NEC Chapter 15: The Guard Captain

At this moment, Chen Mo’s heart was flooded with an emotion called “awkwardness.” He hadn’t expected Kaga’s “find a healer” to cause such a commotion.

The swordsman approaching for negotiations wore silver armor that gleamed blindingly even in the moonlight. The guards behind him were arranged in an orderly formation, their disciplined movements betraying a tight-knit unit despite their small number.

Temporary wooden platforms on either side seemed to hold crossbows, and combined with the lavish tent camp setup, this group appeared far more formidable than the Zircon heir Chen Mo had crossed.

The young centaur, however, was unfazed.

With so many nations and nobles on the continent, Six-Leaf Grove, a key transit hub, hosted dozens of down-on-their-luck aristocrats yearly.

In this territory, no noble would carelessly offend the centaurs unless their demands were outrageously excessive.

Clearly, Kaga felt his request was reasonable.

Having lost face at Big Eye’s, he was determined to regain it, lest he become a braggart like the braided centaur, a despised swindler.

So, despite the guard captain’s polite initial refusal, stating their healer wasn’t available for outsiders, Kaga persisted, stomping the ground irritably, leaving small dents in the hard earth.

His relentless stance forced the captain to seek his master’s approval.

This led to Lady Frost’s escape from her lessons.

Frost sidled up to the captain, her eyes briefly flicking to Chen Mo before locking onto the oblivious skeleton standing nearby.

Chen Mo, meanwhile, was momentarily dazzled by the girl.

Though petite, barely reaching the captain’s chest, her thick black hair flowed like silk, rippling softly with her steps. Her delicate features included a slightly upturned nose, but her ornate coat stole the show, its belt studded with countless sparkling gems.

The nearby torches burned brightly, though not as vividly as daylight, reflecting in her glistening eyes, lending her an ethereal beauty.

After a fleeting glance, Chen Mo stole another look at her dazzling attire before politely averting his gaze.

Staring further would be rude, especially with her entourage surrounding them.

He’d once heard castle attendants claim that a noble’s status correlated with their looks.

They said nobles were inherently refined, blessed by the gods.

Utter nonsense, of course.

But on reflection, it wasn’t entirely baseless.

It came down to the allocation of “sexual resources.”

In this world dominated by the elite, beauty was a premium resource, inevitably monopolized by the powerful, reserved for the upper echelons.

Take Ellie: even if the Zircon heir couldn’t marry her openly, he wouldn’t let a commoner have her.

In a world without cosmetic surgery, nobles could refine their lineage with generations of naturally attractive men and women.

Over time, a noticeable gap in appearance between the elite and the masses wasn’t surprising.

Add to that the nobles’ training in poise, and they often exuded a superior aura.

From this perspective, this young girl’s status was clearly significant.

The guard captain quietly briefed Lady Frost, who seemed oblivious to any potential issues or taboos, waving her hand casually: “Just heal him then.”

The captain’s face flickered with a barely noticeable wry smile, evidently accustomed to his lady’s carefree nature yet powerless to change it. He nodded respectfully, then turned to Kaga and Chen Mo.

“Gentlemen,” he said gravely, “my lady has agreed. But before treatment begins, I must clarify some points.”

“During the healing process, any issues or complications are your responsibility, not ours.”

The captain, named Paven, was a fourth-tier Goldscale Swordsman from the Cloudmist Domain of the Emerald Duchy, adept at solving problems with force but now forced to rely on his weaker oratory skills.

Fourth-tier was already high-tier strength on the continent.

The Starry Continent’s combat and magic professions followed a ten-tier, three-transition system.

For warriors, the first three tiers were foundational, with no specific class distinctions, whether wielding a bow, sword, or riding a horse. They were classified as: first-tier Entry, Copper Crest Warrior; second-tier Standard, Iron Badge Warrior; third-tier Elite, Silver Armor Warrior.

Mages followed a similar path: first-tier Stardust, second-tier Moonring, third-tier Suncrown.

Where did Chen Mo stand? Below Stardust were apprentices, divided into low, mid, and high tiers, with candidate apprentices below that.

Chen Mo was still in the kindergarten of this system.

For warriors, reaching the third tier and completing the first transition, known as Soul Awakening, marked true fourth-tier status, locking in a specific advancement path.

A fourth-tier knight became a Black Armor Rider; a fourth-tier archer, a Blue Feather Marksman.

Further transitions occurred at the sixth and ninth tiers, strictly regulated by the continent’s mercenary guilds.

Advancing was a brutal gauntlet; most never achieved even the first transition in their lifetime.

Paven, a foot-soldier swordsman, held the fourth-tier title of Goldscale Breaker. The two kids and a skeleton before him wouldn’t last one swing of his blade.

But in centaur territory, unless he wanted to be trampled to dust by raging centaurs, he had to be polite to these “second-generation horses.”

So, Paven took extra time, choosing his words carefully to reiterate the disclaimer.

Their healer rarely treated strangers, not out of callousness but due to unknowns: the patient’s background, the cause of injuries, or any taboos.

If a healing spell failed, was it the injury or the treatment? Hard to say.

Crossing a powerful team or family could spark trouble.

“Our healer must assess the injury to confirm if it’s treatable and how long it’ll take,” Paven explained.

“Additionally, during treatment, the patient must not conceal the injury’s details or disobey the healer’s instructions. After leaving the healer’s sight, we take no responsibility for what happens.”

Kaga snorted, his heavy breath puffing into the air, dismissing the speech as fancy excuses.

Chen Mo, however, understood. Clear rules and upfront disclaimers suggested reliability.

As for the liability waiver, it was just another overbearing contract. On Blue Star, he’d signed stacks of them taller than himself. A verbal promise? No big deal.

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll take full responsibility!” Chen Mo declared, promptly pulling back his cloak to reveal the arrow still lodged in his shoulder.

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