to rest if he is going to recover, yet his family needs him to earn money. They barely have enough food. We can give them a little, but what happens when it runs out?" Her fingers tightened around the pen. "I keep thinking there must be something more we could do."

Lucy drew a chair closer and sat beside her. She reached over, gently moved a curl away from Elisa’s cheek, and rested a hand against her daughter’s shoulder.

"I know how much it troubles you," she said. "And I know you have been doing everything you can think of to help. You give what you can, you comfort people when they’re frightened, and you have spent two years learning how to care for the sick. You go out with the physician and do whatever he allows you to do. You are already giving more of yourself than most people your age would know how to give."

"But it still isn’t enough."

"Sometimes it won’t be," Lucy replied. She did not say it coldly, nor did she expect Elisa to take comfort in the truth merely because it was true. "That is one of the hardest things you will have to learn. You can treat a wound, prepare medicine, and help someone regain their strength. You can give a family food or help them find the care they need. But you cannot promise that every person will recover, or that every hardship will be resolved because you have tried to help."

Elisa stared down at the page. "Then how am I supposed to accept it when I know they are still suffering?"

"You do not have to stop caring simply because you cannot solve everything." Lucy’s thumb moved slowly across her daughter’s shoulder. "But you must learn that caring for someone does not mean every outcome rests on you. Even the strongest martial artists can be wounded in battle. Some die despite all their strength, their skill, and the efforts of those trying to save them. A physician may use every remedy he knows and still lose a patient. There are things even the most skilled among us cannot change."

She turned slightly so that Elisa would meet her eyes.

"We are not gods, Elisa. We cannot perform miracles. We can use the knowledge we have, give the care we can, and do our best to help someone survive. But whether a person recovers is not always in our hands. When you have done all you can, you must not punish yourself for what lies beyond your ability."

Elisa remained silent. She wanted to believe her mother, and part of her knew she was right. She had seen the physician work carefully and patiently, never promising what he could not guarantee. She had watched her father weigh one urgent need against another, searching for a choice that would hurt the fewest people. Neither of them lacked compassion. They simply had limits, and those limits did not disappear because someone was suffering.

Lucy drew her into an embrace, and Elisa leaned against her for a moment, allowing herself the comfort she had spent so much time trying to give others. Her mother’s presence eased some of the ache in her chest, though it did not remove the questions that had brought it there.

The words remained with her after Lucy left: We are not gods. We cannot perform miracles.

She understood what her mother meant. She could not save everyone, not with the knowledge she possessed now, and she could not expect every patient to recover simply because she cared deeply about them. But the thought left another question in its place. Was the limit she had encountered a limit of life itself, or only a limit of what they knew?

She looked again at the books spread across her desk. The physician had taught her much, yet she had only begun to understand his craft. There were countless herbs she had not studied, formulae she had not learned, and methods she did not yet know how to use. Even among martial artists, whose bodies were strengthened through years of cultivation, injuries and illnesses remained. Some could be treated, some could only be eased, and some defeated the physician’s best efforts.

What if there were remedies beyond the ones she knew? What if a person who had been given little hope could still be helped by knowledge she had not yet discovered? She knew she was not going to find such answers in a single book or learn them in a few years. The thought did not promise her that she could overcome death or cure every illness. It gave her something more practical to hold on to: the possibility that she could learn to do more than she could do now.

Elisa would not take her mother’s words as a reason to turn away from suffering. She would learn to accept that she could not save everyone, but she would not stop searching for ways to help more people. She would study every remedy and preparation she could reach, learn the proper use of herbs and medicinal formulae, and understand how a physician could aid both ordinary people and martial artists whose bodies had been strained by training or broken in battle. She would keep learning for as long as she could, and if there was a higher level of skill her craft could reach, she intended to pursue it.

She could not command every illness to yield or every injured person to survive. But she could become more capable than she was today. If there was knowledge that could ease pain, improve recovery, or give someone another chance, she wanted to find it.

Her parents would have been relieved to know that she was beginning to see the distinction between responsibility and helplessness. They had never wanted her to become indifferent to the suffering around her; they only feared that she would come to believe every misfortune was hers to bear. Elisa was still learning how to carry that concern without allowing it to consume her, but she had begun to find direction in it. Her compassion had not diminished. It was becoming a purpose.

Her brothers, meanwhile, were moving into very different stages of their lives.